Chapter 4
By dawn, my mansion looked like a battlefield wearing expensive clothes.
Broken glass glittered on marble floors.
Bullet holes marked the chapel walls.
Blood darkened the terrace steps where rain had not washed it away.
My men moved quietly.
Too quietly.
Everyone knew the attack had come from inside.
Everyone knew my brother had been taken alive.
No one knew what I would do next.
Grace sat in Sofia’s old morning room while a doctor wrapped her bruised arm.
She refused pain medicine.
Not because it did not hurt.
Because she did not want to sleep.
Evelyn stood near the window, watching the grounds.
I stood across the room, trying not to stare at the bruise on my daughter’s skin.
Trying not to imagine what would have happened if Evelyn had not trained her.
Trying not to hate myself for needing to be grateful.
Grace turned her head toward me.
“You’re pacing.”
“I’m thinking.”
“You pace when you’re angry.”
“I am angry.”
“At me?”
The question hit me in the ribs.
“No.”
“At Evelyn?”
I glanced at the woman by the window.
“Yes.”
Evelyn did not turn.
Grace sighed.
“She saved me.”
“She lied to me.”
“So did Mom.”
The room went still.
Grace swallowed.
“I mean, she hid things. Everyone hid things.”
I sat across from her.
The chair felt too small.
Or I felt too large for the conversation.
“I thought I was keeping you safe.”
“You kept me alone.”
I closed my eyes.
There are wounds a gun cannot make.
This was one.
“I didn’t know,” I said.
“You didn’t ask.”
That was worse.
Because it was true.
A knock came at the door.
Luca entered, pale and stiff.
“Boss. The trustees are here.”
I looked at Evelyn.
She nodded.
“Already?”
“They were activated when Matteo confessed,” she said.
“You had that ready too?”
“Sofia did.”
Grace whispered, “I want to meet them.”
“No.”
She turned toward me.
“Dad.”
My mouth closed.
I heard myself in the word.
Not a plea.
A warning.
I exhaled.
“Fine. But I ask questions first.”
Grace almost smiled.
“Progress.”
A few minutes later, three people entered.
A retired judge named Helena Ward.
A finance lawyer named Samuel Cross.
And a nun.
That last one threw me.
She was small, sharp-eyed, and wore simple gray clothing.
“Sister Agnes,” Evelyn said.
I stared.
“A nun controls my wife’s trust?”
Sister Agnes looked me up and down.
“Not controls, Mr. Caruso. Protects. There is a difference. Your wife understood that.”
I decided immediately I disliked her.
Then Grace said, “Hello, Sister Agnes.”
The nun’s expression softened.
“Hello, child.”
“I’m not a child today.”
Sister Agnes nodded.
“Then hello, Grace.”
I decided I disliked her less.
Helena Ward opened a leather folder.
“Sofia Caruso created the Belladonna Trust before Grace was born. Its purpose is to protect Grace’s inheritance, education, medical autonomy, and future independence from criminal influence.”
Criminal influence.
The words were said in my own house.
To my face.
Grace turned her head slightly.
“From Dad?”
Samuel Cross answered carefully.
“From anyone. Including your father, if necessary.”
My jaw tightened.
Evelyn watched me.
So did Grace.
Sofia’s letter seemed to burn in my pocket.
Do not let anger become more important than our daughter.
I forced myself to stay silent.
Helena continued.
“On Grace’s twelfth birthday, the trust entered its second phase. Decisions about her training, security, schooling, and estate access must include her voice.”
Grace sat straighter.
“My voice?”
“Yes,” Helena said. “Your mother was very clear.”
Grace’s lips parted.
No one had ever given her that before.
A legal voice.
A place at the table.
My chest ached.
I had loved Sofia.
I had mourned her.
But I had not understood her fear.
Not fully.
Maybe because understanding it would have required seeing myself clearly.
Sister Agnes placed a small box on the table.
“Your mother left this for you.”
Grace reached out.
I guided her hand before I could stop myself.
She did not pull away.
The box was velvet.
Inside was a silver necklace with the same eight-pointed star divided by a black line.
Grace touched it.
“What does it mean?”
Evelyn answered.
“Eight directions. One line home.”
Grace held it like it was fragile.
“Mom had one?”
“Yes,” I said quietly.
Sofia wore it under her wedding dress.
I remembered now.
I had never asked why.
Another knock came.
This time Marco entered, still bandaged.
“Boss. Matteo wants to talk.”
“No.”
Grace said, “I want to hear him.”
“No.”
She lifted her chin.
“He lied to me. He called me little star while planning to use me. I get to hear what he says.”
“He is dangerous.”
“So am I learning to be.”
I looked at Evelyn.
She gave me nothing.
No rescue.
No opinion.
This decision was mine.
Or maybe ours.
I nodded once.
“Through glass.”
Matteo was being held in the secure room beneath the garage.
Not a prison.
A room I had used for men who needed to remember fear.
Seeing my brother there made me feel nothing at first.
That scared me.
Grace sat beside me behind reinforced glass.
Evelyn stood behind her.
Matteo’s hands were cuffed to the table.
His left eye was swollen.
When he saw Grace, his face softened.
For a moment, I almost believed it.
“Little star,” he said.
Grace flinched.
Then she steadied.
“Don’t call me that.”
Pain crossed his face.
“You loved when I called you that.”
“I loved who I thought you were.”
Matteo looked down.
Then at me.
“Dom, listen. Romano pushed this. He threatened me.”
I leaned forward.
“Romano knew about the trust?”
Matteo hesitated.
Too long.
Grace heard it.
“You’re lying,” she said.
His eyes snapped to her.
“How would you know?”
“Your breathing changed.”
Evelyn’s mouth almost curved.
Grace continued, “You breathe out before lying. Like you need room for it.”
Matteo’s face hardened.
“You think training makes you strong? You’re still blind.”
I stood so fast my chair hit the floor.
Grace grabbed my wrist.
“No.”
Her hand was small.
Steady.
She faced Matteo.
“And you still need people smaller than you to feel powerful.”
Matteo lunged against the cuffs.
“Careful.”
Grace did not move.
“No. I’m done being careful with people who hurt me.”
Matteo laughed.
“You sound like Sofia.”
“Yes,” Grace said.
The room went silent.
My brother stared at her.
Grace touched the necklace at her throat.
“I hope that scares you.”
For the first time, I saw it.
Not Sofia in her face.
Not me.
Grace.
Her own person.
My daughter stood.
“I’m finished.”
I walked her out.
At the door, Matteo shouted, “You still don’t know who opened the gate!”
I stopped.
May you like
He smiled through the glass.
“It wasn’t me.”
