Chapter 3
Dominic went to Michael first.
His younger brother sat in the old billiard room with one bodyguard outside.
No restraints.
A bruise darkened beneath his ribs.
Michael poured himself whiskey.
Dominic entered.
“Silas Vale.”
The glass stopped halfway to Michael’s mouth.
Dominic saw it.
“You know he’s alive.”
Michael set the whiskey down.
“No.”
“Lie better.”
Michael smiled bitterly.
“You always did enjoy talking like Father.”
Dominic closed the door.
“Father is dead.”
“That’s what happens to men everyone fears.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“Why were you helping Hattie torture our mother?”
Michael’s expression hardened.
“I wasn’t torturing her.”
“You shoved Elena while Hattie dragged an eighty-year-old woman with a leash.”
“I was keeping Elena out.”
“Why?”
“Because Hattie was trying to scare Mother.”
Dominic stared.
“Your defense is that you only helped.”
Michael looked away.
The shame was real.
Not enough.
“Silas contacted Hattie first,” Michael said.
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“Why?”
“He knew things.”
“Everyone suddenly knows things.”
“He knew about Father.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
“What did he say?”
“That Richard wasn’t killed by the Morettis.”
Dominic felt old rage move again.
“He told Hattie?”
“She told me.”
“Why would she?”
Michael laughed.
“You really don’t see what she thinks of you.”
Dominic said nothing.
“Hattie thinks you’ve become soft.”
“Because?”
“Because you stopped certain collections. Closed two clubs. Refused to punish the Hayes family after the insult last winter.”
Dominic almost smiled.
“You agree?”
“I thought I did.”
Past tense.
Interesting.
Michael continued.
“Silas promised Hattie that if she found the key, he would give her enough influence to control the eastern crews.”
Dominic’s voice chilled.
“My wife bargaining for my family.”
“Yes.”
“And you?”
Michael looked at him.
“I wanted something else.”
“What?”
“Truth.”
Dominic laughed without humor.
“You helped drag Mother across a floor for truth.”
Michael flinched.
“I told Hattie not to hurt her.”
“You stood there.”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t clean yourself with words.”
Silence.
Dominic continued.
“What truth?”
Michael looked toward the window.
“I wanted to know why Father hated me.”
Dominic stared.
“Father didn’t hate you.”
“You were twenty-nine when he died.”
“I knew him.”
“I was thirteen.”
“That doesn’t make your memory false.”
“No.”
Michael’s voice hardened.
“It makes yours incomplete.”
Dominic waited.
“Father never let me near the hunting lodge.”
“Children weren’t allowed.”
“You went.”
“I was older.”
“Not at thirteen.”
Dominic remembered.
Maybe Michael was right.
Their father had always treated the younger boy differently.
Protective in public.
Cold in private.
Dominic had assumed it was because Richard was older then.
Less patient.
Michael continued.
“Silas told me Father believed I would destroy the family.”
“At thirteen.”
“Yes.”
“That’s nonsense.”
“I thought so too.”
“And now?”
“Now I think Father knew Silas wanted me.”
Dominic frowned.
“For what?”
“To replace you.”
Silence.
Michael looked directly at his brother.
“Silas thought you were too much like Richard.”
Dominic almost smiled.
“And you?”
“He thought I could be shaped.”
The word stayed.
Shaped.
Not chosen.
Not respected.
Used.
“What did Silas ask from you?”
“The key.”
“Anything else?”
“Access.”
“To?”
“The estate.”
Dominic’s face hardened.
“You gave it.”
Michael did not answer.
Dominic moved closer.
“Which doors?”
“North service gate.”
“Anything else?”
“The old kennel road.”
Dominic’s hands tightened.
“You opened my house.”
“I never let men into the main building.”
“Then how did Silas get inside?”
Michael froze.
Dominic saw genuine surprise.
“I didn’t.”
“Mother says he has been here.”
“I swear.”
Dominic believed the fear.
Which created a worse problem.
Someone else had opened the door.
“What does Hattie know that you don’t?”
Michael’s face changed.
Dominic saw it.
“Talk.”
Michael looked away.
“She met Silas alone.”
“When?”
“Last week.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“And?”
“She came back terrified.”
“What did he tell her?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
Dominic stepped toward the door.
Michael spoke behind him.
“There’s more.”
Dominic stopped.
Michael’s voice became quieter.
“Hattie and I…”
He did not finish.
He did not need to.
Dominic turned slowly.
Michael looked sick.
Not afraid of violence.
Afraid of what betrayal actually looked like when spoken aloud.
“How long?”
Michael swallowed.
“Six months.”
Dominic stared at his younger brother.
Then laughed once.
Softly.
That sound frightened Michael more than a shout.
“My wife.”
“I know.”
“My brother.”
“I know.”
Dominic opened the door.
Michael stood.
“Dominic.”
He looked back.
“I’m not going to kill you.”
Michael’s shoulders lowered slightly.
May you like
Dominic’s eyes became cold.
“Not until I know whether leaving you alive hurts more.”
