Chapter 12 - THE MAN WHO SHOULD HAVE DIEDDominic wanted Clara and Emilia moved immediately.
Clara agreed.
That frightened him.
Usually she argued.
Usually she demanded details, challenged his assumptions, and accused his security plans of being “rich-man kidnapping with better furniture.”
This time she packed Emilia’s rabbit herself.
Within forty minutes, Rosa took Emilia to Sofia’s secure apartment under Victor’s protection.
Clara remained.
Dominic hated that part.
“You should go with her.”
“No.”
“Clara.”
“She is protected. Now we figure out who photographed our daughter.”
“I can figure that out.”
“We.”
Dominic stared at her.
Clara folded her arms.
“We learned this word several years ago.”
His jaw tightened.
Then relaxed.
“We.”
“Good.”
The security footage revealed nothing.
Whoever planted the envelope knew the camera angles.
Worse, the photograph of Emilia had been taken from inside Giovanni’s.
Someone had been within thirty feet of them.
Paulie gathered the staff.
Dominic refused to interrogate anyone.
That surprised Victor.
Clara noticed.
“You want to.”
“Yes.”
“But?”
Dominic looked through the office window at frightened employees.
“They shouldn’t be terrified because somebody else threatened my family.”
Clara squeezed his hand.
At midnight, Victor found the first lead.
The envelope’s wax contained pollen from a rare orchid grown commercially by only two nurseries near Chicago.
One supplied hotels.
The other supplied private greenhouses.
Including one property formerly owned by the Vescari family.
Dominic stared at the address.
Lake Forest.
The estate had supposedly been abandoned since the bombing.
“Not anymore,” Victor said.
They arrived shortly before dawn.
Federal agents had been notified.
Dominic had no interest in returning to the days when he handled threats privately.
Clara noticed that too.
The gates stood open.
Inside, the Vescari mansion looked preserved rather than abandoned.
Someone had maintained the gardens.
Lights glowed behind several windows.
The front door opened before they knocked.
An elderly man stood there.
White hair.
Straight posture.
Italian accent.
“Dominic Russo.”
Dominic recognized him.
“Father Benedetto?”
The priest smiled sadly.
“You’ve grown old.”
Clara looked at Dominic.
“Rude.”
The priest almost laughed.
Then he saw Clara.
His expression changed.
“Thomas’s daughter.”
Clara felt cold.
“You knew my father?”
“I baptized you.”
Silence.
Clara stared.
“My parents weren’t Catholic.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because Thomas believed someone might need to identify you someday.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“Where is Matteo?”
Father Benedetto looked toward the staircase.
“Not here.”
“But alive?”
“Yes.”
The word landed like a gunshot.
Dominic’s expression hardened.
“Why?”
“Because your father spared him.”
Clara frowned.
“You said his family died in a bombing.”
Father Benedetto nodded.
“They did.”
“Who planted it?”
The priest looked at Dominic.
“Salvatore.”
Dominic went still.
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“Your father believed Matteo had betrayed him.”
Dominic’s voice became dangerously quiet.
“My father murdered children?”
“Dominic.”
“How many?”
The priest lowered his gaze.
“Matteo’s wife. His brother. Two cousins.”
“And his children?”
Father Benedetto hesitated.
That hesitation was worse.
“One daughter survived.”
Dominic turned away.
Clara knew that look.
Shame for sins he had not committed.
She touched his arm.
“You didn’t do it.”
“My name did.”
“Your father did.”
Dominic looked at her.
“Those are different things.”
He breathed.
Then nodded.
Father Benedetto continued.
“Thomas Jenkins discovered what Salvatore had done.”
Clara stared.
“My father knew?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he expose him?”
“He intended to.”
The priest retrieved a wooden box.
Inside were letters.
Thomas’s handwriting.
Clara recognized it instantly.
One letter contained a sentence underlined twice.
SALVATORE BELIEVES MATTEO BETRAYED HIM. HE IS WRONG.
Another:
IF MATTEO LEARNS THE TRUTH, HE WILL COME FOR EVERY RUSSO LEFT ALIVE.
Clara looked at Dominic.
Then at the priest.
“Who actually betrayed Salvatore?”
Father Benedetto answered.
“Arthur Pendleton.”
Clara laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
But the priest shook his head.
“Arthur was only the messenger.”
“Then who?”
Before he could answer, glass exploded.
Dominic pulled Clara down.
A bullet tore through the wall.
Victor shouted from outside.
Another shot.
Then silence.
Dominic covered Clara with his body.
She shoved him.
“Stop doing that!”
“Someone is shooting at us!”
“And you have a healing history with bullets!”
Father Benedetto collapsed.
Blood spread across his shirt.
Clara crawled toward him.
“Call an ambulance!”
Dominic pressed his hands against the wound.
The priest struggled to breathe.
“Listen.”
“Save your strength.”
“Dominic.”
The priest grabbed his sleeve.
“Matteo doesn’t want money.”
“What does he want?”
Father Benedetto looked at Clara.
Then whispered:
“He wants Emilia.”
Clara’s blood turned to ice.
“Why?”
The priest’s eyes fluttered.
“Because the daughter who survived…”
His breathing stopped for one terrible second.
May you like
Then returned.
“…was Clara’s mother.”
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