Chapter 3 - The Mafia Boss Revealed Why He Believed Her Father Was Murdered—But When Elena Opened an Old Birthday Gift, She Found a Recording That Could Destroy His Entire EmpireI had spent ten years believing my father died in an accident.
A tragic accident.
A terrible accident.
The kind of accident people discussed in hushed voices before changing the subject.
Now Dominic Vale was telling me that my father might have been murdered.
And he was saying it while holding a photograph of my father beside the woman he had once planned to marry.
I stared at him.
"No."
Dominic didn't move.
"No," I repeated.
He looked at me.
"Elena—"
"My father died in a warehouse fire."
"That's what the official report says."
I felt cold.
"Then why are you saying he was murdered?"
Dominic placed the photograph on the table.
"Because the fire wasn't an accident."
The room seemed to tilt.
I gripped the edge of the counter.
"What?"
Dominic looked toward Marcus.
"Bring the file."
Marcus hesitated.
"Sir—"
"Now."
He left.
I stared at Dominic.
"You knew?"
His expression changed.
"I suspected."
"For how long?"
A pause.
"Years."
My chest tightened.
"Years?"
He nodded.
I stepped back.
"You suspected my father was murdered, and you never told us?"
Dominic's jaw tightened.
"I didn't know who his family was."
I laughed bitterly.
"You own a shipping empire. My father worked for your company. You couldn't find his family?"
He looked down.
"I should have."
The answer surprised me.
Not because it was comforting.
It wasn't.
But because he didn't defend himself.
He didn't make excuses.
He simply accepted that he had failed.
And somehow, that made me angrier.
Because I wanted someone to blame.
Someone simple.
Someone unquestionably guilty.
Instead, I was standing in a beautiful kitchen with a dangerous man who looked as though he'd been carrying the same grief for years.
Marcus returned with a thick folder.
Dominic opened it.
Inside were photographs.
Police reports.
Insurance records.
And newspaper clippings.
The first photograph showed a warehouse near the Brooklyn waterfront.
The building had been destroyed by fire.
I recognized it immediately.
I had seen the image at my father's funeral.
I looked away.
Dominic spoke quietly.
"Thomas Brooks was working the night shift when the fire started."
I nodded.
"He was supposed to come home at six."
Dominic's expression tightened.
"The official investigation blamed an electrical fault."
"Yes."
"But the insurance review found evidence of accelerant."
I looked up.
"What?"
"That information never appeared in the final public report."
My stomach twisted.
"Why?"
Dominic turned another page.
"Because someone interfered."
I stared at the documents.
"Who?"
He hesitated.
"That's what I've been trying to prove."
I looked at him.
"Why would anyone want to kill my father?"
Dominic's expression darkened.
"Because he found something."
"What?"
"Records showing that someone inside my father's company was using freight shipments to move money and illegal cargo."
I swallowed.
"Your father's company?"
He nodded.
"My father was still alive then."
I stared.
"Was he involved?"
Dominic looked at me for a long moment.
Then said:
"I don't know."
I shook my head.
"How can you not know?"
"Because my father died before I could confront him."
The room went silent.
Dominic continued.
"Three months after your father's death, mine suffered a fatal stroke."
I looked down.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I whispered:
"My mother never told us any of this."
Dominic's expression changed.
"Maybe she didn't know."
I thought about her frightened voice.
About the sewing box.
About Amelia Cross.
Then shook my head.
"No."
He looked at me.
"She knew something."
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Dominic had given me a guest room on the second floor.
It was larger than my entire apartment.
The bed looked expensive enough to require its own insurance policy.
There was a sitting area.
A private bathroom.
And a balcony overlooking the garden.
But none of it mattered.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my father's face.
I remembered him coming home smelling of rain and coffee.
I remembered the way he used to lift Sophie onto his shoulders.
I remembered him sitting at our kitchen table, helping me with math homework even when he was exhausted.
And I remembered the last thing he'd said to me.
Take care of your mother.
At nineteen, I'd thought it was an ordinary goodbye.
