Chapter 7 - WHAT CESARE DID
Octavio turned so quickly his coat snapped behind him.
“What did you say?”
Cesare did not run.
Did not reach for a weapon.
He simply stood beside my father’s blue drawer.
“I was supposed to move Michael.”
My chest tightened.
“Move him where?”
“Out of Chicago.”
Bianca laughed softly.
“Such a gentle word.”
Cesare ignored her.
“The night at Union Station, Michael told me Bianca had discovered he copied the accounts.”
Bianca’s face became cold.
“He stole private records.”
“He documented crimes.”
I surprised myself by saying it.
Bianca looked at me.
“Yes.”
No denial.
“He did.”
Cesare continued.
“Enzo arranged a train ticket under another name. Michael was supposed to take you and your mother south that night.”
My stomach twisted.
“My mother never told me we were leaving.”
“She didn’t know.”
“Why?”
“Michael wanted to confirm one final account first.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
My father could spend forty minutes checking whether a picture frame was level.
He would not leave a mystery half-finished.
“What did you do?”
“I convinced him we had time.”
Cesare looked at me.
“We didn’t.”
Snow blew through the broken window.
Nobody spoke.
“The next morning,” he said, “Michael went to the warehouse to retrieve his original notes. Bianca had ordered the building cleared.”
Bianca’s jaw tightened.
“I ordered records destroyed.”
“By fire?”
“Yes.”
My stomach turned.
“You knew my father was inside?”
“No.”
The answer came sharp.
“I believed the building was empty.”
I wanted her to be lying.
I wanted a monster.
That would have been easier.
Cesare looked at me.
“I knew Michael might go back.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t warn him?”
“I tried.”
“You just said you knew.”
“I sent a man to stop him.”
“What man?”
Cesare looked toward Marco.
Marco’s face changed.
“My father.”
Cesare nodded.
“Antonio reached the property three minutes after the explosion.”
I could barely hear.
“You let my father go into a building you knew might be burned.”
“Yes.”
His voice broke for the first time.
“Because I believed saving Enzo’s family from open war mattered more than Michael’s deadline.”
My hand moved before I thought.
The slap echoed through the warehouse.
Nobody stopped me.
Cesare’s head turned with the impact.
He slowly looked back.
“I deserved that.”
“No.”
My voice shook.
“You deserve fifteen years I don’t have.”
His eyes lowered.
“Yes.”
Octavio stepped beside me.
Not touching.
Simply there.
Bianca watched us with something like exhaustion.
“You all keep acting as if one death created this,” she said. “It didn’t.”
She looked at Octavio.
“Your father understood what you never have. Families like ours survive because somebody makes ugly decisions.”
“You tried to sell Isabella into a marriage.”
“I tried to prevent another war.”
“She is not territory.”
“No.”
Bianca’s eyes softened unexpectedly.
“She is my niece.”
“Then why?”
“Because I buried a son.”
Silence.
Adrian looked away.
Bianca continued.
“My eldest boy was nineteen when the Romano family shot him outside a restaurant.”
Her voice remained steady only through practice.
“Enzo promised peace. Cesare promised protection. None of it brought Matteo back.”
I had never heard the name.
Even Octavio looked affected.
“So you decided Isabella would pay for your grief?” he asked.
“I decided one marriage was better than another funeral.”
“That was not your decision.”
Bianca’s eyes flashed.
“And your guards outside her bedroom were?”
Octavio had no answer.
That mattered.
Bianca looked at me.
“Do you see? He thinks his control is noble because he calls it protection.”
I thought of the rooftop.
The blocked door.
Then I thought of Octavio at his mother’s bedroom.
When I said don’t, he stopped.
People could change.
But only after admitting what needed changing.
“Where is Isabella?” I asked.
Bianca looked toward Adrian.
He sighed.
“They’re in the office across the yard.”
Octavio’s hand tightened.
“Why?”
“Because my mother wanted the ledger before they left.”
Adrian’s voice carried no pleasure.
Only fatigue.
“I did not want to marry Isabella.”
Bianca turned.
“Adrian.”
“No, Mother.”
Another reversal.
Adrian looked at Octavio.
“I knew about the forged engagement agreement three weeks ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because my mother told me if I interfered, she would release records tying my younger brother to a trafficking case.”
Bianca closed her eyes.
There it was.
Not simple villainy.
Fear turned into control.
Again.
The family disease.
Adrian removed a key card and handed it to Octavio.
“They’re unharmed.”
Octavio started toward the door.
Then Bianca said quietly,
“You still don’t understand who ordered the tracker.”
He stopped.
Everyone did.
“I did not order Isabella killed.”
“You forged the security directive.”
“Yes.”
“You arranged the Falcone engagement.”
“Yes.”
“You burned the records fifteen years ago.”
“Yes.”
Bianca met his eyes.
“But I never ordered a sniper.”
My stomach dropped.
“The rooftop,” I whispered.
Bianca shook her head.
“Not mine.”
Octavio turned toward Cesare.
Cesare looked genuinely confused.
“Not mine.”
Marco said, “I didn’t.”
Adrian went pale.
Then his gaze moved toward the warehouse rafters.
A tiny red light blinked.
Once.
Twice.
“DOWN!”
Octavio hit me as gunfire exploded through the windows.
Glass rained across the concrete.
Cesare dragged Bianca behind the steel desk.
Marco returned fire.
Adrian crawled toward the exterior breaker.
The lights went black.
Somewhere outside, tires screamed.
Then a vehicle accelerated toward the office where Isabella and Daniel were being held.
Octavio lunged toward the door.
“ISABELLA!”
A deafening crash shook the building.
Flames burst through the windows across the yard.
I grabbed Octavio’s sleeve.
The office had disappeared behind orange fire.
May you like
And from inside it, somebody began pounding against the glass.
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