Chapter 3 - The Brother Who Returned From the Dead|
Dominic stared at the photograph until the screen went dark.
Then he called Marco.
"I want the original image, the camera source, and confirmation of when it was taken."
"Already working on it, boss."
"Don't tell anyone."
"Understood."
Dominic ended the call.
I stood beside the desk, watching the man who had frightened the entire city struggle to process what he'd seen.
"Dominic?"
He didn't answer.
"Look at me."
His eyes finally met mine.
"That could be an old photograph," I said.
He shook his head.
"The building behind him was renovated last year."
My stomach tightened.
"Then maybe someone who looks like him."
"Maybe."
But neither of us believed it.
Anthony Russo had supposedly died from a heart attack five years earlier.
Dominic had attended the funeral.
He'd paid for the service.
He'd stood beside the coffin while powerful men from New York, Chicago, and Philadelphia offered condolences.
I'd seen the photograph hanging in his study.
Dominic and Vincent as children, standing beside their father.
Anthony Russo smiling with one hand on each boy's shoulder.
Now that same man appeared to be walking away from a violent attack.
"Why would he fake his death?" I asked.
Dominic looked toward the city.
"My father had enemies."
"So do you."
"Not like his."
I folded my arms.
"Then tell me what you're hiding."
He turned.
"Mia, you don't understand what you're asking."
"That's becoming your favorite sentence."
His jaw tightened.
I stepped closer.
"Eight months, Dominic. Eight months of guards following me, drivers reporting where I go, and people checking every person I speak to."
"I was protecting you."
"From what?"
He looked away.
"From the people who wanted that ledger."
I froze.
"You knew about it?"
"Not where it was."
"But you knew it existed."
Dominic exhaled.
"The painting you appraised at the gallery belonged to a collection used to hide financial transactions. You noticed discrepancies in its provenance."
"I remember."
"The person who arranged those transactions was connected to my father."
I stared at him.
"And you never told me?"
"I thought knowing less would keep you safe."
I laughed without humor.
"That didn't work."
He said nothing.
I remembered the day Dominic first entered the Chelsea gallery.
He wore a charcoal suit and looked completely out of place among the collectors drinking champagne.
He'd asked to speak to me privately.
He said he'd heard I had questions about a seventeenth-century painting.
I had shown him the records.
He'd watched me with an intensity I mistook for admiration.
Now I wondered whether he'd approached me because he liked me.
Or because someone had ordered him to.
"Did you ever actually want me?" I asked.
His face changed.
"What?"
"When we met. Was it real?"
"Mia."
"Answer me."
He approached slowly.
"The first reason I came to the gallery was business."
My chest tightened.
"And everything after?"
His voice softened.
"That was me."
I wanted to believe him.
That was the worst part.
I still wanted to believe him.
Dominic reached toward my hand.
I stepped away.
"Don't."
He lowered his arm.
A knock interrupted us.
Marco entered carrying a tablet.
"Boss, we have confirmation."
Dominic straightened.
"Speak."
"The photograph was taken this morning. Facial comparison strongly suggests the man is Anthony Russo."
Dominic closed his eyes.
Marco continued.
"The attack at Gabriel's estate injured four guards. Three are dead. Gabriel survived."
"And Vincent?"
Marco hesitated.
"We haven't found him."
My stomach dropped.
"He's missing?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Dominic turned.
"Prepare the cars."
Marco nodded.
"There's another problem."
"What?"
"Federal agents arrived at the estate before local police."
Dominic frowned.
"How?"
"Someone tipped them off before the attack."
I looked at the ledger.
"The leak."
Marco nodded.
"Possibly."
Dominic picked up his jacket.
"Mia, stay here."
I didn't move.
"No."
He stared.
"Not again."
"Vincent trusted me. Gabriel spoke to me. I know things your men don't."
"This isn't a gallery dispute."
"And I'm not a child."
Dominic's expression tightened.
For a long moment, we stared at each other.
Then he stepped aside.
"You stay beside me."
"I'll make my own decisions."
He looked as though he wanted to argue.
Instead, he nodded once.
"Fine."
An hour later, we reached the Bianchi estate.
Police vehicles lined the driveway.
Yellow tape fluttered between stone pillars.
The smell of smoke hung in the air.
Gabriel Bianchi stood near the entrance, his white shirt stained with soot.
He was a tall man in his early forties, with dark eyes and a scar beside his mouth.
When he saw me, his expression softened.
"Mia."
Dominic immediately stiffened.
Gabriel noticed.
"Still jealous, Russo?"
Dominic took a step forward.
"Where's my brother?"
Gabriel's expression changed.
"Inside."
My heart leaped.
"He's alive?"
Gabriel looked at me.
"Yes."
Dominic pushed past him.
We followed.
Inside a private sitting room, a man stood beside the window.
He was thinner than Dominic.
His hair was longer.
A scar crossed his left eyebrow.
But the resemblance was unmistakable.
Dominic stopped.
"Vincent?"
The man turned.
For several seconds, neither brother moved.
Then Vincent smiled sadly.
"Hello, Dom."
Dominic's face crumpled.
He crossed the room and pulled his brother into his arms.
I watched the two men cling to each other like survivors of a disaster nobody else could understand.
Then Vincent pulled away.
"We don't have much time."
Dominic stared at him.
"Where have you been?"
Vincent looked toward the door.
"Hiding from the man who tried to kill me."
"Our father?"
Vincent shook his head.
"No."
Dominic frowned.
"Then who?"
Vincent looked directly at me.
May you like
And whispered:
"The person who brought Mia into your life."
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