Chapter 3: The Night My Mafia Boss Brother Discovered Who Had Betrayed Our Family
The first thing my brother told me before we left the hospital was that I couldn't come with him.
The second thing he told me was that Vincent Bellamy had already killed three men who knew what was hidden beneath our father's estate.
I looked at Roman DeLuca across the hospital room and slowly pulled the blanket away from my swollen stomach.
"Then I guess you'd better make sure I'm not the fourth."
Roman closed his eyes.
"Evelyn."
"Don't."
"You're thirty-four weeks pregnant."
"I'm aware."
"You were assaulted this morning."
"Also aware."
"Someone tried to abduct you less than an hour ago."
"And my husband is being held somewhere by the same people responsible."
My brother stared at me.
I stared back.
For thirty-one years, Roman had been the most stubborn person in our family.
Unfortunately for him, our mother used to say I had inherited twice as much of that particular quality.
He dragged a hand down his face.
"Evie, this isn't a negotiation."
"Then stop pretending you're the only one allowed to make decisions."
Silas Crowe stood near the window, looking as though he would rather be anywhere else.
I turned toward him.
"Silas, tell my brother he's being unreasonable."
Silas looked at Roman.
Then at me.
"I think the doctor should have the final word."
I blinked.
"That's not what I asked."
"No," he admitted. "But it's the only answer that might keep both of you from killing me."
Under different circumstances, I might have laughed.
Instead, I reached for my phone.
The photograph of Nathan was still open.
My husband.
Alive.
Injured.
Held somewhere by a man who had spent years using our family as pieces on a chessboard.
I turned the screen toward Roman.
"Look at him."
Roman's expression tightened.
"Evie—"
"Look at his face."
He did.
"That's the man who held my hair when I was sick during the first trimester. That's the man who painted our daughter's nursery yellow because he said pink was too predictable. That's the man who cried when he heard her heartbeat for the first time."
My voice broke.
"And while I was decorating a nursery for a baby I thought would never meet her father, Nathan was being held prisoner."
Roman looked away.
I swallowed hard.
"I'm not asking you to let me fight armed men. I'm asking you to stop treating me like a child."
He was silent for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
"Fine."
I blinked.
"Fine?"
"Dr. Bennett examines you first. If she says you can leave, you come to the estate under medical supervision. You stay in a secure room while we inspect the vault."
I opened my mouth.
He raised a finger.
"That's my compromise, Evelyn. Don't make me regret it."
For the first time all day, I almost smiled.
"You're still bossy."
"And you're still impossible."
Silas exhaled.
"Thank God."
Roman turned toward him.
"You're not off the hook."
Silas stopped smiling.
Neither was I.
Because although I needed his help, I hadn't forgotten what he had admitted.
Silas had taken Nathan to Northbridge.
He had allowed me to believe my husband was dead.
And for eleven months, he had stood beside my brother while I grieved.
I wasn't sure I would ever forgive him.
But before the night was over, I would discover that Silas's betrayal was only the beginning.
Dr. Bennett arrived twenty minutes later.
She examined me, reviewed the monitoring results, and listened to my explanation without interrupting.
I didn't tell her everything.
How could I?
Doctor, my supposedly dead husband is alive, my brother runs a criminal empire, and someone is trying to steal forty-eight million dollars through a trust I didn't know existed.
Even saying it in my head sounded insane.
Instead, I explained that a serious family emergency required me to leave the hospital.
Dr. Bennett looked unconvinced.
"Your baby is doing well," she said. "But that doesn't mean you should ignore what happened today."
"I understand."
"Your blood pressure has improved. The ultrasound was reassuring. I don't see signs of active labor, but you've experienced significant stress."
Roman stood beside the door.
"Can she travel?"
Dr. Bennett looked at him.
"That depends on the circumstances."
"Thirty minutes by car," he said.
"With a medical professional accompanying her?"
"Yes."
"And somewhere she can rest?"
"Yes."
She studied me.
"Mrs. Mercer, I strongly recommend remaining under observation tonight. If you choose to leave, I want you to understand the risks and return immediately for pain, bleeding, fluid leakage, reduced fetal movement, or any other concerning symptoms."
