Chapter 6 - The Signature Vincent Hid
Vivien smiled when she saw him.
“There he is.”
Vincent entered.
The guards shut the door.
I looked at him.
“What did she mean?”
He did not answer.
“Vincent.”
Vivien crossed one leg over the other.
“Tell her.”
“Shut up.”
“Or should I?”
Vincent looked at me.
“I signed the evidence release after Elena’s accident.”
“Why?”
“Because Lorenzo was out of control.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“The police had already ruled it mechanical failure.”
Vivien laughed.
“Convenient.”
Vincent turned on her.
“You don’t know what happened.”
“I know Victor paid the mechanic.”
Silence.
Vincent froze.
I stared at Vivien.
“How do you know?”
“Because Camille kept records.”
“What records?”
“Victor’s insurance. Against Lorenzo.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“Where?”
Vivien smiled.
“That’s what you should have asked before locking me up.”
He grabbed the back of a chair.
“Where are they?”
“Safe.”
“Where?”
“Not here.”
“You’re helping Victor murder Isabella.”
Vivien’s smile disappeared.
“I never agreed to hurt Isabella.”
“You planted her medicine in Emma’s bag.”
“To remove Sophia.”
I felt sick.
She said it so simply.
As though removing me meant changing a piece of furniture.
“Why?”
“Because you saw Vincent and me.”
“So you framed a three-year-old?”
“I framed you.”
“You put the bottles in her backpack.”
“Because nobody searches a mother without searching the child.”
My hands curled.
I wanted to strike her.
I did not.
Vivien looked at me.
“I needed you gone before you talked.”
“You threatened Emma.”
“I needed you scared.”
“She is three.”
“I never intended to hurt her.”
“You told me one missed dose.”
“To scare you.”
“Then someone sent me a photograph of her sleeping.”
“That was Victor.”
“How did he know?”
Vivien looked away.
“How?”
“I told him about you.”
There it was.
The truth.
Not complete.
Enough.
I stepped back.
Vincent said, “Why was Victor using you?”
Vivien’s face hardened.
“He wasn’t using me.”
“You think you were partners?”
“He promised me protection.”
“From Lorenzo?”
“From all of you.”
Vincent laughed bitterly.
“You’re a fool.”
Vivien stood.
“No. I’m the only one who understood the Duca family eventually destroys everyone close to it.”
“That’s your excuse?”
“My father worked for Lorenzo’s father. Do you know how he died?”
Vincent said nothing.
“Prison.”
Her voice sharpened.
“He took a charge for men who never visited him. My mother lost the house. I lost everything. Then Lorenzo Duca grew up and inherited an empire.”
I understood.
Not justified.
Understood.
“You got engaged to him for revenge.”
“At first.”
“And later?”
Her eyes flickered.
“I don’t know.”
That was the first honest sentence I had heard from her.
Vincent asked, “Where are Camille’s records?”
“I want immunity.”
“This isn’t court.”
“Then I want money and a plane.”
“You’re bargaining while Isabella is in a hospital.”
Vivien’s face tightened.
“I didn’t know Camille would poison her.”
“Victor’s plan requires Isabella dead.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“He needs Lorenzo broken. He needs succession chaos. He needs the trust challenged. You were never going to become Lorenzo’s widow.”
Vivien stared.
“You were going to become the suspect.”
“No.”
“You had access to the medicine cabinet.”
“No.”
“You deleted the footage.”
Her breathing changed.
“You used Sophia’s credentials.”
Vivien shook her head.
“Victor said—”
“He built the evidence against you while you built it against Sophia.”
The realization hit her.
She sat down.
For the first time, she looked human.
Terrified.
“He said Lorenzo would marry me first.”
“He lied.”
“He said Isabella would only get sick.”
“He lied.”
“He said—”
“He lied.”
Vivien covered her mouth.
I felt no sympathy.
Then she whispered, “The records are in a storage unit in Queens.”
Vincent stopped.
“Number?”
“417.”
“Access?”
“Fingerprint and code.”
“Whose print?”
“Mine.”
Vincent called Lorenzo.
Within an hour, a team was on the way.
Lorenzo remained at the hospital.
He refused to leave Isabella.
That mattered more to me than I wanted it to.
At 9:34 p.m., the storage unit was opened.
Inside were three metal boxes.
Financial records.
Photographs.
Phone backups.
Audio recordings.
And a mechanic’s report from Elena Duca’s crash.
The original.
Not the one filed with police.
The brake line had not failed.
It had been cut.
Victor Russo had ordered it.
Camille had recorded him admitting it.
Vincent listened to the audio in silence.
Then sat down.
His face looked twenty years older.
“I knew.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“I didn’t know Victor did it.”
He swallowed.
“But I knew the official report was wrong.”
“Why did you bury it?”
“Because Lorenzo would have started a war.”
“His wife was murdered.”
“I know.”
“You protected Victor.”
“I thought I was protecting Lorenzo.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“I was wrong.”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“You’re not going to tell me I had good intentions?”
“No.”
A bitter smile touched his mouth.
“Good.”
Lorenzo returned before midnight.
Isabella was stable enough to stay overnight without him.
He entered the study.
Vincent stood waiting.
The mechanic’s report lay on the desk.
So did the recording.
Lorenzo listened.
Victor’s voice came through the speaker.
Calm.
Casual.
Talking about Elena’s car.
Talking about timing.
Talking about a payment.
When the recording ended, Lorenzo remained still.
Vincent spoke.
“I buried the secondary report.”
Lorenzo looked at him.
“I know.”
“I thought if you saw it—”
“You thought you could decide what truth I was allowed to know.”
“Yes.”
“About my wife.”
“Yes.”
“About my daughter’s mother.”
“Yes.”
Vincent’s voice broke.
“I’m sorry.”
Lorenzo stared at him.
Then walked out.
No violence.
No threat.
Somehow that was worse.
I found Lorenzo later in the empty ballroom.
He stood at the window.
“You should sleep,” I said.
“So should you.”
“Emma finally did.”
“Isabella called.”
“How is she?”
“Stable.”
“That’s good.”
He nodded.
For a while neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “I spent six years believing Elena died because I sent her on an errand.”
I stepped closer.
“You didn’t cut the brakes.”
“No.”
“You didn’t kill her.”
“No.”
“Then stop carrying Victor’s guilt.”
He turned.
“You make it sound simple.”
“It isn’t.”
I looked at him.
“But complicated doesn’t mean false.”
His eyes met mine.
Something moved there.
Grief.
Exhaustion.
Maybe gratitude.
He reached toward me.
Stopped.
“Can I?”
I knew what he meant.
I nodded.
He hugged me.
Not romantically.
Not yet.
Just a man who had discovered his wife was murdered and needed one moment where he did not have to stand alone.
I put my arms around him.
He trembled once.
Then steadied.
The moment ended when Vincent burst through the doors.
“Lorenzo.”
We separated.
“What?”
“Victor called.”
Lorenzo’s face hardened.
“What does he want?”
Vincent held up the phone.
“He has Camille.”
“Where?”
“He won’t say.”
“Why should I care?”
“Because Camille has the original drive.”
“What drive?”
Vincent looked at me.
“The one containing every transaction tying Victor to Elena’s murder.”
Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed.
“And?”
Vincent swallowed.
“He says he’ll trade it.”
“For what?”
May you like
Vincent looked toward the staircase leading to the guest wing.
“For Emma.”
