Chapter 4 - Victor Had Spent Seventeen Years Hunting the Man Who Killed His Wife—But When He Finally Had Carlo Bellini Helpless in Front of Him, I Learned Which Brother He Had Chosen to BecomeCarlo Bellini had been living under another name in Montreal.
The shooting forced him into motion.
Federal investigators tracked money.
My mother's flash drive gave them accounts.
Antonio cooperated.
Adrien surrendered everything he knew.
Victor did something harder.
Nothing.
At least, nothing illegal.
I knew it nearly killed him.
For seventeen years, he had imagined revenge.
Now he had Carlo's location and federal agents telling him to stay away.
He did.
Mostly.
I saw Victor more often because of Duca Maritime.
Against every instinct, I accepted Caterina's trust.
Not because I wanted the money.
Because refusing it would leave my shares vulnerable during restructuring.
I joined the temporary board.
Then immediately announced I would not become CEO.
Victor looked amused.
“Yoga emergency?”
“I have a life.”
“Most people would abandon it for several hundred million dollars.”
“That's because most people haven't spent six months discovering what money does to this family.”
Fair point.
We hired an independent executive.
Implemented audits.
Sold three questionable subsidiaries.
Created a whistleblower program.
And I kept my studio.
Tuesday mornings, I taught beginners.
Thursday evenings, trauma-informed classes.
Saturday afternoons, I attended board meetings where men with MBAs explained shipping terms until I wanted to throw chairs.
Victor attended as a nonvoting adviser.
He never overruled me.
Sometimes he disagreed.
Strongly.
Once we argued for forty minutes about selling a warehouse.
“You're wrong,” he said.
“Possibly.”
“You don't understand the port.”
“Then explain it without sounding like I'm a disappointing employee.”
His jaw tightened.
Then relaxed.
He started again.
That became our rhythm.
He learned to explain.
I learned that disagreement was not danger.
Adrien stayed away.
For eight months.
He sent one letter.
Not romantic.
An apology.
No request.
I kept it.
I didn't answer.
Mom stayed in Chicago.
Our relationship was harder than anyone expected.
People imagine reunions fix grief.
They don't.
Sometimes Mom would reach for me and I would pull away.
Sometimes I called her at two in the morning because I remembered something from childhood and needed to know whether it had been real.
We went to therapy.
A lot.
Slowly, she became my mother again.
Not the mother I had lost.
A new version.
So was I.
Ten months after the shooting, Carlo Bellini was extradited.
He escaped custody during transport.
Victor heard before I did.
I found him in his office putting on his coat.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“Lie better.”
He stared.
“Carlo called me.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“He has Adrien.”
Everything stopped.
“Where?”
“Old Duca freight terminal.”
“Police?”
“He said he'll kill Adrien if I involve them.”
“And you're planning to go alone.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Lena.”
“No.”
“He's my brother.”
“Exactly.”
Victor's expression became cold.
“This isn't a board meeting.”
“No, it's a hostage situation, which makes you even less qualified.”
“He wants me.”
“Then police can use that.”
“I won't gamble with Adrien.”
“You already gambled with me once.”
That stopped him.
I stepped closer.
“Don't do it again with him.”
His jaw worked.
“Call Ellis.”
He did.
The operation was set.
Victor wore a wire.
Police surrounded the terminal.
I was ordered to remain at the command post.
I obeyed.
Mostly.
Victor entered alone.
Carlo had Adrien tied to a chair.
Blood on his shirt.
Alive.
Carlo wanted Caterina's original evidence.
Victor said federal agents had it.
Carlo laughed.
“Then you came for nothing.”
“I came for my brother.”
“Wrong brother.”
The phrase came through Victor's wire.
My skin prickled.
Carlo continued.
“Caterina always chose the wrong Duca.”
Victor's voice remained calm.
“You don't get to say her name.”
“Why? She screamed yours before the car burned.”
Silence.
Even through the audio feed, I felt Victor change.
Carlo wanted that.
He wanted rage.
He wanted Victor reckless.
Then Adrien spoke.
“Victor.”
Just his name.
Victor breathed.
Carlo laughed.
“Come on. Seventeen years. Don't tell me prison made you soft before you even got there.”
Victor hadn't been charged.
But Carlo was baiting him.
“Kill me.”
Victor said:
“No.”
Carlo fired.
Chaos erupted.