Now I wondered whether he'd known he was in danger.
At 2:14 a.m., I got out of bed.
I walked downstairs.
The house was silent.
Except for one room.
Light spilled from beneath the study door.
I hesitated.
Then knocked.
"Come in."
Dominic sat behind a large wooden desk.
His sleeves were rolled up.
His hair was disheveled.
A half-empty cup of coffee stood beside a stack of documents.
He looked up.
"Elena?"
I folded my arms.
"Do you ever sleep?"
"Occasionally."
"When?"
"Usually when people stop asking questions."
I almost smiled.
Then noticed the photograph on his desk.
Amelia.
The same woman.
The same white dress.
The same silver necklace.
I looked at Dominic.
"Did you love her?"
He went still.
For a moment, I regretted asking.
Then he answered.
"Yes."
I swallowed.
"Very much?"
He looked toward the photograph.
"Enough to believe I'd spend my life with her."
Something painful moved through my chest.
It wasn't jealousy.
Not exactly.
I barely knew Dominic.
And Amelia had been part of his life long before I entered it.
But I understood that the woman in the photograph had occupied a place nobody could simply replace.
Dominic noticed my expression.
"She was kind."
I looked up.
"Amelia?"
He nodded.
"She worked with charities. She volunteered at shelters. She hated the way wealthy people treated service workers."
I smiled faintly.
"I think I would have liked her."
Dominic looked at me.
"She would have liked you."
The words surprised us both.
He looked away first.
I sat opposite him.
"Tell me about the scar."
Dominic's expression changed.
For a moment, I thought he'd refuse.
Instead, he leaned back.
"Seven years ago, Amelia discovered that someone was using my company's shipping network to move stolen medical supplies."
I frowned.
"Medical supplies?"
"Equipment, medication, hospital inventory. Some shipments were diverted and resold through intermediaries."
My stomach tightened.
"That's horrible."
"Yes."
"Did you know?"
"No."
I studied him.
He met my eyes.
"I didn't know until she showed me the records."
"What happened?"
"She wanted to go to the authorities."
"And you?"
"I wanted to protect her."
I looked at him.
"Those aren't the same thing."
His expression changed.
"No."
He glanced toward the window.
"I know that now."
He continued.
"She arranged to meet someone who could verify the records. A former warehouse supervisor."
My heart began pounding.
"Thomas Brooks."
Dominic nodded.
"Your father."
I stared.
"He was helping her?"
"Yes."
My eyes filled.
Dominic continued.
"They planned to turn over copies of the documents. But someone found out."
I swallowed.
"And the explosion?"
His jaw tightened.
"Amelia was driving to the meeting location. I followed in another car because I was worried."
He looked down.
"Her vehicle was forced off the road."
I held my breath.
"It struck a barrier. There was an explosion."
I stared at his scar.
Dominic touched the side of his face.
"I reached her car before the second fire started."
My eyes filled.
"I tried to open the door."
He swallowed.
"The glass shattered. Something struck my face."
I whispered:
"Did you see her?"
His eyes closed.
"For a moment."
I leaned forward.
"What happened?"
"She was conscious."
My heart stopped.
Dominic opened his eyes.
"She looked at me."
His voice broke.
"And she said, 'Don't trust him.'"
I stared.
"Who?"
He shook his head.
"She never told me."
I swallowed.
"What happened next?"
"The vehicle caught fire. Someone pulled me away."
His expression hardened.
"When I woke up in the hospital, they told me she was dead."
I looked toward the photograph.
"And you never saw her again?"
"No."
The next morning, I called Sophie.
She answered immediately.
"Elena!"
"Hey."
"Have you found Mom?"
"Not yet."
Her voice broke.
"I'm scared."
"I know."
I sat on the edge of the bed.
"Listen, I need you to remember something."
"What?"
"Do you remember Dad giving me a birthday present before he died?"
Sophie sniffled.
"You mean the wooden music box?"
My heart stopped.
"Yes."
"I remember."
"Do you know where it is?"
A pause.
"Didn't you leave it at Mom's?"
