Chapter 4 - The Brother Behind the Joke
The woman was not Camille’s mother.
That became obvious the moment Camille entered the abandoned foundation office.
She was sixty.
Maybe older.
Thin.
Gray-haired.
Terrified.
But alive.
Lucian’s men had already freed her from the chair.
A blanket covered her shoulders.
She kept repeating the same sentence.
“I didn’t know they would find me.”
Camille crouched several feet away.
Not too close.
Fear required space.
“What’s your name?”
The woman looked at her.
“Margaret Baines.”
Camille glanced toward Lucian.
M.B.
Lucian understood immediately.
The initials on the fork.
Margaret Baines.
Camille returned her attention to the woman.
“Did you know Marianne Brooks?”
Margaret began crying.
“Yes.”
Camille’s chest tightened.
“How?”
“We worked together.”
Lucian moved closer.
Margaret recoiled.
Camille lifted a hand.
“Stay there.”
Lucian stopped.
He did not argue.
Progress.
Camille looked at Margaret.
“What happened eight years ago?”
Margaret stared at Lucian.
“I can’t tell you with him here.”
Matteo, standing near the doorway, looked surprised.
Lucian’s jaw tightened.
Camille said, “Then he’ll leave.”
Lucian stared at her.
Camille waited.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Lucian walked out.
Matteo followed voluntarily.
Camille almost smiled.
Margaret watched the doorway.
“People say he became worse than his father.”
“People say many things.”
“You trust him?”
Camille thought about it.
“No.”
Margaret blinked.
“But I trust what he has done in front of me.”
“What does that mean?”
“He listens when someone makes him.”
Margaret gave a weak laugh.
“You sound like Elena.”
“His mother?”
“Yes.”
Camille sat on the floor.
“Tell me.”
Margaret took a shaky breath.
“Your mother and Elena were trying to expose a network.”
“What kind?”
“Men using charities, shelters, and political donations to move money and control people who had nowhere else to go.”
Camille felt sick.
“Lucian’s father?”
“He was involved.”
“Vincent Carlucci?”
Margaret looked away.
That was enough.
Camille whispered, “Yes.”
Margaret nodded.
“He was worse.”
“Why?”
“Because he smiled.”
Camille understood.
Some monsters announced themselves.
Others shook hands.
“What happened to Elena?”
“She found proof.”
“And?”
“She planned to give it to a federal investigator.”
Camille leaned forward.
“Did she?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Margaret’s voice cracked.
“Because Lucian found out.”
Camille froze.
“What?”
“He was young. Loyal. He thought his father could be reasoned with.”
Outside the room, something moved.
Camille suspected Lucian was listening.
Margaret continued.
“He told his father Elena was going to the authorities.”
Camille closed her eyes.
That explained Lucian’s guilt.
“He didn’t know what his father would do.”
“No.”
“Elena died.”
“Yes.”
“And my mother?”
“Marianne had copies.”
Camille’s throat tightened.
“She tried to disappear.”
“She tried.”
Tears filled Margaret’s eyes.
“She gave some evidence to me. Some to another person. She said splitting it was safer.”
“Who was the other person?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how do we find the evidence?”
Margaret stared at Camille.
“She hid her piece somewhere you would recognize.”
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Margaret shook her head.
“She wouldn’t tell me.”
Camille stood.
Frustration surged through her.
“Someone dragged you here because of this. They know we’re looking.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I never saw his face.”
“A voice?”
“No.”
“Anything?”
Margaret hesitated.
“He wore a ring.”
Camille looked at her.
“What kind?”
“Gold. Black stone. A bird engraved on it.”
The office door opened.
Matteo stood there.
Pale.
Lucian appeared behind him.
“What?”
Matteo stared at Margaret.
“My uncle wears that ring.”
Lucian’s face became stone.
Camille stood.
“You said Vincent funded the foundation.”
Matteo nodded.
Lucian looked furious.
“He has worn that ring since I was a child.”
Margaret began shaking.
Lucian immediately stepped backward.
Camille noticed.
He was learning how his presence affected frightened people.
That mattered.
“Where is Vincent now?” Camille asked.