I nodded.
"I understand."
She sighed.
"Then I'll document our discussion and provide your discharge instructions."
Roman waited until she left.
Then looked at me.
"You're staying in the guest suite closest to the medical wing."
"Roman, it's a house, not a hospital."
He raised an eyebrow.
"It's a very large house."
I couldn't argue with that.
Our father's estate occupied nearly forty acres outside Chicago.
It had thirty-two bedrooms, a private chapel, an indoor swimming pool, a wine cellar large enough to embarrass a vineyard, and enough security cameras to make the Pentagon jealous.
When we were children, I had called it a castle.
After our father died, Roman had turned it into a fortress.
Now I was going back there to find out what our family had buried beneath it.
We left St. Catherine's shortly after midnight.
The rain had stopped, but the streets still glistened beneath the city lights.
I sat in the rear seat of an armored SUV beside Roman.
Silas rode in the front.
Two additional vehicles followed us.
A private-duty nurse named Rebecca sat beside me, checking that I was comfortable and reminding me to drink water.
I appreciated her concern.
But I couldn't stop looking at the phone in my lap.
Nathan's last video.
His exhausted face.
His trembling voice.
Check the blue book.
I had called my neighbor, Mrs. Donnelly, before leaving the hospital.
She had a spare key to my house and had checked on me regularly since Nathan disappeared.
I asked her to retrieve our wedding album from the dresser.
She agreed without hesitation.
But when she called me back fifteen minutes later, her voice sounded strange.
"Evelyn, honey?"
"Yes?"
"The bottom drawer is empty."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"There's no album."
I sat upright.
"Are you sure?"
"I checked twice."
I closed my eyes.
"Maybe I moved it."
"Sweetheart, there's something else."
I gripped the phone.
"What?"
"Your bedroom window is broken."
My blood turned cold.
"Broken?"
"Someone's been inside."
Roman turned toward me.
I put the call on speaker.
Mrs. Donnelly continued.
"The drawers are open. Your closet's been emptied. And the little yellow blanket you were knitting for the baby is on the floor."
I couldn't speak.
Someone had entered my home.
The home Nathan and I had bought together.
The home where I had spent eleven months mourning him.
They had searched our bedroom.
And taken our wedding album.
Roman reached for the phone.
"Mrs. Donnelly, this is Roman."
"Oh, thank goodness."
"Please leave the house immediately. Don't touch anything else. I'm sending police to meet you."
She hesitated.
"Is Evelyn in danger?"
Roman looked at me.
"She's with me."
It wasn't an answer.
But Mrs. Donnelly accepted it.
After the call ended, I stared at the dark window.
"They took it."
Roman nodded.
"Probably."
"The album."
"Yes."
I felt tears gathering.
"Nathan told me to check the blue book. Vincent must have known."
Silas turned from the front seat.
"Not necessarily."
I looked at him.
"What?"
"Vincent may have known Nathan hid something without knowing exactly what it was."
"Then why steal the album?"
Silas hesitated.
"Because someone heard the video."
My stomach dropped.
Roman's expression changed.
"Explain."
Silas looked down.
"If Nathan was recorded under surveillance, Vincent's people could have reviewed the footage before sending it to Evelyn."
I stared.
"Then they knew what he said."
"Possibly."
Roman reached for his phone.
"Get the police to preserve the scene at Evelyn's house. I want to know who entered and when."
Silas nodded.
But I was barely listening.
Because something had occurred to me.
Nathan had always been careful.
Painfully careful.
He never left important documents in obvious places.
When we first married, he hid our emergency cash inside a dictionary because he said burglars rarely bothered with books.
He once stored our passports inside an empty cereal box during a renovation.
And he had a habit of using phrases that meant one thing to everyone else and something completely different to me.
The blue book.
I closed my eyes.
Our wedding album was navy blue.
But Nathan never called it the blue book.
He called it the wedding album.
The blue book was something else.
Something from before we were married.
I sat upright.
"Roman."
He turned.
"What?"
"I think I know what Nathan meant."
