Chapter 7 - The Voice That Wasn't HisDominic listened to the recording three times.
Each time, the same cold voice filled Detective Brooks's office.
"She knows too much. Make sure Clara never reaches the police."
His voice.
His cadence.
Even the slight rasp he developed when tired.
Then another man asked, "What about the pregnancy?"
The first voice answered:
"Neither of them can survive."
Dominic felt physically sick.
"That's not me."
Brooks paused the recording.
"We're having it examined."
"It's fabricated."
"Possibly."
"I would never order my wife's murder."
Brooks watched him.
"You understand why we can't simply take your word for that."
He did.
For the first time, he understood what Clara had faced.
Evidence bearing his name.
Orders carrying his authorization.
A recording in his voice.
A world where everyone assumed Dominic Valente was capable of almost anything.
Including murder.
"Who gave Clara this recording?" he asked.
"We don't know."
"Was she investigating it?"
"Apparently."
Brooks opened another document.
"Your wife hired an independent forensic accountant six weeks ago. His name was Samuel Price."
"Where is he?"
"Dead."
Dominic stared.
"His body was found in a parking garage yesterday morning. Initially classified as a robbery."
"And now?"
"We're reopening the case."
Dominic stood.
"Victor is eliminating everyone connected to this."
"Then help us prove it."
He looked at her.
"What do you want?"
"Access to your internal financial systems. Your security logs. Your brother's communications. Everything."
Dominic hesitated.
Those records contained years of criminal activity.
Giving them to the police could destroy his organization.
Possibly send him to prison.
Brooks understood.
"Your wife risked her life to bring us this evidence," she said. "What are you willing to risk?"
Dominic looked through the office window at Chicago's dark skyline.
He had built an empire to ensure no one could take anything from him.
And now the only thing he wanted was beyond his control.
"Everything," he said.
He signed the cooperation agreement before dawn.
By eight in the morning, federal investigators had begun reviewing the Valente companies.
Dominic gave them access codes, corporate records, and the names of financial officers.
He also gave them information about Victor's private holdings.
It was the first time he had deliberately dismantled something his father had built.
And he felt strangely relieved.
At 10:15 a.m., Marco called.
"We found Victor."
"Where?"
"An apartment in River North."
"Is he alone?"
"No."
"Who's with him?"
Marco hesitated.
"Serena."
Dominic closed his eyes.
Of course.
"Don't approach. Give the location to Detective Brooks."
"Boss, we could handle this ourselves."
"No."
A silence.
"Dominic—"
"No more bodies, Marco. No more disappearing people. No more fixing everything with violence."
Marco exhaled.
"Understood."
Dominic ended the call.
He returned to the hospital.
Clara had survived the second surgery.
Her condition remained critical, but her blood pressure had stabilized.
Dr. Hart allowed him five minutes at her bedside.
Dominic entered quietly.
He sat beside her.
For a long time, he said nothing.
Then he took the letter from his pocket.
"I read it," he whispered.
Her eyes remained closed.
"You were right."
He swallowed.
"About all of it."
The ventilator hummed.
"I don't know if you can hear me. But I'm not going to ask you to forgive me."
His voice broke.
"I just want you to live."
He placed the letter beside her.
"And if you wake up and still want to leave, I'll help you."
A faint movement caught his attention.
Clara's fingers.
He leaned forward.
"Clara?"
Her hand moved again.
Barely.
He pressed the nurse-call button.
A nurse entered.
"Her fingers moved."
The nurse checked the monitors.
"Sometimes patients make reflex movements while sedated."
Dominic nodded.
But then Clara's eyelids fluttered.
Her breathing changed.
The nurse called for Dr. Hart.
Dominic stood back.
Clara's eyes opened a fraction.
She looked toward him.
For one beautiful, terrible second, he thought she recognized him.
Then her heart rate accelerated.
Her fingers gripped the blanket.
She tried to pull away.
Dominic froze.
"Clara, it's me."
Her eyes widened with unmistakable fear.
The nurse stepped between them.
"Mr. Valente, please move back."
Clara struggled to speak around the breathing tube.
Her lips formed a word.
Again.
Again.
Dominic watched in horror.
She was not saying his name.
May you like
She was saying:
"Marco."
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