Chapter 2 - THE BOY THEY WANTED GONE
Leo slept in Sebastian’s private sitting room that evening.
Not because the boy was tired.
Because he refused to be anywhere Sebastian could not see him.
The child lay curled beneath a blanket with one fist closed around the sleeve of Sebastian’s jacket.
Sebastian sat beside him.
Three years old.
Too young to understand inheritance.
Old enough to understand abandonment.
That was enough.
Leo’s father, Adrian Moretti, had been Sebastian’s younger brother by eleven years.
Brilliant.
Reckless.
Too comfortable asking questions men twice his age considered disrespectful.
Fourteen months earlier, Adrian vanished after being accused of betraying the family during a shipment dispute at the river yards.
Sebastian had condemned him publicly.
Not to death.
Worse in some ways.
Exile.
Adrian was stripped of protection.
No Moretti man could shelter him.
No allied family could deal with him without consequences.
Three nights later, Adrian’s car was found burned near the river.
Blood inside.
His signet ring beneath the driver’s seat.
No body.
Helena declared him dead.
Sebastian let the family hold a funeral.
Leo had been barely two.
He had cried because everyone else cried.
Sebastian remembered thinking that was mercy.
Now he wondered whether they had buried Adrian only because living men found the story convenient.
The door opened.
Clara Moretti entered.
Chad’s wife.
Her face looked exhausted.
Sebastian stood.
“Where is your husband?”
“Locked in the east guest room with two men outside.”
“Good.”
She looked toward Leo.
“He’s asleep?”
“Finally.”
Clara lowered her voice.
“Chad has been frightening him for weeks.”
Sebastian stared at her.
“Weeks.”
She looked down.
“I didn’t know how bad.”
“You lived in the same house.”
“So did you.”
The answer hit.
Sebastian did not punish her for it.
He had spent most mornings at family properties, most nights in meetings, most meals surrounded by adults who had learned never to bring him problems unless they already had solutions.
Leo lived twelve rooms away.
Sebastian had mistaken proximity for care.
“What did Chad want?”
Clara hesitated.
“The same thing Helena wants.”
“The key?”
“No.”
She glanced toward Leo.
“What the key opens.”
Sebastian stepped closer.
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“Clara.”
“I truly don’t.”
Her voice tightened.
“Chad only said Adrian hid something before he disappeared. Something that could ‘change whose blood mattered.’”
Sebastian felt the old anger return.
Succession.
Always succession.
The family could turn even a child into a political argument.
“Why threaten Leo?”
“Because Chad thinks Adrian told him where it is.”
“He’s three.”
“I told him that.”
“And?”
Clara looked away.
“He said children remember things adults ignore.”
That was not entirely foolish.
Which made it worse.
Sebastian looked at the sleeping boy.
“What has Leo said about Adrian?”
“Very little.”
“Anything strange?”
Clara thought.
“He talks about a song.”
“What song?”
“He hums it sometimes before bed.”
“Words?”
“No.”
“Anything else?”
“He says his father told him never to be afraid of the saint without a face.”
Sebastian’s eyes moved toward the iron key.
The symbol.
Saint without a face.
Five cuts.
He knew only one place in the old Moretti estate where that symbol had existed.
The abandoned family chapel beneath the western hill.
His father had sealed it after Sebastian’s grandfather died.
No one had entered in decades.
A sound came from the doorway.
Helena.
“You are opening things better left shut.”
Sebastian turned.
“Did I invite you?”
“No.”
“Then leave.”
Helena ignored him.
“Adrian became obsessed.”
“With what?”
“With the idea that your father stole the family.”
Sebastian’s eyes hardened.
“My father inherited it.”
Helena gave him a tired smile.
“That is the version children were taught.”
Leo shifted beneath the blanket.
Sebastian lowered his voice.
“Out.”
Helena did not move.
“Your father, Vittorio, was never supposed to become head.”
Sebastian stared.
“Then who?”
Helena looked toward the sleeping child.
“Adrian’s grandfather.”
“Mine too.”
“No.”
Silence.
Sebastian’s expression changed.
Helena continued:
“Your father and Adrian did not have the same grandfather.”
Sebastian stared at her.
“Explain.”
“Not in front of the boy.”
Sebastian looked toward Leo.
She was right about that.
He hated it.
They moved into the adjoining library.
Helena closed the door.
“Your grandmother was married before she married Vittorio’s father.”
Sebastian frowned.
“Nonsense.”
“No.”
“She had a son.”
“Who?”
“Alessandro Moretti.”
The name meant nothing.
Helena continued:
“He was removed from the family history after a civil dispute.”
“Removed how?”
“Sent away.”
“By whom?”
“By the men who created the five cuts.”
Sebastian looked at the key.
“What are the cuts?”
Helena’s face darkened.
“Five seats.”
“Council seats?”
“Not the council you know.”
“Then what?”
“The Black Table.”
The room seemed colder.
Sebastian had heard the phrase once as a teenager.
His father had slapped a man for using it at dinner.
Sebastian assumed it was an old superstition.
Helena continued:
“The Black Table decided which Moretti branch survived when succession became dangerous.”
“Five men choosing the boss?”
“No.”
She looked directly at him.
“Five people choosing which children were allowed to become threats.”
Sebastian’s hand tightened around the key.
“And Adrian discovered this?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Before Leo was born.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
Helena’s answer came quietly.
“He tried.”
May you like
Sebastian stared.
“You refused to listen.”
