Chapter 5 - THE MAN WHO RAISED HIMBy midnight, Dominic had fired half his security team.
By two in the morning, he had rehired three of them because Claire pointed out that firing people before determining which ones were compromised was not technically a security strategy.
By three, neither of them was speaking kindly to the other.
“You cannot control this entire situation by threatening everyone,” Claire said.
“It has worked for fifteen years.”
“Clearly not.”
Dominic paced inside his office.
“Marco raised me.”
Claire stopped.
Until then, she had thought of Marco as an employee.
Dominic stared at a photograph on his desk.
A teenage Dominic stood beside a much younger Marco at a fishing dock.
“My father was rarely home,” Dominic said. “Marco taught me to drive. Took me to school. Sat outside my room when I had pneumonia.”
“And now his prints are on letters tormenting your children.”
“Maybe.”
“Dominic.”
“Fingerprints can be planted.”
“So can microphones.”
He looked at her.
“You think I’m protecting him.”
“I think you desperately want another explanation.”
Dominic sat.
For the first time, Claire saw how much betrayal cost a man who trusted almost nobody.
“If Marco is involved,” he said, “then he has been involved since before Isabella died.”
Claire pulled out a chair.
“Tell me about her accident.”
Dominic’s expression closed.
“All of it.”
He resisted.
Then started.
Isabella had been driving from Manhattan to the estate after attending a charity board dinner.
Her driver, Paul Hendricks, lost control on a wet road.
The car crossed into oncoming traffic and struck a delivery truck.
Hendricks died immediately.
Isabella survived.
She spent nineteen days in a private hospital.
“The boys were six,” Dominic said. “They wanted to see her.”
“You refused.”
“She had burns. tubes. surgeries. I thought—”
“You know what I think.”
“Yes.”
“What killed her?”
“Pulmonary embolism.”
“Natural complication?”
“According to the doctors.”
“According to you?”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
“I had no reason to question it.”
“You do now.”
At dawn, Dominic ordered Isabella’s medical records retrieved.
At seven, Claire received a call from a number she did not recognize.
She answered cautiously.
“Hello?”
A man spoke.
“Claire Donovan?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Aaron Pike. I was Michael’s attorney.”
Claire stood.
“Michael didn’t have an attorney.”
“He did before he became Michael.”
Her pulse accelerated.
“How did you get this number?”
“Your husband gave it to me nine years ago with instructions to contact you if certain names resurfaced.”
“What names?”
“Moretti. Bellini. DeLuca.”
Claire looked through the glass doors.
Dominic stood outside speaking to security.
“What do you want?”
“To give you something.”
“Where?”
“Not over the phone.”
Claire nearly refused.
Then Pike said, “Michael knew someone might eventually find him.”
Her hand tightened around the phone.
“He prepared for it.”
An hour later Dominic was furious.
“You are not meeting a stranger.”
“You don’t decide that.”
“You are inside my house because someone may have murdered your husband.”
“Exactly why I’m meeting him.”
“He could be bait.”
“He could also have answers.”
Dominic leaned toward her.
“You have Emma here.”
That stopped her.
He was right for the right reason, which annoyed her more.
“Then you come.”
Pike chose a crowded diner twenty miles away.
Dominic insisted on four vehicles and six guards.
Claire told him subtlety was apparently dead.
He ignored her.
Aaron Pike was seventy, thin, and dressed like a retired professor.
He ordered coffee.
Dominic did not sit.
Pike looked up at him.
“Still standing behind everyone like your father?”
Dominic’s expression hardened.
“You know me?”
“I knew your father.”
“Condolences.”
Pike smiled faintly.
Claire sat.
“Tell me about Michael.”
Pike’s expression softened.
“Your husband was a better man than the people who employed him.”
“Was he involved in crimes?”
“He moved money.”
Claire looked away.
“How much did he tell you?” Pike asked.
“Almost nothing.”
“That was deliberate.”
Pike reached beneath the table.
Three guns immediately appeared beneath jackets around the diner.
Pike sighed.
“I’m an old attorney, Mr. Moretti. If I were planning violence, I’d use litigation.”
He placed a sealed envelope on the table.
Claire opened it.
Inside was a key.
“Safe-deposit box,” Pike said.
“Where?”
“Manhattan.”
“What’s inside?”
“I don’t know.”
Dominic stared.
“You expect us to believe that?”
“I expect nothing from you.”
Pike looked at Claire.
“Michael told me that if anyone from his former life contacted you, I was to give you the key.”
“Why didn’t you contact me after he died?”
“That wasn’t the instruction.”
“Did he think his death might be connected?”
Pike’s eyes became sad.
“Michael thought running bought time, not freedom.”
Claire swallowed.
“Did he ever mention Daniel Reese?”
“No.”
“Victor Moretti?”
“Yes.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“What did he say?”
“That Victor would burn an entire city to avoid losing one dollar.”
Claire looked at Dominic.
“Where is Victor now?”
“Miami.”
Pike laughed.
“No, he isn’t.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re certain?”
“I represented a client who saw Victor six days ago.”
“Where?”
Pike looked directly at him.
“Albany.”
Claire’s blood chilled.
Near where Michael had died.
Near where she and Emma had lived.
Dominic’s phone rang.
He answered.
His expression hardened.
“What?”
A long pause.
Then: “We’re coming.”
He ended the call.
Claire stood.
“What happened?”
“They found Marco.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Dominic looked almost confused.
“He walked into the estate voluntarily.”
When they returned, Marco was sitting in the main drawing room.
No restraints.
Six armed guards surrounded him.
Leo, Nico, Matteo, and Emma were safely upstairs.
Dominic entered first.
Marco looked exhausted.
“You ran.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever is doing this wanted you to find my fingerprints.”
“They were your fingerprints.”
“Yes.”
“On letters to my sons.”
Marco looked toward Claire.
“I touched the paper.”
“When?”
“Almost two years ago.”
Dominic’s face changed.
“Explain.”
Marco reached inside his jacket slowly.
He removed a faded envelope.
“I found the first letter before the boys did.”
Dominic stared.
“You knew?”
“I thought it was cruel nonsense. I destroyed it.”
“You said nothing.”
“I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
Marco’s eyes filled with something Claire had not expected.
Shame.
“Your father.”
The room went silent.
“My father was dead.”
Marco shook his head.
“No.”
Dominic stared.
Marco continued.
“Salvatore Moretti did not die in that hospital six years ago.”
Claire felt cold.
Dominic laughed once.
A terrible sound.
“I identified his body.”
“You identified a burned body wearing his ring.”
Dominic’s face drained.
Marco looked at him.
“Your father disappeared because federal investigators were closing in. I helped him.”
Dominic stepped forward.
“You helped him fake his death?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he threatened my family.”
Dominic grabbed Marco by the collar and slammed him against the chair.
Guards moved but stopped when Claire lifted a hand.
“Dominic.”
He ignored her.
“You let me bury a stranger.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You let my sons mourn a grandfather who was alive.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Where is he?”
Marco shook his head.
“I haven’t known for years.”
Dominic released him with disgust.
Marco coughed.
Claire crouched beside him.
“Who wrote the letters?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you suspected Salvatore.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Marco looked toward Dominic.
“Because Isabella discovered the truth.”
Dominic froze.
“What truth?”
Marco swallowed.
“That Salvatore was alive.”
May you like
Silence.
“And three days later,” Marco whispered, “her car crashed.”
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