Lucian checked his phone.
“At his club.”
Matteo said, “You can’t just go accuse him.”
Lucian looked at him.
“I wasn’t planning to accuse him.”
Camille stepped between them.
“No.”
Lucian stared.
“No what?”
“No intimidation. No threats. No disappearing into some private room.”
Matteo gave Camille an incredulous look.
“You’re telling a Moretti boss not to intimidate someone?”
“Yes.”
Lucian said, “Camille.”
“If Vincent is responsible, the goal is proof.”
“I know.”
“No, your goal right now is revenge.”
Lucian’s eyes flashed.
“You don’t know what my goal is.”
“I know what guilt looks like when it turns into anger.”
The words struck him.
Hard.
Matteo looked away.
Lucian stepped closer.
“My mother died because I trusted the wrong man.”
“You were twenty-six.”
“I knew my father.”
“You wanted to believe he could change.”
“That was weakness.”
“No.”
Camille’s voice softened.
“That was being someone’s son.”
Lucian went still.
Nobody spoke.
Then Matteo whispered, “She’s right.”
Lucian turned toward him.
Matteo held his gaze.
“For eight years you’ve acted like Mom died because you weren’t ruthless enough.”
Lucian said nothing.
“But she didn’t raise us to be ruthless.”
“Matteo.”
“She raised us to be better than him.”
Lucian’s face tightened.
Matteo continued.
“And every time you scare everyone into silence, you become more like Dad.”
The sentence landed worse than a slap.
Lucian walked away.
Camille started to follow.
Matteo caught her arm.
“Give him a minute.”
She looked at him.
“You’ve wanted to say that for years.”
Matteo laughed bitterly.
“I’ve wanted to say much worse.”
Camille studied him.
For the first time, Matteo did not look wild.
He looked tired.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because he already hates himself enough.”
That was the truth beneath every joke.
Matteo was not careless.
He was protecting Lucian too.
Badly.
Loudly.
But protecting him.
Camille sat beside him.
“You start fights when someone insults your family.”
“Yes.”
“You joke whenever things become serious.”
“Yes.”
“You embarrass Lucian publicly.”
Matteo smiled.
“One of my hobbies.”
“Why?”
The smile faded.
“Because everyone obeys him.”
Camille waited.
“And if nobody reminds him he’s human, I’m afraid he’ll forget.”
Camille looked toward the hallway where Lucian had disappeared.
Maybe she really had been hired for the wrong brother.
But not in the way she first thought.
Matteo needed discipline.
Lucian needed permission to become human again.
And neither knew how to ask for it.
That night, Camille returned home after midnight.
Lucian insisted on driving her.
This time she accepted without arguing.
He parked outside her apartment building.
Neither moved.
Finally Camille said, “Your brother loves you.”
Lucian stared ahead.
“He has a strange way of showing it.”
“So do you.”
He looked at her.
Camille smiled faintly.
“You control him because you’re afraid he’ll die.”
Lucian’s expression tightened.
“And he provokes you because he’s afraid you’ll stop living.”
Lucian looked away.
For a long time, only the sound of traffic filled the car.
Then he said, “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”
Camille considered the question.
“I was.”
That surprised him.
“You didn’t show it.”
“I’m a professional.”
Lucian almost smiled.
Camille continued.
“But fear is information, not obedience.”
He looked at her.
She reached for the door.
“Good night, Lucian.”
“Camille.”
She paused.
“Thank you.”
No command.
No qualification.
No transaction.
Just thanks.
Camille smiled.
“You’re welcome.”
She went upstairs.
Her apartment door looked normal.
The hallway was quiet.
She unlocked it.
Inside, nothing seemed disturbed.
Then she noticed the kitchen light.
She always turned it off.
Camille stopped.
On her table sat a small wooden box she had not seen since she was nineteen.
Her mother’s jewelry box.
Camille had buried it with her.
She moved closer.
The lid was open.
Inside lay a gold ring with a black stone.
A bird was engraved on its face.
And beneath it was a note.
Camille unfolded it.
May you like
Three words.
ASK MATTEO WHY.