When Nathan and I first met, we were graduate students at Northwestern University.
I was studying literature.
He was completing his master's degree in accounting.
We met in the campus library when I accidentally spilled coffee across his statistics textbook.
He stared at the ruined pages.
I apologized so many times that he finally laughed.
"Well," he said, "I guess now we have to get married. You owe me a book."
It was a ridiculous line.
I fell in love with him anyway.
Three weeks later, he gave me a small blue notebook.
The cover was made of cheap imitation leather.
On the first page, he had written:
Things Evelyn Mercer should never forget.
The pages were filled with silly observations.
You hate mushrooms but love mushroom soup.
You pretend not to like romantic movies.
You sing when you're nervous.
You are the only person I know who argues with fictional characters.
I carried that notebook everywhere for years.
After we married, Nathan began adding practical information.
Emergency contacts.
Important dates.
Account numbers.
Notes about our mortgage.
And eventually, when we started trying for a baby, a list of names we liked.
We called it the blue book.
Not because it was important.
Because it was ours.
I turned toward Roman.
"The wedding album was a distraction."
He frowned.
"What?"
"Nathan didn't mean our wedding album. He meant the notebook he gave me when we were dating."
"Where is it?"
I swallowed.
"At the estate."
Roman went still.
"Here?"
I nodded.
"In my old bedroom."
He stared at me.
"Why?"
"Because I left a box of college things there after we moved into our house. I never got around to collecting it."
Silas looked back.
"Does anyone know?"
I shook my head.
"Only Nathan."
Roman leaned forward.
"Drive faster."
The DeLuca estate appeared through the trees at 12:46 a.m.
Tall iron gates opened as our convoy approached.
Beyond them, a long driveway curved between rows of old oak trees.
The mansion stood on a low hill.
Three stories of pale limestone.
Tall windows.
A slate roof.
And a front entrance framed by massive stone columns.
It looked almost beautiful in the moonlight.
Almost.
But I knew what lived behind those walls.
Secrets.
Loyalty.
Fear.
And the ghosts of people who had paid for my father's ambition.
Roman helped me out of the SUV.
The cold night air smelled of wet leaves.
For a moment, I remembered being eight years old and running down those same steps with Roman chasing after me.
He had been thirteen.
I had stolen his favorite baseball cap.
He caught me near the fountain, lifted me into the air, and threatened to throw me into the water.
Then our mother appeared.
"Roman Antonio DeLuca!"
He dropped me onto the grass.
I laughed so hard I couldn't breathe.
Our mother was the only person who could make Roman obey with a single sentence.
She died when I was seventeen.
Cancer.
Our father never recovered.
And Roman stopped being a boy the day we buried her.
I looked at my brother now.
Thirty-six.
Powerful.
Feared.
Exhausted.
For the first time, I wondered how much of his life had been spent carrying burdens he never chose.
"Evie?"
I blinked.
"Sorry."
He touched my shoulder.
"Come inside."
My childhood bedroom hadn't changed.
The walls were still pale lavender.
The old white bookshelf stood beside the window.
A faded photograph of my mother rested on the dresser.
And the ridiculous stuffed rabbit Roman won for me at a carnival when I was ten still sat on the bed.
I stared at it.
"You kept Mr. Whiskers?"
Roman looked almost embarrassed.
"Of course."
I smiled faintly.
"You told me he was ugly."
"He is."
I laughed.
A small, exhausted sound.
But it felt good.
Rebecca helped me settle into an armchair while Roman opened the closet.
Several cardboard boxes were stacked on the top shelf.
He brought them down.
"Which one?"
"The one labeled Northwestern."
He found it.
Set it on the bed.
And stepped back.
I opened the lid.
Old photographs.
A graduation program.
A scarf I'd forgotten I owned.
Letters from friends.
And beneath a stack of notebooks, a small blue book.
My heart stopped.
I reached for it.
The cover was worn.
The corners bent.
A tiny coffee stain marked the bottom edge.
Nathan had drawn a heart beside the stain years earlier.
I opened the first page.
Things Evelyn Mercer should never forget.
Tears filled my eyes.
