Chapter 14 - LAUREL’S BLOOD
Laurel did not cry.
Anthony wished she would.
Instead she became perfectly still.
“Who?”
Helen shook her head.
“Laurel—”
“Who?”
Julian looked toward Anthony.
That was enough.
Anthony felt something cold move through him.
Marcia sat slowly.
Helen whispered:
“Michael.”
No one breathed.
Anthony stared.
“My brother?”
Helen nodded.
Laurel looked at Anthony.
Then at Evan.
The young man who had just learned he was Michael’s son.
Her half-brother.
The room seemed to shrink.
Evan whispered, “No.”
Helen spoke through tears.
“I met Michael before Rebecca.”
Julian stood beside her.
“Michael was young. Helen was young. It lasted briefly.”
Laurel stared at the man she had called her father in absence.
“And you?”
“I loved her.”
“You knew?”
“From the beginning.”
“Then why did you let everyone think I was yours?”
“To keep you alive.”
Laurel laughed.
The same answer.
Again.
Protection.
Always protection.
Helen continued.
“Dominic knew Michael had a daughter.”
Anthony closed his eyes.
Of course.
“And Henry?”
“Yes.”
“Did Michael?”
Helen shook her head.
“I never told him.”
Laurel stepped away.
Anthony reached toward her.
She stopped him with one look.
Not now.
He respected it.
Marcia whispered, “That is why I hated you.”
Laurel turned.
Marcia looked ashamed.
“I believed you were Julian’s daughter.”
“So?”
“I believed Julian had destroyed Michael.”
“You punished me for a lie.”
“Yes.”
Marcia lowered her eyes.
“I did.”
Laurel laughed once.
“Then congratulations. You dragged Michael Vescari’s daughter onto her knees at his own family table.”
Marcia closed her eyes.
The cruelty returned to her.
Not from Laurel.
From consequence.
Anthony looked at Henry's hidden files.
“Laurel was brought into my life deliberately.”
Julian shook his head.
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Anthony looked at Laurel.
They had met at a charity event.
Chance.
Or what they thought was chance.
Henry’s voice suddenly came through an old speaker in the ceiling.
“You always assume love cannot be arranged.”
Anthony turned.
“Laurel and I were arranged?”
“Not exactly.”
The voice sounded amused.
“I merely made sure you were in the same room.”
Laurel looked upward with disgust.
“Why?”
“Because Michael’s daughter belonged beside Dominic’s son.”
Anthony’s face hardened.
“We are not pieces.”
“No?”
Henry laughed.
“Look at the table.”
Anthony looked.
Joseph.
Nathan.
Paul.
Julian.
Helen.
Laurel.
Evan.
Marcia.
Samuel.
Every branch.
Every wound.
Gathered.
Henry continued.
“This family survived because every generation believed it was smarter than the last.”
Anthony stepped beneath the speaker.
“Come out.”
“Soon.”
“No.”
Anthony’s voice became lethal.
“Now.”
“You still think volume changes distance.”
Anthony stopped.
Laurel finally spoke.
“What do you want from me?”
Henry’s tone softened.
“You.”
Anthony moved.
Laurel held up a hand.
She wanted the answer.
“Why?”
“Because you are the only person in the room tied to Michael, Julian, Anthony, Helen, and the old Vescari line without having chosen any of it.”
Laurel stared.
“You want me to lead.”
“No.”
Henry laughed.
“I want to see whether Anthony lets you refuse.”
Silence.
There it was.
Another test.
Another man turning family into experiment.
Laurel looked at Anthony.
He understood.
Henry expected Anthony to protect.
Control.
Choose for her.
Anthony spoke quietly.
“Laurel decides.”
Henry said nothing.
Laurel looked surprised.
Anthony continued.
“She decides whether she stays. Whether she leaves. Whether she ever sits at that table again. Whether she wants the Vescari name at all.”
Marcia looked up.
Anthony looked toward Nathan.
“Same for you.”
Toward Evan.
“Same.”
Then Joseph.
“Even you.”
Joseph almost smiled.
Henry finally spoke.
“You’re dismantling the family.”
Anthony shook his head.
“No.”
“For the first time, I’m finding out whether it exists without force.”
The speaker went silent.
Then a sound came from inside the hidden chamber.
A lock.
Metal shifting behind the rear wall.
Anthony’s men moved.
The wall opened.
Behind it lay a narrow tunnel.
Empty.
But fresh footprints marked the dust.
Henry had been there.
Recently.
Perhaps while they were above.
Anthony followed the passage to another room.
A chair still warm.
A half-finished cup of coffee.
A monitor showing the dining room.
Henry had been watching them live.
He had left minutes earlier.
On the desk rested a white lily brooch.
Beneath it, a photograph.
Anthony and Laurel on their wedding day.
On the back:
SHE WAS NEVER THE BEGGAR.
Anthony stared.
Laurel stood behind him.
“What does it say?”
He handed it to her.
She read.
Then turned it over again.
There was another line.
HE IS COMING FOR THE CHAIR.
Anthony frowned.
“Who?”
Before Laurel answered, Nathan shouted from the tunnel.
“Anthony!”
They ran back.
Joseph was gone.
So was Evan.
Paul lay on the floor, conscious but dazed.
Nathan knelt beside him.
“What happened?”
Paul looked toward the open door.
“Evan took Joseph.”
Anthony stared.
“Why?”
Paul shook his head.
“I heard him say one thing.”
“What?”
Paul swallowed.
“Take me to grandfather.”
Anthony looked toward Laurel.
Henry.
Evan had gone looking for him.
With Joseph.
Michael’s son carrying Joseph—the man he once blamed for Michael’s death—toward the patriarch who had actually engineered it.
May you like
Three generations of revenge moving toward the same place.
And nobody knew where.