Police entered.
Adrien dropped sideways with the chair.
Victor tackled Carlo.
The gun slid across concrete.
Victor reached it first.
Carlo lay beneath him.
Helpless.
Seventeen years.
His wife.
His unborn child.
His brother bleeding nearby.
Victor raised the gun.
I stopped breathing.
Then Adrien said:
“Vic.”
Victor looked at him.
Police shouted.
Carlo smiled.
“Do it.”
Victor lowered the weapon.
Placed it on the floor.
Raised his hands.
Police took Carlo.
Adrien had been shot in the shoulder.
He survived.
At the hospital, I sat beside Adrien.
Victor stood outside.
“Why isn't he coming in?” Adrien asked.
“He thinks you blame him.”
“I do.”
I looked at him.
Adrien smiled weakly.
“For taking so damn long.”
I laughed.
Then cried.
Adrien reached for my hand.
Stopped.
“Can I?”
I nodded.
He held it.
“I'm sorry, Lena.”
“I know.”
“I loved you badly.”
My throat tightened.
“Yes.”
“I thought loving you meant keeping you.”
“Yes.”
“I was wrong.”
“Yes.”
A weak smile.
“You enjoy that word.”
“Currently.”
He squeezed my hand.
“Victor loves you.”
I froze.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You're drugged.”
“Also yes.”
“Adrien.”
“He's been trying not to for a year.”
My chest tightened.
“That isn't funny.”
“I'm not joking.”
I looked through the glass.
Victor stood at the end of the hallway.
Alone.
“You're my ex-boyfriend.”
“Yes.”
“He's your brother.”
“Yes.”
“This is insane.”
“Absolutely.”
“And you're telling me this why?”
“Because I'm done deciding what information you can handle.”
That silenced me.
Adrien continued.
“Victor won't tell you because he thinks wanting you would be another betrayal.”
“Of you?”
“Of Caterina.”
That hurt differently.
“He still loves her.”
“Yes.”
“So?”
“So love isn't a chair with one seat.”
I stared at him.
“When did you become emotionally intelligent?”
“Gunshot.”
“Expensive therapy.”
“Apparently.”
I laughed through tears.
Adrien became serious.
“Don't choose him because I said anything.”
“I won't.”
“Don't avoid him because of me either.”
I looked at him.
“That's also my decision.”
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“See? Therapy.”
Two weeks later, Adrien was discharged.
He moved to Seattle six months after that.
Started over.
Legitimately.
He and I eventually became something I never expected.
Friends.
Not immediately.
It took years.
Victor and I took even longer.
Our first kiss happened eighteen months after Carlo's arrest.
Not during danger.
Not after an argument.
Not while I belonged to anyone else.
We were standing in my yoga studio after he helped repair a broken shelf.
“You installed that crooked.”
“No.”
“Victor.”
He stared.
I handed him a level.
The bubble proved me right.
He frowned.
“Faulty instrument.”
“Of course.”
I laughed.
He watched me.
The room changed.
I knew.
He knew.
Neither moved.
Then Victor said:
“Lena.”
“Yes?”
“I want to kiss you.”
My heart hammered.
“That's inconvenient.”
“Extremely.”
“Because of Adrien?”
“Partly.”
“Caterina?”
His expression softened.
“Yes.”
“Me?”
“Mostly.”
I stepped closer.
“Why me?”
He almost laughed.
“That question has several dangerous answers.”
“Give me the least dangerous.”
“You make me want to tell the truth before I know whether it will cost me something.”
My breath caught.
“That was annoyingly good.”
“I practiced.”
“Really?”
“No.”
I smiled.
Then:
“Ask.”
His voice became quiet.
“May I kiss you?”
“Yes.”
He kissed me.
Slow.
No possession.
No claim.
No wrong brother.
Just Victor.
And me.
When we separated, I touched his chest.
“This doesn't mean we're together.”
“I know.”
“It doesn't mean I'm ready.”
“I know.”
“And if you start becoming terrifying and controlling—”
“You'll hit me with a yoga block.”
“The hard cork ones.”
“Understood.”
I smiled.
For the first time, the man who had frightened me within three seconds of meeting him did not feel dangerous.
Not because he had become harmless.
Victor Duca would probably never be harmless.
But he had learned something far more difficult.
May you like
Strength did not require control.
And love did not give him permission to choose for me.
