Chapter 13 - CLARA’S MOTHER LIED FOR TWENTY-SIX YEARSClara did not believe it.
Not at first.
Her mother, Helen Jenkins, had spent Clara’s entire childhood clipping coupons, working bookkeeping jobs, and complaining that supermarket blueberries were highway robbery.
She was not the daughter of a mafia family.
She could not be.
Except when Clara called her, Helen became silent.
That silence answered everything.
“Mom?”
“Where did you hear that name?”
Clara’s knees weakened.
Dominic caught her elbow.
She let him.
“Matteo Vescari.”
Helen began crying.
Clara closed her eyes.
“Oh my God.”
“Baby—”
“No.”
“Clara.”
“You told me Grandpa Vescari died before I was born.”
“I thought he had.”
“You told me his name was Michael.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“By lying to me?”
“For twenty-six years, yes.”
Clara laughed once.
It sounded broken.
“Come to Chicago.”
Helen hesitated.
Dominic leaned toward the phone.
“Mrs. Jenkins, we’ll send federal protection.”
Helen heard him.
“Dominic?”
“Yes.”
“Do not let Matteo near Clara.”
Clara stared.
“Why?”
Her mother whispered:
“Because he will believe she belongs to him.”
Six hours later, Helen sat inside Dominic and Clara’s home.
Sofia watched Emilia upstairs.
Victor guarded the entrance.
Helen held a cup of tea she never drank.
Then she told the truth.
Her birth name was Helena Vescari.
She had been fourteen when the bomb destroyed her family home.
Thomas Jenkins had been a junior accountant working for Salvatore Russo.
He found Helena crawling through the garden with burns along her back.
Instead of returning her to the criminal world, Thomas hid her.
Years later they fell in love.
“He saved me before he loved me,” Helen said. “That mattered.”
Clara’s anger softened but did not disappear.
“And Matteo?”
“My father was already dangerous before the bombing. Afterward…”
Helen shook her head.
“He became obsessed.”
“With revenge?”
“With bloodlines.”
Dominic frowned.
Helen continued.
“My father believed family was ownership. Children existed to continue the name.”
Clara looked toward the ceiling.
Emilia slept upstairs.
“So he wants my daughter because…”
“She is his great-granddaughter.”
Dominic’s expression turned lethal.
Clara touched his wrist.
“Stay here.”
“I’m sitting.”
“Mentally.”
His jaw flexed.
Helen looked at Dominic.
“You remind me of Salvatore.”
That hurt him.
Clara saw it.
Then Helen added:
“But not as much as you used to.”
Dominic looked surprised.
“I followed the news,” Helen said. “Clara told me everything.”
“Everything?”
Clara smiled innocently.
“Almost.”
Helen continued.
“Salvatore believed protecting family meant controlling them. Matteo believed the same thing. Men like that call cages castles.”
Dominic lowered his gaze.
“I know.”
Helen studied him.
“Yes. I think you do.”
Victor entered.
“We found Matteo.”
Everyone stood.
“Where?”
“He owns a shipping company under another name.”
Dominic frowned.
“What name?”
Victor placed documents on the table.
Marco Vane.
Clara recognized it.
“Vane Logistics?”
Victor nodded.
Clara’s stomach dropped.
Vane Logistics delivered meat, wine, and produce to Giovanni’s.
For eight years.
Someone from Matteo’s company had access to the restaurant every week.
Dominic immediately called Paulie.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Clara grabbed her coat.
“Giovanni’s.”
They arrived eleven minutes later.
The front door was unlocked.
Tables remained set.
Food sat unfinished.
No customers.
No staff.
Dominic drew the handgun he legally carried as head of his security company.
Clara hated guns.
She hated needing one nearby even more.
“Paulie?”
No answer.
They entered the kitchen.
A chair had been placed in the center.
Paulie sat tied to it.
Alive.
Terrified.
Clara rushed forward.
“Paulie!”
“I’m okay.”
Dominic cut the ropes.
“Where is everyone?”
“Sent home.”
“By whom?”
Paulie looked toward the dining room.
“He said he owned the restaurant before any of us were born.”
A slow clap came from behind them.
Dominic turned.
An elderly man stepped from the shadows.
Tall.
Silver-haired.
Elegant.
His eyes landed on Helen.
Everything changed.
“Helena.”
Helen went pale.
Matteo Vescari smiled.
“My little girl.”
Helen backed away.
“I am not your little girl.”
His smile faded.
Then he saw Clara.
His eyes filled with tears.
Clara hated that more than anger.
“You look like my wife.”
“Don’t.”
“And Emilia?”
Dominic stepped between them.
Matteo smiled.
“Dominic Russo.”
“Stay away from my daughter.”
“Our daughter.”
Dominic moved.
Clara caught his arm.
Matteo noticed.
He laughed softly.
“So the stories are true. She controls you.”
Clara stepped beside Dominic.
“No.”
Matteo looked at her.
“He controls himself.”
Dominic’s eyes shifted toward her.
Matteo’s smile vanished.
Clara continued.
“That’s the difference between him and you.”
For the first time, Matteo looked angry.
Then he placed a folder on the table.
“I came to offer peace.”
Dominic did not touch it.
“What peace?”
Matteo looked at Clara.
“Bring Emilia to me once a month.”
Clara stared.
Matteo smiled.
“Let me know my great-granddaughter.”
“And if we say no?”
“You already know.”
He glanced toward Paulie.
Then walked away.
Dominic waited until the door closed.
Clara opened the folder.
Inside were photographs.
Emilia at daycare.
Emilia with Rosa.
Emilia sleeping against Sofia’s shoulder.
Emilia playing beside Lake Michigan.
Months of photographs.
At the bottom was one final picture.
Clara pregnant.
Three years earlier.
May you like
Taken before anyone except Dominic knew.
Matteo had been watching them since before Emilia was born.
Related Stories
