Chapter 7
Mark finally admitted his father knew about the warehouse attack.
Not planned it.
Knew.
That distinction mattered.
He repeated it four times.
“My father did not order those men.”
I sat across from him in the private council room.
Grace remained beside Maya in the sitting room. I did not force her into every ugly detail.
“Who did?”
“I don’t know.”
I believed him.
Barely.
“What did Carlo know?”
Mark rubbed both hands over his face.
“An old crew wanted you removed.”
“Which crew?”
“North Marzano.”
I almost laughed.
My own branch.
Of course.
The old north captains believed I had become too independent after taking command. They wanted Lorenzo instead.
My younger brother.
Diana’s favorite.
The irony tasted bitter now.
“And Lorenzo?”
Mark shook his head.
“He didn’t know.”
I stared.
“Then why did Diana mention him?”
Mark looked toward the door.
His mother was not there.
Still he hesitated.
Training.
Years of it.
Finally he said:
“Because after Marcus saved you, Lorenzo started asking questions.”
I leaned back.
There it was.
Marcus dies.
Lorenzo investigates.
Six years later, Lorenzo dies in a warehouse collapse.
Diana called it unrelated.
I no longer believed in that kind of coincidence.
“Did your father tell Lorenzo?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
Mark swallowed.
“Marcus left something for him too.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Marcus had not trusted one path.
Bear for Grace.
Token for me.
Photo in the nutcracker.
Something for Lorenzo.
“What?”
“A blue star patch.”
I looked at him.
“On what?”
“A work glove.”
Marcus used to stitch stars onto anything he wanted recognized.
Lorenzo found the glove in the warehouse after Marcus died.
Inside was a small scrap with one sentence:
THE MEN BEHIND VITTORIO ARE NOT ALL HIS.
I stared at Mark.
“What did Lorenzo do?”
“He started watching the north captains.”
“And?”
“He found out Carlo had known.”
Diana’s husband.
Mark’s father.
“So Lorenzo confronted him.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
Mark looked sick.
“Two weeks before the collapse.”
There it was.
I stood.
Mark immediately said, “My father didn’t kill Lorenzo.”
“You seem very certain about dead men’s innocence.”
“He loved him.”
“So did you.”
Mark looked away.
That hit.
Love without courage.
Another family disease.
Then he whispered something I almost missed.
“My mother knew about the glove.”
I turned.
Diana.
Again.
Every path seemed to return to her.
Not necessarily mastermind.
Something worse in its own way.
May you like
Keeper of silence.
The person who knew enough about every betrayal to benefit from none of them becoming fully understood.