I could almost hear his voice.
I turned the pages.
The silly notes.
The memories.
The little details that had made our marriage ours.
Then I reached the final section.
The last pages had been carefully glued together.
I frowned.
"Nathan?"
Roman leaned closer.
"What is it?"
I ran my finger along the edge.
A thin slit had been cut into the paper.
Inside was a small memory card.
I stared.
"Oh, my God."
Roman reached for it.
I held it away.
"Wait."
He stopped.
I looked at the page beneath the hidden compartment.
Nathan had written a message.
Not in his usual neat handwriting.
In hurried, uneven letters.
Evie, if you're reading this, something went wrong.
My vision blurred.
I continued.
I need you to know that I never stopped trying to come home.
I covered my mouth.
Roman stood silently beside me.
The truth is bigger than Hawthorne. Bigger than Blackwater. Bigger than anything Roman knows.
I looked up.
My brother's face had gone pale.
I kept reading.
Your father left you something because he knew one day someone would try to take everything from this family.
My hands shook.
But the money isn't the secret.
I swallowed.
The secret is who has been controlling it.
Below that was a final sentence.
Trust the woman in the photograph.
I stared at the page.
"What woman?"
Roman frowned.
"There's no photograph."
I turned the page.
Nothing.
Then I noticed the back cover felt unusually thick.
I slid my fingernail beneath the lining.
A small photograph slipped out.
It showed my father standing beside a woman I didn't recognize.
She was perhaps forty-five.
Dark hair.
Green eyes.
Elegant.
They stood outside a courthouse.
The date printed in the corner was six years earlier.
Three weeks before my father's supposed death.
On the back was a name.
ISABELLA MORETTI
And beneath it:
She knows what happened to Antonio.
I looked at Roman.
"Who is Isabella Moretti?"
His expression changed.
For a moment, he looked genuinely shocked.
Then he whispered, "That's impossible."
"What?"
Roman took the photograph.
Studied it.
Then looked at me.
"Isabella Moretti was my father's attorney."
I frowned.
"Why have I never heard of her?"
"Because she disappeared after he died."
My chest tightened.
"Disappeared?"
Roman nodded.
"Her car was found abandoned near Lake Michigan."
I stared at the photograph.
"Was she murdered?"
"We assumed so."
I looked down at the handwritten message.
Trust the woman in the photograph.
Another person who had supposedly died.
Another secret.
Another piece of our family's history that had been hidden from me.
I closed the notebook.
"Roman."
He looked at me.
"I think Dad knew something was going to happen to him."
Roman's face hardened.
"So do I."
We examined the memory card in Roman's private office.
Silas connected it to an isolated computer that wasn't linked to the mansion's network.
I sat beside Rebecca on a leather sofa while Roman stood behind Silas.
The card contained four folders.
HAWTHORNE
BLACKWATER
DELUCA TRUST
IF I DON'T COME HOME
My breath caught at the final folder.
Silas looked at me.
"Which one?"
I swallowed.
"The last one."
He clicked.
A video file appeared.
The date was November 13.
One day before Nathan disappeared.
I gripped the armrest.
Silas pressed play.
Nathan appeared on the screen.
He was sitting in his home office.
Our home office.
The familiar green lamp glowed behind him.
A framed photograph of our wedding stood beside his computer.
He looked exhausted.
But alive.
My heart broke all over again.
"Evie," he began.
His voice was steady.
Too steady.
The voice of a man who had rehearsed what he wanted to say because he was afraid he might never get another chance.
"If you're watching this, I need you to know that I love you."
I began crying.
Roman moved toward me.
I shook my head.
"Please. Just let me watch."
He stepped back.
Nathan continued.
"I found something in the Hawthorne scholarship accounts that doesn't make sense."
He looked down at a sheet of paper.
"The missing money isn't being stolen for personal spending. It's being used to create false financial activity."
Silas leaned forward.
Nathan continued.
"Someone is moving funds through educational charities, medical contractors, and construction companies to make a much larger transfer look legitimate."
He paused.
"The amount is forty-eight million dollars."
Roman's expression hardened.
