Chapter 12
The hidden entrance lay beneath the central platform.
Mateo remembered Salvatore showing it to Dominic once.
He had watched from a corridor.
Never entered.
The lock used chess pieces.
Knight.
Bishop.
King.
Three depressions.
Dante had the knight.
The black king remained in the garden cellar.
Sebastian had the bishop.
Of course.
Salvatore had divided access among men who distrusted one another.
Another design built on control.
Michael watched.
“You need me.”
Dante looked at him.
“Why?”
“The king was moved.”
Silence.
Dante’s face hardened.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“You took it.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Michael smiled.
“Safe.”
Javier laughed bitterly.
“Here we go.”
Michael looked at him.
“You think you’ve changed because you admitted one ugly act?”
“No.”
Javier stepped closer.
“I think I’m done letting men like you tell me what my pain means.”
Michael’s smile faded.
Dante looked toward Sebastian.
“You have the bishop?”
The old man removed it from his coat.
Mateo stared.
“You kept it.”
“For twenty-seven years.”
“Why?”
“Because Salvatore gave it to me the night you disappeared.”
Mateo’s face changed.
“He knew you helped?”
“Yes.”
“Then why let you go?”
Sebastian looked at him.
“Because he loved you.”
Mateo laughed bitterly.
“Love.”
Sebastian’s eyes filled.
“Not enough to free you.”
There.
Truth without excuse.
Salvatore may have loved his son while still destroying his life.
The family had spent generations pretending one canceled the other.
It did not.
Dante turned toward Michael.
“Bring the king.”
“No.”
“Then the room stays closed.”
Michael stared.
“You’ll walk away?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t even know who is alive.”
“No.”
“Your father’s secrets—”
“Can wait.”
Michael’s face changed.
He had not expected that.
Obsession was his leverage.
Dante refused it.
Michael turned toward Javier.
“Your father’s real accuser is named inside.”
Javier looked at Mateo.
His father was standing there.
Alive.
The old need for explanation had competition now.
He shook his head.
Michael looked toward Teresa.
“Your husband’s disappearance.”
She flinched.
Nobody knew Teresa’s husband had vanished.
Michael did.
Another hidden wound.
She whispered:
“No.”
Michael looked around.
“Every person in this room has someone.”
Dante understood.
That was why Michael wanted it.
Not truth.
Addiction.
Every family member would trade loyalty for one missing answer.
The room would make Michael indispensable.
Mateo stepped closer.
“You became Dominic.”
Michael’s jaw tightened.
“No.”
“You hated the Romano throne.”
“Yes.”
“So you built a deeper one.”
Michael stared.
There was no defense.
Then Clara spoke.
“Where is the king?”
Michael looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because you brought it.”
Dante frowned.
Clara pointed toward his jacket.
A rectangular outline.
Michael’s expression changed.
He moved.
Javier caught his arm.
No punch.
No choking.
Just stopped him.
Dante removed the black king from Michael’s inner pocket.
Michael laughed.
“You’ll open it.”
Dante looked at the three pieces.
Then at Mateo.
“Do you want to?”
Mateo stared.
Twenty-seven years.
His missing life might be named inside.
Who ordered it.
Who watched.
Who benefited.
He looked at Javier.
His son.
Then Sebastian.
The man he loved and lost most of his life with.
“No.”
Dante nodded.
Michael stared.
“What?”
Mateo looked at him.
“I already know enough to choose what comes next.”
Michael’s anger surfaced.
“You don’t want the truth?”
“I want truth.”
Mateo’s voice remained calm.
“I don’t want you choosing when I’m allowed to hear it.”
Silence.
Dante put the king in his pocket.
“We seal the room.”
Michael laughed.
“You cannot.”
“I can.”
“The families will demand it.”
“Then they can demand.”
Dante looked toward the council.
“Anyone who wants to force it open can say so now.”
No one did.
Not because they were healed.
Because everyone had seen what hunger for secrets had done to Javier.
To Michael.
To Salvatore.
The room would remain.
For now.
Then an old man near the rear stood.
Franklin Romano.
Eighty-three.
Dante’s grandfather’s cousin.
He had barely spoken in years.
“Seal it if you want.”
Everyone turned.
“But it is already empty.”
Dante stared.
“What?”
Franklin smiled sadly.
“Someone opened it nineteen years ago.”
Mateo went still.
“Who?”
Franklin looked toward Sebastian.
Then Michael.
“Dominic.”
Michael’s face changed.
“Father?”
“Yes.”
“He removed every living name.”
“Where?”
Franklin looked toward the windows.
“He gave them to his son.”
Silence.
Michael stared.
“I never—”
Franklin interrupted.
“Not you.”
May you like
The room froze.
Dominic had another son.
