Chapter 5 - The Brother Who Ordered My Death
For several seconds, I thought Detective Reed had misspoken.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“She died eleven years ago.”
“I know.”
“Then Rafael is delirious.”
“Possibly.”
My father did not move.
That bothered me.
“Dad.”
Nothing.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?”
Anthony stared at the floor.
Caleb looked at him too.
Then something strange happened.
My father whispered, “Maria.”
My mother’s name.
“What?” I asked.
He raised his head.
“There are things I never told you.”
Of course there were.
Families like ours were built from things fathers never told sons.
I was beginning to hate the sentence before he even finished.
“What things?”
My father looked at Elena.
“Not in front of strangers.”
“She stays.”
“Dante.”
“She stays.”
He studied me.
Then nodded.
“Your mother knew Rafael.”
“How?”
“She hired him.”
Caleb frowned.
“For what?”
“Protection.”
“From whom?”
My father’s eyes came to me.
“Me.”
The room went silent.
I almost laughed.
“That makes no sense.”
“It will.”
“Then make it.”
Anthony rubbed both hands over his face.
The gesture looked ordinary.
My father was never ordinary.
It frightened me.
“When you were twenty-three, I had a heart attack.”
I remembered.
Three weeks in hospital.
Four months recovering.
I had taken over more responsibilities after that.
“Your mother became convinced I would die young.”
“She wasn’t wrong to worry.”
“No. But she became afraid of what would happen to you boys if I died.”
My eyes moved to Caleb.
He looked equally confused.
“She created a contingency plan,” Anthony continued.
“What kind?”
“A private trust.”
“For us?”
“For the family holdings.”
I stared.
“You never told me.”
“I didn’t know until after her death.”
“What did it do?”
“Protected the legitimate businesses if the organization collapsed.”
That was very much like my mother.
Maria Moretti had been the only person in our house who could discuss estate planning over breakfast while my father discussed enemies.
“What does that have to do with Rafael?”
“She hired him as an independent security adviser.”
“Why secretly?”
“Because she didn’t trust some of my people.”
“Did she trust Rafael?”
“At first.”
My father looked toward the window.
“Then she discovered he was stealing information.”
“For whom?”
“We never knew.”
“And you fired him?”
“Your mother did.”
“But Rafael worked for us years later.”
Anthony nodded.
“I rehired him without knowing their history.”
“That sounds convenient.”
His face tightened.
“I found out after she died.”
“What else?”
He reached inside his coat.
Marco immediately moved.
My father stopped.
“Easy.”
He removed a folded document.
Old.
Creased.
He handed it to me.
Elena helped me sit higher.
I unfolded the paper.
It was a photocopy of my mother’s handwriting.
I recognized it immediately.
At the top:
IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO DANTE.
My throat tightened.
I read.
Dante is not to assume full authority until the trust records are audited independently. Caleb must not receive controlling access under any circumstance until—
The next portion had been torn away.
I looked up.
“Until what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is the rest?”
“Missing.”
“Since when?”
“Since her death.”
Caleb stood.
“This is absurd.”
My father turned.
“You’ve seen this.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
Caleb stared.
“I found you in my study.”
“That proves nothing.”
“You were holding this page.”
“You accused me then and apologized.”
“I apologized because I wanted peace.”
Caleb laughed.
“Peace? You’ve never wanted peace. You wanted Dante.”
There it was.
The wound.
Finally spoken aloud.
“You wanted him to lead,” Caleb continued. “You wanted him at every meeting. Every decision. Every table.”
My father’s expression hardened.
“He was older.”
“By two years.”
“He was prepared.”
“You prepared him.”
“I tried to prepare both of you.”
“No.”
Caleb stepped closer.
“You taught me how to follow him.”
I watched him.
For the first time, I saw something beyond guilt.
Years of rage.
Maybe real.
Maybe convenient.
“Is that why you tried to kill me?” I asked.
His eyes snapped toward me.
“I didn’t.”
“Then explain the watch.”
“Stolen.”
“The bracelet.”
“Planted.”
“The messages.”
“Fake.”
“The fingerprint mold.”
“I don’t know.”
Every answer moved responsibility somewhere else.
“Caleb.”
“What?”
“You can hate me.”
He stared.
“You can hate Dad.”
Nothing.
“You can hate the life we were born into.”
His jaw clenched.
“But Vincent died.”
That hit him.
Good.
“Vincent drove us to school when we were kids.”
“Stop.”
“He taught you to parallel park.”
“Dante.”
“He gave you your first beer behind Dad’s garage.”
“I said stop.”
“And you let men shoot through his windshield.”
“I didn’t order that!”
The room froze.
He realized what he had said.
I stared at him.
“You didn’t order that.”
His mouth closed.
I continued.
“So you ordered something else.”
Caleb stepped backward.
Detective Reed moved toward him.
“Caleb Moretti, I need you to place your hands where I can see them.”
He laughed.
“You have nothing.”
“I have enough to detain you.”
“No.”
He looked at my father.
“Tell her.”
Anthony did nothing.
“Dad.”
Still nothing.
Caleb looked at me.
There was something almost childlike in his face then.
Not innocence.
Disbelief that the rules had stopped protecting him.
“You’re choosing them?”
My father answered quietly.
“I am choosing the truth.”
Caleb’s eyes changed.
Cold.
He lifted his hands.
Detective Reed approached.
Then Elena said, “Wait.”
Everyone looked at her.
She was staring at the old paper from my mother.
“What?”
“There’s an impression.”
I looked down.
“Where?”
“The missing part.”
She took the page carefully.
“Whoever wrote on the sheet above this pressed hard.”
Reed moved closer.
“Can you read it?”
“Not directly.”
Elena tilted the page toward the window.
Indented marks appeared.
Faint.
Lines.
Letters.
My father leaned closer.
Elena reached for a pencil, then stopped.
“Graphite could damage it.”
Reed nodded.
“We can process it.”
“But I can see part of a name.”
Caleb went motionless.
“What name?” I asked.
Elena squinted.
“C…”
She changed the angle.
“A…”
Caleb suddenly moved.
Not toward the door.
Toward the paper.
Marco grabbed him.
The movement tore something open in my side.
Pain exploded.
The monitor screamed.
Elena rushed toward me.
“Dante!”
I felt warmth beneath the bandage.
Blood.
My father shouted for the doctor.
Caleb fought Marco.
Detective Reed called for backup.
The room blurred.
Elena pressed both hands against my side.
“Stay with me.”
There it was.
The voice from darkness.
The same words.
I looked at her.
She leaned close.
“Stay with me, Dante.”
I fought to focus.
Behind her, the old page had fallen to the floor.
Light from the window crossed the indentation.
For one perfect second, I could read my mother’s missing sentence.
Caleb must not receive controlling access under any circumstance until the second son’s paternity is confirmed.
I looked at my father.
He had seen it too.
Then Caleb saw his face.
“What?” he demanded.
Nobody answered.
“What does it say?”
My father slowly turned toward him.
May you like
And whispered:
“You may not be my son.”
