Chapter 4 - The Betrayal Inside His House
Sebastian Romano had taught Alessandro how to drive.
How to negotiate.
How to bury grief beneath responsibility.
He had also apparently spent seventeen years helping Dominic Vale protect a secret worth killing for.
Alessandro watched the security footage three times.
Then he turned off Victor's phone.
“No one knows.”
Victor nodded.
“Not until we understand why.”
I stared at both men.
“You're discussing your uncle like we're investigating stolen silverware.”
Alessandro looked at me.
“In my world, Claire, reacting before understanding is how people die.”
“You threw a coffee cup because someone was late.”
A flicker of shame crossed his face.
“You're right.”
The admission disarmed me more effectively than an argument would have.
Rosa refused the hospital.
She accepted ice for her bruised wrist and threatened Victor with a frying pan when he suggested she leave town.
“I've been hiding secrets since before you learned to shave,” she told him.
Victor touched his silver beard.
“That was an unnecessarily personal attack.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
Alessandro looked at me.
For one strange second, the danger disappeared.
Then his phone rang.
Sebastian.
Alessandro answered normally.
“Uncle.”
We listened.
“Dinner tomorrow?” Alessandro said. “Of course.”
He disconnected.
“He knows something,” I said.
“Yes.”
“What will you do?”
“Have dinner.”
“That’s it?”
“No.”
His gaze settled on me.
“You're coming.”
I nearly laughed.
“Absolutely not.”
“He knows Vale's men are interested in you. If I hide you now, he'll know we're suspicious.”
“So your plan is to parade me in front of a traitor?”
“My plan is to make him underestimate you.”
“I serve meatloaf for a living.”
“You made six armed men uncomfortable over three dollars.”
Victor coughed.
“She's qualified.”
I glared at him.
The next evening, I entered Alessandro Romano's mansion wearing a black dress Rosa had forced me to borrow from her daughter.
The estate sat behind iron gates north of the city.
Everything was stone, glass, security cameras, and expensive silence.
Alessandro met me in the foyer.
He wore a black suit.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You're staring.”
“You look beautiful.”
That irritated me because I liked hearing it.
“Don't.”
“Don't what?”
“Become charming. It complicates things.”
His eyes warmed.
“I'll try to remain unpleasant.”
Sebastian Romano arrived ten minutes later.
Sixty-three.
Silver hair.
Perfect suit.
Warm smile.
He embraced Alessandro.
Then he saw me.
Recognition flashed across his face.
Only for half a second.
But I saw it.
“So,” Sebastian said, “this is Claire Bennett.”
He knew my surname.
Alessandro had supposedly told him nothing.
I smiled.
“Have we met?”
“No.”
Too fast.
Dinner became a chess match.
Sebastian asked innocent questions.
Where had I grown up?
How long had I worked at Rosie’s?
Was my mother well?
Each question sounded polite.
Each one felt like a knife checking for soft places.
Then I made a mistake deliberately.
“My mother found some of my father's old papers.”
Sebastian's fork stopped.
Alessandro didn't move.
“What papers?”
“I don't know. Bank things, I think.”
“Interesting.”
“Not really.”
I drank water.
“She threw them away.”
Sebastian smiled again.
But sweat had appeared near his temple.
At 10:13, he left.
Victor followed him electronically.
Alessandro and I remained in the library.
“You enjoyed that,” he said.
“Terrifying rich men?”
“Yes.”
“A little.”
He laughed.
Then the expression faded.
“Why aren't you afraid of me?”
“I am.”
That surprised him.
“I just don't think fear gives you ownership of me.”
He looked away.
For the first time, Alessandro Romano seemed tired rather than dangerous.
“My father used to say something similar.”
“What?”
“That respect obtained through fear expires the moment people stop being afraid.”
“Smart man.”
“I spent seventeen years becoming the opposite of him.”
I studied him.
“Why?”
“Because he died.”
The simplicity of the answer hurt.
Before I could respond, Victor entered.
“Sebastian went to Vale.”
Alessandro stood.
Victor placed photographs on the table.
Sebastian entering Dominic Vale's private club.
Then another photograph.
A man leaving through a side entrance.
Older.
Gray-haired.
Thin.
My breath disappeared.
I knew those eyes.
I had seen them every morning in my own mirror.
Victor looked at me.
“We identified him.”
I couldn't touch the photograph.
“Who?”
But I already knew.
Victor answered anyway.
“Daniel Bennett.”
My father.
May you like
Alive.
And meeting the men who had supposedly tried to kill him.
