Chapter 8 - The Truth Dominic Never Told Her
Dominic reached the door first.
The room beyond was empty.
A window stood open.
On the carpet lay another white rose.
Victoria stared at it.
“This isn't me.”
Clara believed her.
Dominic ordered the estate sealed.
Nobody left.
Nobody entered.
Isabella examined the message.
“You didn't tell her everything,” Clara said.
Isabella looked away.
“Tell me now.”
“Charles wanted your parents silenced.”
“But?”
“He didn't give the final order.”
Clara's throat tightened.
“Who did?”
Isabella looked at Dominic.
Clara followed her gaze.
“No.”
Dominic became still.
“Mother.”
Isabella whispered, “Your father.”
Dominic’s father, Salvatore Russo.
Dead six years.
Clara stepped backward.
Dominic looked stunned.
“He ordered their deaths?”
“He believed they were betraying the family.”
Clara's eyes filled.
“And after he discovered they weren't?”
“He covered it up.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
Clara understood the terrible truth.
The family that raised her after her parents died had done so because its patriarch had killed them.
“Did you know?” she asked Dominic.
“No.”
She believed him immediately.
That somehow made it worse.
Dominic had inherited guilt he never created.
And Clara had inherited gratitude she never owed.
She walked away.
He did not follow.
Hours later, she found the old staff records.
Her parents' names remained there.
Daniel Higgins.
Margaret Higgins.
Under compensation after death was a figure large enough to fund Clara's entire childhood.
Blood money.
She cried quietly.
Isabella found her.
“I loved your mother.”
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
“Cowardice.”
Clara looked up.
At least Isabella did not call it protection.
“I spent fifteen years thinking the Russos saved me.”
“Dominic did.”
“He was seventeen.”
“He fought his father to keep you here.”
Clara stared.
“What?”
“Salvatore wanted you sent away after the funeral. Dominic refused.”
“Why?”
“He found you sitting outside the security office waiting for your father to come back.”
A memory surfaced.
A teenage boy.
Dark hair.
Angry eyes.
He had given eleven-year-old Clara his coat.
She had forgotten.
“He told Salvatore that if the family had failed your parents, the family would raise their daughter.”
Clara wiped her face.
Dominic had protected her before either of them understood what protection cost.
Later, she found him alone in the study.
He was holding his father's photograph.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You didn't do it.”
“My name did.”
“No. Your father did.”
Dominic looked at her.
“I spent my life becoming him.”
“No.”
“You don't know everything I've done.”
“I know enough.”
“Then you should leave.”
Clara stared.
This was different from Blackwood.
He was not rejecting her because he feared weakness.
He genuinely believed she deserved freedom from him.
“Is that what you want?”
“No.”
“Then stop choosing for me.”
Dominic looked down.
Clara approached.
“You hurt me.”
“I know.”
“I don't forgive you yet.”
“I know.”
“But this child deserves a father who is better than the men before him.”
Dominic's eyes lifted.
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“What do you deserve?”
Clara's throat tightened.
“Someone who tells me the truth even when it scares him.”
Dominic nodded.
“Then here's the truth.”
He stepped closer.
“I have loved you longer than Blackwood Lodge.”
Clara stopped breathing.
“How long?”
“I don't know.”
“That's evasive.”
“The first time you corrected my accounting numbers in front of twelve executives.”
“That was three years ago.”
“I know.”
Despite everything, she laughed.
Dominic almost smiled.
Then alarms sounded.
Security rushed through the hallway.
Liam entered.
“Victoria is gone.”
Dominic turned.
“What?”
“Her room is empty.”
A security guard handed him a phone.
On the screen was footage from the east gate.
Victoria sat inside a black sedan.
Beside her was Charles Mercer.
She had left willingly.
Then Clara’s phone rang.
Victoria.
Clara answered.
Victoria was crying.
“Clara, don't believe the video.”
A man shouted in the background.
Then Victoria whispered:
May you like
“He has Elaine.”
The call ended.