I closed my eyes.
The sewing box.
The photographs.
The apartment.
Someone had searched everything.
I swallowed.
"I think so."
Sophie hesitated.
"Elena?"
"Yeah?"
"I have something to tell you."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"Mom gave it to me last month."
I sat straighter.
"What?"
"She said you were moving around too much and she didn't want it getting broken."
I stared.
"Where is it?"
"At Tessa's apartment. In my suitcase."
My heart began pounding.
"Don't open it."
Sophie went silent.
"Why?"
"Just don't."
An hour later, Marcus brought the music box to Dominic's house.
It was small.
Wooden.
Carved with tiny flowers.
My father had given it to me on my nineteenth birthday.
I remembered him smiling as I opened it.
Every girl deserves something beautiful, he'd said.
I had kept it for years.
But after moving apartments several times, I'd left it with my mother.
Now I placed it on Dominic's desk.
My hands were shaking.
Dominic stood beside me.
"Are you sure?"
I nodded.
I opened the lid.
A familiar melody began playing.
Soft.
Delicate.
Painfully beautiful.
For a moment, I was nineteen again.
My father was alive.
My mother was laughing.
Sophie was stealing frosting from my birthday cake.
I closed my eyes.
Then whispered:
"I miss him."
Dominic's hand rested gently against my back.
I opened my eyes.
And noticed something.
The lining inside the box was uneven.
One corner had lifted.
I frowned.
"That's strange."
Dominic leaned closer.
"What?"
I touched the fabric.
A small metal tab was hidden beneath it.
I pulled.
The bottom panel loosened.
And a narrow compartment opened.
Inside was a tiny digital recorder.
And a folded piece of paper.
My heart stopped.
I looked at Dominic.
He looked at me.
Neither of us spoke.
Then I unfolded the note.
It was written in my father's handwriting.
ELENA, IF YOU EVER FIND THIS, I'M SORRY I COULDN'T TELL YOU THE TRUTH. TRUST AMELIA. DO NOT TRUST THE MAN WITH THE GOLD WATCH.
I stared.
"The man with the gold watch?"
Dominic's expression changed.
I looked up.
"What?"
He shook his head slowly.
"No."
"Dominic?"
He looked toward Marcus.
"Get me a photograph of Victor Sloane."
My stomach tightened.
"Who's Victor Sloane?"
Dominic's face had gone pale.
"My father's former business partner."
I swallowed.
"And?"
Dominic looked at me.
"The man who arranged my marriage to Amelia."
We played the recording.
My father's voice filled the room.
Older.
Tired.
But unmistakable.
"If you're hearing this, something has gone wrong."
I began crying.
Dominic stood beside me.
The recording continued.
"My name is Thomas Brooks. I've worked at Vale Maritime Logistics for eleven years."
A pause.
"I found evidence of stolen medical shipments and payments made through offshore accounts."
My heart pounded.
"I tried to report it internally. They told me I was mistaken."
Another pause.
"Then Amelia Cross contacted me."
I gripped the edge of the desk.
"She believed Dominic Vale was being deceived by people close to him."
Dominic went still.
My father continued.
"We've collected enough evidence to expose the operation. But someone knows."
A faint sound came through the recording.
Footsteps.
Then my father's voice lowered.
"If anything happens to me, the original records are hidden where only Margaret will know to look."
My breath caught.
Mom.
The recording crackled.
Then my father whispered:
"Victor Sloane is involved."
Dominic closed his eyes.
"And there may be someone else."
A pause.
Then:
"Someone inside the Vale family."
The recording ended.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Dominic whispered:
"My brother."
I looked at him.
"What?"
His face had gone white.
"Victor Sloane was working with my younger brother."
My stomach tightened.
"Your brother?"
Dominic nodded.
"Julian Vale."
I stared.
"Where is he now?"
Dominic looked toward the window.
"He's been in prison for five years."
I swallowed.
"For what?"
Dominic turned toward me.
And said:
May you like
"Conspiracy to murder."
End of Chapter 3.
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