Chapter 12
I did not accuse Genevieve of killing Elena.
Not yet.
I wanted truth more than rage.
That surprised even me.
Three years ago, I would have destroyed every man in the room before sunrise.
Ethan changed something in me.
So did Lily.
Children make consequences harder to romanticize.
I asked Genevieve one question.
“Did you see Elena before she died?”
Silence.
“Answer.”
“Yes.”
Julian looked sick.
“Where?”
“In the garage.”
“What happened?”
“She was hysterical.”
Of course.
A woman confronts cruelty.
Call her hysterical.
“She accused me of interfering in your marriage.”
“Were you?”
Genevieve stared.
“Yes.”
Finally.
“Why?”
“She was making you soft.”
I almost laughed.
Same word.
Always.
“She encouraged you to move away from old family customs. She wanted Ethan raised outside the organization.”
My chest tightened.
Elena had said that.
I resisted.
We fought about it.
Genevieve knew.
“What happened in the garage?”
“She said she was taking Ethan.”
“And?”
“I told her if she walked out, she should not expect the family to welcome her back.”
Julian closed his eyes.
I heard echoes of every controlling elder I had ever known.
Leave and lose everything.
Stay and obey.
“What did she do?”
“She laughed at me.”
A flicker of hatred moved across Genevieve’s face even now.
Then I understood.
Elena had not feared her by the end.
That probably enraged Genevieve more.
“She drove away.”
“You didn’t touch the car?”
“No.”
I watched her carefully.
For the first time, I believed the denial.
Not because she deserved trust.
Because her hatred seemed focused elsewhere.
“What did you do?”
She said nothing.
I stepped closer.
“What happened after she left?”
Genevieve looked away.
Then Julian whispered:
“Mother.”
She snapped.
“Enough.”
There it was.
Something else.
Finally she said:
“I called someone.”
My blood went cold.
“Who?”
“Anthony Rusk.”
The same man from Ethan’s cake.
Three years ago.
Same operative.
May you like
Same family.
Same method of keeping Genevieve’s hands clean.
