Chapter 15
One year after Vincent walked into his own funeral preparations, the private family hall looked different.
The enormous portrait was gone.
So were the ceremonial council chairs.
The Relief Trust held its annual meeting there now.
Not capos.
Accountants.
Independent trustees.
Attorneys.
Two beneficiary representatives chosen by the families the trust served.
Vincent hated half the procedures.
That was probably healthy.
The trust’s recovered assets had stabilized.
Several civil settlements funded future medical obligations for the workers injured in the old construction collapse.
Dominic’s former company operated under another name.
Helena was serving a long prison sentence.
Renner was imprisoned as well.
The Caradonna organization Vincent inherited had become smaller.
Several illegal operations collapsed when people left or cooperated.
Vincent did not rebuild them.
His legitimate companies continued.
So did the consequences of his old life.
He did not pretend transformation erased history.
That evening, after the trustees left, Marco found Vincent standing alone in the hall.
“Storage called.”
Vincent looked over.
“They still have the portrait.”
He almost smiled.
“Of course they do.”
“What do you want done with it?”
Vincent thought about the enormous image Dominic had straightened while joking about pretending to love him.
“Destroy it.”
Marco nodded.
“And the frame?”
Vincent looked toward the windows.
“Donate it.”
Marco left.
Vincent remained alone.
His phone vibrated.
A correctional facility number appeared.
Dominic.
The first call in three months.
Vincent watched the screen.
He had accepted two previous calls.
The first had lasted four minutes.
The second, less than two.
Neither man knew how to talk without returning to what happened.
Vincent had not forgiven him.
He was not sure forgiveness was even the correct goal.
Dominic had helped expose Helena after learning the full truth.
He had surrendered his company to repay people harmed by the fraud.
He had accepted prison without pretending cooperation erased responsibility.
He had also handed Helena the route that nearly got Vincent killed.
Both versions of Dominic were real.
The phone kept vibrating.
Vincent looked around the room where his funeral had once been planned.
A year earlier, he would have believed power meant deciding immediately.
Answer.
Reject.
Forgive.
Punish.
Now he understood some choices became more honest when they were not forced into clean endings.
The call stopped.
Vincent slipped the phone back into his pocket.
Thirty seconds later, it vibrated again.
Dominic had left a voicemail.
Vincent did not play it.
Not yet.
He walked out of the hall and turned off the lights behind him.
The criminal conspiracy was finished.
Helena had been held responsible.
The stolen money had been restored.
The workers and families had finally been heard.
Vincent had survived the funeral prepared for him.
Only one question remained unresolved:
whether two men who had once called each other brothers could ever build a relationship after one of them had accepted the other’s death as the price of protecting a lie.
May you like
Vincent left the voicemail waiting.
But he did not delete it.
