Chapter 11 - The Brother Who Needed Me Dead

Camille gave us a date.

Sixteen months earlier.

Two months before Isabelle was murdered.

I remembered that week.

A brake failure on the Cross Island Parkway nearly sent my SUV into a concrete barrier.

My driver blamed defective parts.

I replaced the entire vehicle fleet.

Then forgot about it.

Isabelle had not.

“She believed Vincent arranged the brake failure,” Camille said.

“Why?”

“Because I heard him talking to Carlo.”

I stared.

“You knew?”

“I didn’t know they meant you until afterward.”

Grace sat beside me, silent.

“What did you hear?”

Camille rubbed her palms together.

“Vincent said, ‘If the old man’s son dies on the road, everyone will call it fate.’”

Our father had been dead seven years.

Old man’s son meant me.

“What did Carlo say?”

“He asked about security.”

“And Vincent?”

“He said he controlled the schedules.”

I thought of Luca.

Security schedules.

Vehicle rotations.

Routes.

Either Luca had been compromised—

or Vincent had access I never questioned.

“Why kill me before Isabelle discovered the theft?”

Camille laughed bitterly.

“You still think the theft was the point.”

“What was?”

“Control.”

She stood and retrieved a folder.

Inside were copies of trust documents, corporate charts and estate plans.

My estate plans.

If I died, forty-one percent of Romano Harbor Construction passed to my daughters in trust.

Isabelle became trustee until they turned twenty-five.

If both Isabelle and I died before Nora turned eighteen, the successor trustee was—

Vincent.

I stared at my own signature.

“Who drafted this?”

“Our old estate attorney.”

“When?”

“Four years ago.”

I remembered.

Vincent had recommended revisions after Nora was born.

I had signed thirty documents between meetings.

Power made men careless because they confused delegation with safety.

“He needed me dead first,” I said.

Camille nodded.

“But I survived.”

“So Isabelle became the obstacle.”

Grace whispered, “And once she found the money…”

“She became two obstacles,” Camille said.

Motive deepened.

Not one act of panic.

A plan.

Vincent wanted the legitimate companies, the criminal organization, and eventually control over my daughters’ trust.

My brother had not betrayed me once.

He had built his future around my funeral.

“Where is the second recording?”

Camille shook her head.

“Isabelle never told me.”

“She told you she had it.”

“Yes.”

“Did Vincent know?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Camille’s mouth trembled.

“Because I told him.”

I stood so quickly the chair struck the wall.

Grace rose too.

Camille did not move.

“You told him?”

“He threatened Nicholas.”

“You told him Isabelle had proof.”

“Yes.”

“And she died two days later.”

“Yes.”

Rage flooded me.

I could not look at her.

Grace stepped between us—not because I would hit Camille, but because she did not know that for certain.

The fact she had to wonder shamed me.

Camille whispered, “I have hated myself every day.”

“Good.”

Grace said my name sharply.

“No. She wants forgiveness? I don’t have it.”

“I didn’t ask for forgiveness,” Camille said. “I asked to help finish what Isabelle started.”

She handed me one final paper.

A bank record.

Vincent transferred two million dollars into a Cayman entity called Adrian Holdings the week after Isabelle died.

“Who owns Adrian?”

“I don’t know.”

Miriam later traced it through three jurisdictions.

The beneficial owner was not Vincent.

It was Luca Marchetti.

My security chief.

The man who had driven me to find the blue ledger.

The man standing twenty feet away outside Camille’s house.

I looked through the window.

Luca was beside the car, speaking into his phone.

Grace followed my gaze.

“Dominic.”

“I know.”

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m offended you think that requires saying.”

She did not smile.

I called Luca.

Through the glass, I watched him answer.

“Boss?”

“Everything okay outside?”

“Yes.”

“Any movement?”

“None.”

“Good.”

I looked at Camille.

“Stay inside.”

Then I told Grace, “Lock the door after me.”

She grabbed my wrist.

“Dominic.”

“I’m not going to kill him.”

“Promise.”

“I don’t make promises I’m not certain I can keep.”

Her grip tightened.

“Then become certain.”

For five seconds, neither of us moved.

Then I nodded.

“I promise.”

I walked outside.

Luca smiled.

“Ready to go?”

I stopped ten feet from him.

“Adrian Holdings.”

The smile vanished.

His hand twitched near his jacket.

Mine stayed at my side.

“Take your hand away from the gun,” I said.

“Boss—”

“Now.”

Slowly, he obeyed.

The second security team noticed and raised weapons.

I lifted one hand.

“Nobody shoots.”

Luca stared at me.

Twenty years of loyalty stood between us.

Or what I had believed was loyalty.

“Why did Vincent pay you two million dollars?”

His face collapsed.

“Dominic—”

“Why?”

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He whispered:

“Because I was supposed to make sure you died on the highway.”