Nathan looked directly into the camera.
"And the beneficiary is my wife."
I stopped breathing.
"Evie, I don't think you know this trust exists. I didn't either until three days ago."
He rubbed his face.
"Your father created it shortly before his death. But someone changed the control documents."
Silas paused the video.
Roman turned sharply.
"Play it."
Silas obeyed.
Nathan continued.
"The original trust gives Evelyn control over the family's legitimate business holdings when she turns thirty-two."
I frowned.
Thirty-two.
My next birthday.
Five months away.
Nathan looked down.
"But the amended documents transfer control to a corporate administrator if Evelyn is declared legally incapacitated before that date."
A cold sensation spread through my chest.
Incapacitated.
I looked at Roman.
He looked just as horrified.
Nathan continued.
"The administrator is Blackwater Holdings."
Silas swore under his breath.
"And Blackwater Holdings is controlled by Vincent Bellamy."
Nathan leaned toward the camera.
"Evie, I think someone is planning to make sure you never reach your thirty-second birthday with control of your own affairs."
I covered my stomach.
The room went silent.
Then Nathan said something that made my blood run cold.
"I also found evidence that the trust was modified using a signature belonging to someone inside Roman's organization."
Roman stepped forward.
"Who?"
Nathan looked directly into the camera.
"The authorization came from Silas Crowe's legal credentials."
I turned.
Silas froze.
Roman stared at him.
For one terrible second, nobody spoke.
Then my brother said quietly, "Silas."
Silas shook his head.
"No."
Roman's expression hardened.
"Explain."
"I didn't authorize any trust amendment."
Nathan's recorded voice continued.
"But I don't believe Silas did it."
Roman stopped.
On the screen, Nathan looked exhausted.
"Someone copied his credentials. The digital signature doesn't match the authentication records."
Silas closed his eyes.
Nathan continued.
"The person responsible had access to the DeLuca legal archive, the Blackwater accounts, and Hawthorne's donor database."
He paused.
"Only three people had that level of access."
Roman leaned closer.
Nathan looked down at his notes.
"Silas Crowe."
A pause.
"Wallace Kemp."
Another pause.
"And Roman DeLuca."
My stomach twisted.
I looked at my brother.
His face was unreadable.
Nathan continued.
"I don't believe Roman is involved. But I can't prove it."
Then his expression changed.
"There's one more thing."
He swallowed.
"Evie, I think your father's death was staged."
I felt the room spin.
Nathan looked directly into the camera.
"And I think the person who arranged it is still living inside the DeLuca estate."
The video ended.
Nobody spoke.
I stared at the blank screen.
Inside the estate.
Someone living here.
Someone who had helped stage my father's death.
Someone who had access to our family records.
I slowly looked toward the office door.
Roman followed my gaze.
His expression changed.
"Silas."
"Yes, boss."
"Lock down the estate."
Silas reached for his phone.
Roman continued.
"No one leaves until the police have the relevant records and we've identified who had access to the archive."
I swallowed.
"Roman."
He turned.
"Who lives here?"
He frowned.
"What?"
"Who has lived here since Dad died?"
Roman looked at me.
"Staff. Security. A few long-term employees."
"Names."
He hesitated.
"Evie—"
"Names."
Roman exhaled.
"Mrs. Bell, the housekeeper. Thomas, the groundskeeper. Daniel, the head of security. Margaret, the cook."
I shook my head.
"No."
Roman frowned.
"What?"
"Who else?"
He looked confused.
Then his expression changed.
Because we both remembered.
One person had lived at the estate for nearly thirty years.
One person who knew every room.
Every secret passage.
Every family argument.
Every financial document our father had ever signed.
A man who had been present when our mother died.
When our father supposedly died.
When Roman inherited the organization.
And when Nathan disappeared.
Arthur Bell.
Our father's former chief of staff.
He was seventy-one.
Quiet.
Distinguished.
A man who wore gray suits and carried a silver pocket watch.
He had practically raised us after our mother became ill.
I called him Uncle Arthur.
Roman trusted him with the estate's administrative operations.
And until that moment, I had never once considered that he might be dangerous.
