Chapter 12 - Luca’s Confession
Luca did not run.
Maybe guilt finally weighed more than fear.
Maybe he knew running from me had always been impossible.
We drove him to Miriam’s office rather than the mansion.
No basement.
No ropes.
No violence.
The restraint infuriated him more than a beating might have.
“You going soft?” he asked.
“I’m trying something new.”
He laughed bitterly.
“Isabelle.”
“Yes.”
“She always wanted you civilized.”
“She wanted me accountable.”
“That sounds worse.”
It was.
Miriam arranged for a criminal attorney to represent Luca before he said anything else.
That irritated me.
It was also the first evidence I was truly changing.
Old Dominic would have wanted a confession that belonged to me.
New Dominic needed one that belonged in court.
Three hours later, Luca agreed to cooperate.
His story was ugly.
Vincent approached him two years earlier.
At first, the requests were minor.
Vehicle schedules.
Security gaps.
Access codes.
Then cash.
Then leverage.
Luca had a secret.
His younger brother had been caught stealing from a Romano-controlled card operation.
Vincent covered it up.
In exchange, Luca became useful.
“Did you sabotage my brakes?”
Luca looked at the table.
“I gave Vincent the maintenance schedule.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No. Carlo hired a mechanic.”
“Did you know?”
“After.”
“And did nothing.”
“Yes.”
“What about Isabelle?”
“I knew Vincent was watching her.”
“Did you know he planned to kill her?”
His silence lasted too long.
“Yes.”
The word emptied the room.
Grace had not come.
I was grateful.
I did not want her seeing my face.
“You knew.”
“I tried to stop it.”
“How?”
“I told Vincent killing her would bring police attention.”
I laughed once.
“That was your objection?”
“I was afraid of him.”
“You were my security chief.”
“He knew everything I’d done.”
“So did I.”
“No,” Luca said. “You knew what I did for you. You didn’t know what I did for myself.”
That distinction mattered.
Men like Luca had survived around me because everyone assumed my crimes explained theirs.
Vincent understood that.
“How did he know Isabelle’s preschool schedule?”
“I gave it to him.”
I closed my eyes.
“Why?”
“He said he needed to talk to her away from you.”
“And Carlo?”
“I didn’t know Carlo would be there until that morning.”
“Did you warn Isabelle?”
“No.”
“Did you warn me?”
“No.”
“Then stop telling yourself you tried.”
Luca flinched.
Good.
“Why the two million?”
“Insurance.”
“For what?”
“After you survived the brakes, Vincent wanted another option.”
“What option?”
“To make your death look like retaliation from another crew.”
“When?”
“He never gave the final order.”
“Because Isabelle died first.”
Luca nodded.
The room remained silent.
Miriam asked, “Where is Isabelle’s phone?”
Luca looked at me.
“Vincent had it.”
“Had?”
“He destroyed it.”
My hope disappeared.
“But,” Luca added, “he copied everything first.”
I leaned forward.
“Where?”
“An encrypted server at Northstar.”
“Location?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think.”
“He used remote hosting. Aaron Bell set it up.”
Aaron.
Missing.
Possibly alive.
Possibly dead.
Miriam asked, “Could Aaron access it?”
“Yes.”
“Could that be why Vincent took him?”
Luca nodded.
I stood.
“Where would Vincent hold someone?”
Miriam warned, “Dominic.”
“I am asking.”
Luca thought.
“Not one of our properties.”
“Why?”
“Too obvious.”
“Vincent’s?”
“No.”
Then his eyes changed.
“There’s a place in Oyster Bay.”
“What place?”
“An old house under a nonprofit.”
“Which nonprofit?”
“Bright Harbor Foundation.”
I knew the name.
Isabelle’s charity.
A foundation she created to fund preschool meals and counseling.
My stomach turned.
Vincent had used her charity?
Luca gave us the address.
Miriam contacted investigators.
I was explicitly told not to go.
For once, I listened.
At 11:43 p.m., police entered the property.
Aaron Bell was found alive in a locked basement.
Dehydrated.
Beaten.
Terrified.
He had been held for four days.
Two men guarding him were arrested.
Vincent was not there.
Aaron asked for one person before he would speak formally.
Not me.
Grace.
I did not understand.
Neither did she.
At the hospital, Aaron stared at her from beneath bruised eyelids.
“You’re Grace Bennett?”
“Yes.”
“Isabelle said if anything happened, I should find someone named Bennett.”
Grace went still.
“What?”
Aaron reached beneath the hospital blanket and removed a tiny brass token he had hidden inside the lining of his shoe.
On one side was a number.
On the other:
BENNETT & SON CLOCK REPAIR.
Grace looked as if she had been struck.
“That was my father’s shop.”
I stared at her.
“You knew Isabelle?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
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But Aaron whispered:
“She knew you.”
