Chapter 7
Miriam slapped Nicola.
Hard enough to turn his head.
Nobody stopped her.
“My father was August.”
Nicola looked back.
“No.”
“You liar.”
“August raised you.”
“He was my father.”
“No.”
Miriam’s breathing changed.
Nicola continued quietly:
“Your mother was August’s youngest sister, Elena.”
Miriam went still.
“Rafael was nineteen.”
“No.”
“They hid the pregnancy.”
“No.”
“August married no one. He took you into his household and called you niece.”
Miriam looked suddenly smaller.
Sixty-six years old.
Still vulnerable to one sentence about childhood.
Domenico understood why blood secrets were so effective.
They did not merely reveal identity.
They destabilized every memory built around it.
Miriam looked at him.
“You knew.”
“No.”
“Raffaele?”
“Maybe.”
Nicola answered:
“He knew.”
Domenico closed his eyes.
His father again.
Miriam whispered:
“Then Rafael…”
“Is your biological father.”
“And Shepherd.”
“He became Shepherd.”
Miriam sat.
Conrad stared at the woman who raised him.
“If Rafael is alive…”
Nicola looked at him.
“He is your grandfather by blood through Miriam’s line only if her descendants were hers, but you are not Miriam’s son.”
Conrad laughed harshly.
“Thank God for one clear relationship.”
Miriam did not smile.
Domenico asked:
“Did Rafael take Julian?”
Nicola hesitated.
“Possibly.”
Conrad exploded.
“Possibly?”
“I never saw Shepherd’s face eight years ago.”
“You said Julian found you.”
“Yes.”
“Did he name him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He called Shepherd Grandfather.”
Everyone froze.
Conrad looked at Miriam.
Her face had lost all color.
Julian might have been referring to Rafael.
Not biological grandfather through Conrad.
But an honor title from training.
Or something more tangled.
Domenico said:
“Did Julian know Miriam’s truth?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Recently.”
“What did he say?”
“That Miriam was the door.”
Miriam looked up.
“What does that mean?”
Nicola stared.
“Someone built your anger before you were old enough to understand it.”
Miriam’s face tightened.
“You think I’m a victim.”
“No.”
Nicola’s voice sharpened.
“You became an adult.”
He looked toward the house where Eli remained safe.
“You chose what you did to that boy today.”
Miriam flinched.
Domenico appreciated the distinction.
History explained.
Did not erase.
Nicola continued:
“Rafael hated Ravello because he was never acknowledged.”
“And you taught him secret power instead.”
“Yes.”
“Then he taught others.”
“Yes.”
“The Shepherd network.”
“Yes.”
“What does it want now?”
Nicola looked at Domenico.
“To end blood inheritance.”
Conrad frowned.
“That sounds almost reasonable.”
Nicola’s eyes turned dark.
“By taking children from blood families and raising them to belong only to Shepherd.”
Conrad’s expression changed.
“Julian.”
“Yes.”
“Eli.”
“Yes.”
Domenico felt something cold.
“You said Julian refused.”
“I think so.”
“How?”
“He returned the football.”
Conrad looked at the ball.
Nicola nodded.
“That was his message.”
“What message?”
“He told me to place it where Eli would find it.”
“You obeyed?”
“Yes.”
“Why involve a three-year-old?”
Nicola looked ashamed.
“Because Julian insisted Domenico needed to see how quickly his own family would turn on the child over an old symbol.”
Domenico went still.
The backyard incident was a test.
Not by Shepherd.
By Julian.
Conrad’s son had deliberately sent the ball into Eli’s hands.
He wanted to expose Miriam and Conrad’s reactions.
Conrad’s face hardened.
“My son used Eli.”
“Yes.”
Domenico looked toward him.
There it was.
A new fault line.
Conrad loved Julian.
Domenico loved Eli.
The missing son had endangered the living child to deliver a warning.
Conrad said:
“He knew nobody would hurt Eli.”
Domenico stared.
“Your steel rod hit six inches from his leg.”
Conrad looked away.
Domenico continued:
“Your son has been gone eight years.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know what he is now.”
Conrad looked back.
“He’s still my son.”
Domenico’s voice softened.
“Yes.”
Then hardened again.
“And Eli is still mine.”
Silence.
Nicola watched them.
“Good.”
Domenico turned.
“What?”
“The old Shepherd would already have both of you trying to avenge your sons against each other.”
Domenico hated that the old man was right.
“What did Julian want us to do next?”
Nicola removed something from his coat.
A small photograph.
Julian.
Thirteen now.
Older.
Thin.
Standing beside a stone wall.
Alive.
Conrad took it with shaking hands.
On the back were four words:
BRING ELI TO THE ORCHARD.
Domenico stared.
Conrad whispered:
“He wants to see us.”
Domenico shook his head.
“He wants Eli.”
Conrad looked at him.
“My son—”
“Asked for my three-year-old.”
May you like
The cousins stared at each other.
The old war was already trying to choose between them.
