Chapter 7
Richard refused to explain the second plan.
He sat in the council library with one ankle crossed over his knee.
“You're taking an eight-year-old’s memory as strategy now?”
Domenico watched him.
Ethan was Richard’s grandson too.
Yet Richard’s first instinct was not concern that the child had overheard.
It was dismissal.
Domenico’s voice stayed flat.
“What was plan two?”
Richard looked toward the window.
Nothing.
Domenico changed direction.
“Why Ethan?”
Richard’s jaw tightened.
“Again?”
“Yes.”
Domenico stepped closer.
“Why spend months making him the good child and Lily the bad one?”
Richard’s gaze moved toward Michael’s photograph.
Again.
This time Domenico followed it.
Something old stirred.
“You think I owe Ethan something.”
Richard’s expression changed.
Domenico felt it.
“Why?”
Helen entered before Richard answered.
“You do.”
Domenico turned.
Her breathing was shallow, but her chin remained high.
“Michael died working for this family.”
“I know.”
“Working for you.”
Domenico’s eyes narrowed.
“No.”
Helen’s fingers tightened around her pearls.
Richard looked away.
Domenico noticed both reactions.
Michael died during an operation in Nevada five years earlier.
The official record said Michael volunteered to lead it.
Domenico had signed the operational approval after Michael requested command.
At least that was what he had always believed.
Helen’s eyes filled.
“Ethan lost his father because you wanted that territory settled.”
Domenico stared at her.
“I didn't send Michael.”
“You signed the order.”
Richard interrupted.
“Helen.”
She ignored him.
“Ethan grew up without a father while Lily gets everything because you suddenly discovered tenderness after your own wife died.”
The bitterness in her voice shocked even Richard.
Domenico went silent.
For years his mother had apparently carried the belief that he bore responsibility for Michael’s death.
Or wanted him to believe she did.
“Bring me the Nevada file.”
Richard stood.
“No.”
The word came too quickly.
Domenico turned toward him.
Richard’s face hardened.
“That operation has nothing to do with tonight.”
Domenico’s eyes narrowed.
“You’ve spent all night telling me Ethan has everything to do with tonight.”
Silence.
The old Nevada file was retrieved from the family archive.
Domenico opened it.
His approval signature appeared on the final page.
His own handwriting.
His own initials.
His own signet embossment.
Then he looked at the date.
His breathing stopped.
The document said he signed it on October 14.
May you like
Domenico had been hospitalized in Chicago on October 14 after being shot two days earlier.
He could not have signed it.