I looked at my brother.
"Arthur."
Roman's face went pale.
"No."
I swallowed.
"He had access to everything."
Roman shook his head.
"Arthur would never betray us."
I stared at him.
"That's exactly what Nathan said about people he trusted."
Roman looked away.
Then reached for his phone.
"Find Arthur Bell."
Silas called the security desk.
A moment later, his expression changed.
"Boss."
Roman turned.
"What?"
"Arthur left the estate two hours ago."
I felt my pulse quicken.
"Where did he go?"
Silas swallowed.
"According to the gate records, he went to collect medication."
Roman's jaw tightened.
"At eleven o'clock at night?"
Silas said nothing.
Roman looked toward the window.
Then whispered, "He knew."
I stared at him.
"What?"
"He knew we were coming to the estate."
My chest tightened.
"How?"
Roman turned toward the office.
"Because someone told him."
And suddenly, I remembered the hospital.
The fake nurse.
The man who tried to abduct me.
The warning about what lay beneath the DeLuca estate.
Someone had known exactly where we were going.
Someone had been watching us.
I looked down at the blue notebook.
Then at the memory card.
And I realized something terrible.
If Arthur Bell had betrayed our family, he might already know we had found Nathan's evidence.
At 2:38 a.m., the estate's security system detected an unauthorized access attempt.
Silas was reviewing the archive logs when an alert flashed across his laptop.
"Boss."
Roman turned.
"What?"
"Someone just tried to open the underground vault."
My heart stopped.
"From where?"
Silas studied the screen.
"An internal terminal."
Roman's face hardened.
"Which terminal?"
Silas hesitated.
Then looked at me.
"The old chapel."
I stared.
The chapel.
Our father's favorite place.
A small stone building connected to the main estate by a covered walkway.
When we were children, our mother took us there every Sunday.
After she died, our father spent hours inside.
Alone.
Praying.
Or so we believed.
Roman reached for his coat.
"Stay here."
I stood.
"Absolutely not."
He turned.
"Evelyn."
"If Arthur is inside the chapel, he may know where Nathan is."
"That's exactly why you're staying here."
I looked at him.
"Roman, I am not going to wander into a basement full of armed men. But I need to know what's happening."
He studied me.
Then looked at Rebecca.
"Take her to the secured observation room. She can watch the cameras."
I nodded.
"Fine."
Roman blinked.
"Fine?"
"Don't make me repeat myself."
For a moment, he almost smiled.
Then he turned toward Silas.
"Let's go."
The observation room was located beside Roman's private office.
It contained a wall of monitors displaying security footage from across the estate.
Rebecca helped me settle into a chair.
A guard named Michael stood beside the door.
On the central screen, I watched Roman and Silas cross the covered walkway toward the chapel.
Two security officers accompanied them.
The chapel's wooden doors stood slightly open.
Roman stopped.
Raised one hand.
The others halted.
Then he stepped inside.
The camera switched to the chapel interior.
Rows of dark wooden pews.
A stone altar.
Stained-glass windows.
Candles flickering beneath a carved statue.
And a man standing near the front.
Arthur Bell.
My heart lurched.
He wore a gray suit.
His silver hair was neatly combed.
His familiar pocket watch hung from his vest.
He looked exactly as he always had.
Like a kind old man who had spent his life caring for our family.
Roman approached him.
I couldn't hear the conversation at first.
Then Michael adjusted the audio.
Arthur's voice filled the room.
"I wondered how long it would take you."
Roman stopped several feet away.
"Arthur."
The older man smiled.
"Roman."
"Why did you leave the estate?"
Arthur looked toward the altar.
"Because I knew you'd finally find the truth."
My blood turned cold.
Roman's voice remained controlled.
"What truth?"
Arthur reached into his jacket.
The security officers immediately shifted.
Roman raised one hand.
"Slowly."
Arthur withdrew a small key.
Old.
Brass.
Worn smooth.
He held it up.
"Your father gave me this six years ago."
Roman stared.
"The vault key?"
Arthur nodded.
"He told me to keep it safe until the right time."
Roman stepped closer.
