Chapter 7 - THE UNCLE WHO RAISED HIM.
Dominic Romano opened his own front door.
No guards.
No visible panic.
He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms and held a glass of red wine as though Vincent had arrived for Sunday dinner.
“You could have called.”
Vincent stepped inside.
Caleb followed.
Claire waited in the car with Giulia despite objecting for nine full blocks.
Vincent had won one argument.
He did not expect the streak to continue.
Dominic closed the door.
His townhouse was warm.
Old jazz played somewhere upstairs.
Family photographs lined the hall.
Vincent at fourteen beside Dominic at a baseball game.
Vincent at twenty-one receiving his college degree.
Elena and Vincent at their engagement party.
Sophie’s baptism.
The sight of the photographs made the betrayal worse.
A stranger could lie without contaminating childhood.
Family rewrote the past.
Vincent removed the black ledger from his coat.
Dominic’s gaze dropped.
For the first time, his composure fractured.
Only a second.
Then:
“Where did you get that?”
Vincent almost smiled.
“Interesting question.”
“Answer me.”
“No.”
Dominic set down his wine.
“Vincent, whatever you think that book proves—”
“Two million dollars to St. Catherine’s legal counsel the day before Elena gave birth.”
Silence.
“Security payment the night she died.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“Bellandi records.”
“Elena’s handwriting.”
That landed.
Dominic looked away.
Vincent stepped closer.
“She knew.”
No answer.
“She knew you were stealing.”
Dominic turned.
“You think this was theft?”
“What would you call it?”
“Survival.”
Vincent laughed once.
“That word has done remarkable work in this family.”
Dominic walked toward the study.
Vincent followed.
Caleb remained by the door.
The room smelled of leather and tobacco.
Dominic poured himself another drink.
“You were a child when your father almost lost everything.”
“I was thirty-five when Elena died.”
“I’m not talking about Elena.”
“You should be.”
Dominic’s eyes hardened.
“Your father was sentimental about power. He thought old agreements mattered. Handshakes. Family obligations. Bellandi understood that weakness and used it.”
“So you stole from Dad.”
“I moved money where he was too afraid to move it.”
“You bought judges.”
“So did he.”
“You compromised hospitals.”
Dominic’s face changed.
There.
Vincent saw it.
“Tell me about the hospital.”
Dominic looked toward the window.
“Your wife had become unstable.”
Vincent’s entire body went cold.
“Careful.”
“She was pregnant, frightened, obsessed with business she did not understand.”
“She understood enough to find you.”
Dominic smiled sadly.
“Elena found fragments.”
“She found the ledger.”
“She found Bellandi’s version of events.”
“She recorded a message.”
Dominic’s face emptied.
Vincent knew he had scored.
“You never found it.”
Dominic said nothing.
“That must have bothered you for six years.”
The older man turned.
“You want truth?”
“Yes.”
“No. You want a villain.”
“I already have one.”
Dominic slammed the glass down.
“Your father knew Elena was investigating.”
Vincent paused.
“What?”
“He asked me to stop her.”
“Stop her how?”
“Keep her away from family records.”
“Did he authorize the hospital?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Vincent stepped closer.
“Did he know there were twins?”
Dominic looked at him.
Then:
“Yes.”
Vincent stopped.
For a second, the room disappeared.
“No.”
“He knew Elena was carrying two.”
“Doctors told us one had vanished early.”
“Your father knew that report was false.”
Vincent’s hands closed.
“Why?”
“Because Elena told him.”
“When?”
“Two weeks before the birth.”
Vincent felt something break.
Again.
Always another person.
Another silence.
“What did Dad do?”
Dominic’s expression changed.
Almost pity.
“He told her not to tell you.”
Vincent stared.
“Why?”
“Because there was a threat against the pregnancy.”
“From who?”
“Bellandi.”
Giulia’s father.
Vincent’s pulse slowed.
“Liar.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
Dominic walked to a desk and opened a drawer.
Caleb moved.
Dominic lifted both hands.
“Paper.”
Vincent nodded.
His uncle removed a letter.
Old.
Antonio Romano’s handwriting.
Vincent recognized it immediately.
The letter was addressed to Dominic.
Keep Vincent out of this until we know who is watching Elena. She says there are two children. If the threat is real, one announcement is safer than two.
Vincent read it twice.
His father had known.
But not necessarily the rest.
Dominic watched.
“Antonio asked me to protect you.”
“And you interpreted that as stealing my daughter.”
“I did not steal her.”
“Claire Carter has paperwork with my forged signature.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
“Claire.”
“You remember her.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she took the baby before the transfer.”
The confession came casually.
Too casually.
Vincent’s rage became quiet.
“You ordered the transfer.”
Dominic did not answer.
Vincent stepped forward.
“Say it.”
“I arranged it.”
“Where was Ruby supposed to go?”
“A private estate.”
“Whose?”
“Mine.”
There it was.
Caleb swore softly.
Vincent felt nothing for several seconds.
