Chapter 8
Vivian denied everything.
Predictable.
“My husband was respected.”
Victor nodded.
“He was.”
“He served the Bennetts.”
“He did.”
“He died for them.”
“No.”
Her face hardened.
Victor continued:
“He died because he tried to sell them.”
Ryan looked at his mother.
She refused to meet his eyes.
That mattered.
“What happened?”
I asked.
Victor leaned against the counter.
“Twelve years ago, Harold Bennett discovered three routes were leaking.”
“Ryan’s father?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Your father suspected outsiders.”
Victor looked at Vivian.
“I suspected family.”
Vivian smiled coldly.
“You always hated Harold.”
“I hated cowards.”
Ryan stepped forward.
“Careful.”
Victor looked at him.
“You hit your wife in front of her children.”
Silence.
“Don’t talk to me about careful.”
Ryan’s face tightened.
Victor continued.
“Harold planned to use your father’s illness to gather old capos and replace him temporarily.”
My chest tightened.
Same plan.
Same word.
Temporary.
Vivian interrupted:
“He was protecting the organization.”
I looked at her.
“There it is.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“The excuse.”
Victor almost smiled.
“He failed.”
“How?”
“Claire’s father found out.”
Vivian’s jaw tightened.
“And killed him?”
Victor said nothing.
Ryan looked at me.
“You knew?”
“No.”
Margaret whispered:
“I did.”
I turned.
My mother looked ashamed.
“Your father told me.”
“Why keep it from me?”
“You were seventeen.”
I almost laughed.
Everyone in this family protected children by lying to them.
Then wondered why secrets became weapons.
Ryan looked at Vivian.
“So Dad tried this first.”
She snapped:
“No.”
Victor answered:
“Yes.”
Ryan’s face changed.
Not horror.
Recognition.
He had inherited a blueprint without being told where it came from.
Vivian saw it.
“Ryan.”
He looked at her.
“You knew.”
She said nothing.
“You told me Claire was unstable.”
“She is.”
“You told me old Bennett men wanted traditional leadership.”
“They do.”
“You told me Victor supported the idea.”
Silence.
Ryan laughed once.
Broken.
“You used me.”
Vivian’s face hardened.
“I raised you.”
Not denial.
Ownership.
Ryan stared.
Then Emma started crying.
Vivian turned instinctively.
“Make her stop.”
I stepped between.
No.
Not anymore.
I looked at Vivian.
“You spent twelve days training everyone in this house to obey your voice.”
She smiled.
“And it worked.”
Oliver whispered:
“Not now.”
Every adult heard him.
May you like
Vivian looked at the four-year-old.
And for the first time, one of my children talked back without flinching.
