Chapter 8
Adrian tried to leave.
Rafe stopped him.
He looked offended.
That almost amused me.
“I didn’t touch Elena.”
“No.”
I walked toward him.
“You only knew Marcella was building the White Table, knew she planned to frighten my wife, knew Elena died while being followed, and still planned to marry into the result.”
His face hardened.
“I believed Marcella when she said it was an accident.”
“It was.”
That surprised him.
I continued.
“Accidents can still be built out of choices.”
Marcella looked up.
That sentence reached her too.
Adrian admitted the wedding had a second purpose.
After the ceremony, six older captains were supposed to meet privately upstairs. They would formally recognize a permanent advisory council.
White Table reborn under a cleaner name.
Adrian’s family would receive east-harbor access.
Marcella would become the bridge between both organizations.
I would remain boss.
In public.
“Did you think I would agree?”
Adrian shrugged.
“Eventually.”
“How?”
He looked toward Vivia.
That was the mistake.
I followed his eyes.
He looked away immediately.
“What did my daughter have to do with your plan?”
Marcella whispered, “Nothing.”
Adrian stayed silent.
I stepped closer.
“What?”
He finally answered.
“Guardianship.”
Everything inside me went still.
If something happened to me, the old family arrangement named Marcella as Vivia’s closest senior Bellandi relative.
Not automatic control.
Influence.
Enough.
Elena must have known.
I opened the folder marked VIVIA.
One video.
Elena appeared holding the childhood dress.
“If Nico ever hears anyone suggest Marcella should raise Vivia if something happens to him, say no before you ask why.”
Marcella started crying again.
Elena continued.
“Marcella told Adrian that with Vivia under her roof, half the family would eventually follow whatever branch the child was raised to recognize.”
I looked at my sister.
“You planned around my death?”
“No.”
“You planned around the possibility.”
“That is not the same thing.”
I almost laughed.
It was exactly the kind of distinction people make when morality has already left the room.
Vivia looked up at me.
“You going away?”
I crouched immediately.
“No.”
“Promise?”
That word hurt.
“Yes.”
Then I looked at Marcella.
May you like
My wife had not hidden a USB inside a child’s dress only to expose her own death.
She had been protecting Vivia’s future from the same people who already planned to use it.