Then everything.
“You were going to keep my child.”
“I was going to protect her.”
“From me?”
“From the war that was coming.”
“There was no war.”
“Because I prevented it.”
Vincent almost hit him.
He did not.
Sophie’s face stopped his hand.
Ruby’s too.
He refused to become the version of himself Dominic had always predicted.
“Why not tell me after?”
Dominic’s voice softened.
“Because Claire disappeared.”
“And Elena died.”
“Yes.”
“Convenient.”
Pain crossed Dominic’s face.
Real or performed.
Vincent no longer trusted himself to know.
“I did not plan Elena’s death.”
“But you were in her room.”
Dominic looked at him sharply.
“Who told you that?”
“Hospital log.”
“You’re missing another name.”
“Bellandi.”
Dominic laughed.
“There. Finally.”
“What?”
“Your wife invited Bellandi into that hospital.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“She was working with him.”
“She was betraying your father.”
“She was exposing you.”
Dominic’s voice rose.
“She was going to hand family records to our enemy.”
“To prove what you were doing.”
“To destroy us.”
“You mean you.”
Dominic stared.
The mask fell.
Not entirely.
Enough.
“I spent my whole life keeping this family alive while your father got to be loved for it.”
Vincent heard the truth beneath the grievance.
There was the motive.
Not money.
Not only.
Resentment.
“I fixed his wars. Paid his debts. Bought his peace. And when he decided you would inherit everything, what did I get?”
Vincent looked around the luxurious study.
“Apparently several million dollars.”
Dominic’s mouth twisted.
“You sound like Elena.”
“Thank you.”
That hit harder than an insult.
Dominic turned away.
Vincent looked at the letter again.
“Did my father know you planned to move Ruby?”
“No.”
“Did he know Elena was alive after the official death time?”
“No.”
“Did you kill her?”
Dominic faced him.
“No.”
Vincent studied his eyes.
He wanted certainty.
He got only age.
“You left her room at 3:26,” Vincent said. “She died at 3:41.”
Dominic’s face tightened.
“I argued with her.”
“About?”
“The ledger. The children. You.”
“Then?”
“She told me Claire had already taken one baby.”
“What did you do?”
“I sent men to find her.”
Claire had been hunted.
For five years.
Vincent stepped closer.
“You threatened her family.”
“I needed the baby safe.”
“You needed leverage.”
Dominic said nothing.
Vincent had his answer.
Before leaving Dominic’s townhouse, Vincent removed one photograph from the hallway wall.
It showed him at fourteen with Dominic beside him at a Cubs game.
Vincent had broken his wrist that afternoon after climbing a railing he had been told not to climb. Dominic had carried him three blocks to the car.
The memory was real.
That was the difficult part.
Betrayal did not erase every kindness that came before it.
It contaminated them.
Caleb watched him slide the photograph from its frame.
“Why keep that?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s becoming a popular answer.”
Vincent glanced at him.
Caleb shrugged.
“Claire’s influence.”
Vincent almost smiled.
He folded the photograph once and put it in his coat.
Not as proof that Dominic had been good.
Not as proof that he had always been bad.
As proof that people could be both loving and dangerous, and that confusing one for the other was how families learned to excuse too much.
Then Caleb’s phone buzzed.
His face changed.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“The safe condo.”
Vincent turned.
“Girls?”
“Safe.”
He breathed again.
Caleb continued.
“But someone triggered the building fire alarm and tried to access the service floor.”
Dominic’s eyes moved.
Barely.
Vincent saw it.
“You arranged that.”
“No.”
“You knew where they were.”
“I didn’t.”
Vincent studied him.
Then Claire’s name appeared on Caleb’s incoming call.
He answered.
Her voice came fast.
“We’re okay. But somebody left something outside the door.”
“What?”
“A box.”
“Don’t touch it.”
“We didn’t.”
“What kind?”
“Black.”
Vincent felt cold.
Claire continued.
“There’s a silver bird painted on the lid.”
Dominic’s face changed.
This time not guilt.
Fear.
Vincent looked at him.
“What is it?”
Dominic whispered:
“Bellandi.”
“Giulia is with Claire.”
“Not Giulia.”
“Her father is dead.”
Dominic looked at him.
“No.”
Vincent stared.
Dominic’s voice dropped.
“Vincenzo Bellandi did not die four years ago.”
Outside, Claire was waiting beside the car.
Vincent showed her the photograph from his childhood.
She studied it.
“You loved him.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t make you foolish.”
“It makes me late.”
“No. It makes the betrayal work.”
He looked at her.
Claire handed the photo back.
“People don’t betray strangers. They betray trust.”
Vincent folded the picture into his coat again.
The distinction did not forgive Dominic.
But it stopped Vincent from rewriting his entire childhood into a warning.
Some memories could remain good even if the person inside them later became something else.
The room became silent.
May you like
Then Dominic said the one thing Vincent had not expected.
“He called me yesterday.”