"Why?"
Arthur's expression changed.
"Because Antonio knew someone was coming for the family."
I gripped the armrest.
Roman's voice hardened.
"Vincent Bellamy?"
Arthur smiled sadly.
"Vincent was only part of it."
I leaned toward the screen.
Roman frowned.
"What does that mean?"
Arthur looked directly into the security camera.
As though he knew I was watching.
Then he said, "Hello, Evelyn."
My breath caught.
Roman turned toward the camera.
Arthur continued.
"I know you're listening, sweetheart."
I stared.
He smiled gently.
"I wish you hadn't found the blue book."
My entire body went cold.
How did he know?
Roman stepped forward.
"Arthur."
The old man's smile disappeared.
"Your father tried to protect you both."
Roman's voice became sharp.
"From whom?"
Arthur looked at him.
Then whispered, "From the people he trusted."
I felt my heart pounding.
Roman stared.
"Who?"
Arthur lowered his eyes.
"Me."
Silence.
Then Roman took a step backward.
I watched his face change.
Not anger.
Not yet.
Something worse.
Betrayal.
Arthur continued.
"I helped Vincent change the trust documents."
My breath stopped.
"I gave him access to the legal archive. I helped move the money through the shell companies."
Roman's jaw tightened.
"Why?"
Arthur's eyes filled.
"Because he had my granddaughter."
I froze.
Another child.
Another family used as leverage.
Arthur continued.
"Vincent took her five years ago. He said if I refused to cooperate, I'd never see her again."
Roman stared.
"Why didn't you come to me?"
Arthur laughed bitterly.
"Because your father had already taught Vincent how to use people."
The words struck like a slap.
Roman went still.
Arthur looked toward the altar.
"Antonio created the system, Roman. Vincent simply learned how to exploit it."
I felt sick.
Our father.
The man whose photograph hung above Roman's desk.
The man we had spent six years mourning.
Had he created the very network now threatening our family?
Roman's voice was quiet.
"Did you help fake my father's death?"
Arthur looked at him.
Then nodded.
"Yes."
I covered my mouth.
Roman didn't move.
For several seconds, he simply stared at the man who had helped raise him.
Then he asked, "Is he alive?"
Arthur's face crumpled.
"I don't know."
Roman stepped closer.
"What?"
"Antonio was alive when we moved him from the estate. After that, Vincent took control."
My heart hammered.
Our father.
Possibly alive.
Possibly held somewhere.
Just like Nathan.
Arthur began crying.
"I'm sorry."
Roman's expression remained cold.
"Where is Nathan Mercer?"
Arthur looked up.
And something in his face changed.
Fear.
Pure fear.
"Roman, you need to listen carefully."
"Where is he?"
Arthur swallowed.
"Vincent moved him tonight."
"Where?"
Arthur glanced toward the altar.
Then whispered, "Beneath us."
I sat upright.
The underground vault.
Nathan was here?
Roman stared.
"What?"
Arthur nodded.
"Vincent brought him to the estate through the service tunnel."
My heart nearly stopped.
The service tunnel.
A passage built decades earlier to connect the chapel with an old maintenance building beyond the property.
I had played near its entrance as a child.
Our father always warned us never to go inside.
Roman's face hardened.
"Open the vault."
Arthur hesitated.
"Roman—"
"Now."
Arthur looked at the key in his hand.
Then slowly approached the altar.
He inserted the key into a narrow brass plate hidden beneath the stone ledge.
A mechanical click echoed through the chapel.
The altar shifted.
A section of the floor began sliding open.
Darkness appeared beneath it.
And then a voice came from below.
Weak.
Hoarse.
Familiar.
"Roman?"
My heart stopped.
Nathan.
I knew that voice.
Even through the speakers.
Even after eleven months.
I would have recognized it anywhere.
I stood so quickly that Rebecca reached for my arm.
"Mrs. Mercer!"
I couldn't answer.
On the monitor, Roman moved toward the opening.
"Nathan?"
A pause.
Then the voice again.
"Don't come down."
Roman froze.
"Why?"
Nathan coughed.
Then whispered, "It's a trap."
