Chapter 5
Dominic finally spoke when I asked about Enzo.
“My father hated yours.”
That much I knew.
The two brothers had competed their entire lives.
One became boss.
One became the man beside him.
Apparently that was not enough.
“Did Enzo poison him?”
Dominic looked at the table.
“I don’t know.”
I believed that part.
Barely.
“What did you know?”
He breathed out.
“My father met Victor that night.”
Teresa watched him carefully.
Dominic continued.
“I was told to move one guard away from the private dining room.”
I laughed softly.
Same pattern.
Always a door.
Always one guard removed.
Always one person later saying they only handled a small part.
“Why?”
“My father said he wanted privacy.”
“And you obeyed.”
“Yes.”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-seven.”
Old enough.
He knew it too.
My mother had apparently discovered his role years later.
That was when Dominic became frightened of Isabella.
I still did not understand why.
He answered accidentally.
“She started asking about Rosa.”
I looked at Isabella.
She nodded.
“Your mother contacted me after Lucia was born.”
Dominic snapped toward her.
I stared.
“What?”
Isabella’s eyes filled.
“She found me.”
My mother had found her granddaughter.
Without telling me.
That hurt differently.
“Why didn’t she bring you back?”
Isabella looked toward Lucia.
“She was afraid.”
Of Dominic.
Of the old faction.
Of whatever my father’s death still protected.
Rosa told Isabella she believed Enzo’s people had survived inside the organization and that Dominic might still be shielding them.
“She wanted proof before putting Lucia near the Caruso house.”
Dominic laughed bitterly.
“And then she died.”
The cruelty in his voice told me something.
“You were relieved.”
He said nothing.
I stood.
“You thought her death ended it.”
Still nothing.
“Then Teresa found Isabella.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“There.”
I finally saw the timeline.
My mother dies.
Dominic believes the secret dies with her.
Teresa waits.
Then Isabella reappears carrying Rosa’s recording and my daughter.
Dominic sees the photograph.
Recognizes what is hidden.
Panics.
I looked at him.
“You didn’t attack Isabella today because she came back.”
His face remained still.
“You attacked her because you knew my mother had left something with her.”
Dominic smiled faintly.
“Both.”
That honesty was uglier than denial.
Then Lucia reached into her backpack again.
Everyone turned.
She pulled out a folded café napkin.
A drawing.
Three figures.
A woman.
A little girl.
A man with dark hair.
At the bottom, in Rosa’s handwriting:
Tell Marco she drew him before she ever met him.
I stared.
May you like
My mother had known Lucia imagined me.
And Dominic had spent three years making sure I remained imaginary.