Arthur turned sharply.
Too late.
A metallic sound echoed through the chapel.
The security monitors flickered.
Then the lights went out.
I gasped.
"Roman!"
The screen went black.
For one terrifying second, there was nothing.
Then the audio returned.
A man's voice.
Cold.
Amused.
"Good evening, Roman."
Vincent Bellamy.
My blood turned to ice.
"I've been waiting six years for this conversation."
Roman's voice came through the darkness.
"Where's my brother-in-law?"
Vincent laughed softly.
"He's closer than you think."
A pause.
Then Vincent said something that made my entire world stop.
"Ask Arthur what really happened to your mother."
I froze.
Our mother?
She had died of cancer.
I had watched her suffer.
Watched her grow weaker.
Held her hand in the hospital.
What could Vincent possibly mean?
On the monitor, a faint emergency light flickered.
Roman stood near the altar.
Arthur was on his knees.
Silas held his phone.
And somewhere beneath the chapel, Nathan was still alive.
Vincent continued.
"Your father didn't build this empire alone, Roman."
Roman's voice hardened.
"Come out and face me."
Vincent laughed.
"Always so impatient."
Then his voice changed.
"Before we discuss the money, I think your sister deserves to know something."
My heart pounded.
Roman looked toward the camera.
"Don't."
Vincent ignored him.
"Evelyn, sweetheart, are you listening?"
I gripped the desk.
"Yes," I whispered.
As though he could hear me.
Vincent continued.
"Your husband discovered the truth about your father's trust."
A pause.
"But he also discovered something about your family."
Roman stepped forward.
"Vincent!"
The older man laughed.
"Tell her, Roman."
Silence.
Then Vincent said the words that shattered everything I thought I knew.
"Tell Evelyn why her father left her the empire instead of you."
I stared at the screen.
Roman's face had gone pale.
Vincent continued.
"Tell her what Antonio discovered the night your mother died."
My breath caught.
And then Nathan's voice echoed from beneath the floor.
Weak.
Desperate.
"Evie, don't believe him!"
I pressed both hands against my stomach.
Vincent laughed.
"Oh, Nathan. Still trying to protect her."
Then he spoke again.
"Very well. If Roman won't tell her, I will."
A long pause.
Then the sentence that made my knees give way.
"Evelyn DeLuca was never supposed to inherit anything."
I stared.
Vincent's voice dropped.
"Because according to the original family records, Evelyn isn't Antonio DeLuca's biological daughter."
The room disappeared around me.
I couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
Couldn't move.
On the monitor, Roman shouted something.
But I barely heard him.
Because Vincent wasn't finished.
"And the man who knew the truth about her birth," he continued, "was the same man who ordered Nathan Mercer to be killed."
I gripped the chair.
My daughter kicked hard beneath my palm.
And for one terrible moment, I understood that the conspiracy wasn't simply about money.
It wasn't simply about the scholarship fund.
Or Nathan.
Or the Blackwater warehouse.
It was about who I was.
Who my father had been.
And why someone had spent six years trying to erase the truth.
Then the chapel's emergency lights flickered again.
A gunshot cracked through the speakers.
I screamed.
"ROMAN!"
The monitor went black.
And somewhere beneath the DeLuca estate, the man I loved was trapped with the men who had destroyed our family.
I stood in the darkened observation room, one hand pressed against my stomach, and made a decision.
I wasn't going to wait for another man to decide what I deserved to know.
I wasn't going to let fear silence me.
And I wasn't going to lose Nathan again.
I turned toward Michael, the security guard.
"Take me to the chapel."
He shook his head.
"Mrs. Mercer, your brother ordered—"
I stepped closer.
"My brother may be dying down there."
Michael hesitated.
I looked directly into his eyes.
"And my husband is waiting for me."
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then I said the words that would change everything.
"Open the service tunnel."
Because I had finally understood something my father had tried to teach Roman for years.
Power wasn't always about who carried the gun.
Sometimes, power belonged to the person everyone had underestimated.
May you like
And Vincent Bellamy had made the greatest mistake of his life.
He had underestimated me.
