Z

For twenty years, I believed my mother had been afraid of powerful men.

I was wrong.

She had been studying them.

The documents Matteo eventually showed us were hidden inside an encrypted account even Luca’s cybersecurity team hadn’t discovered.

My mother, Caroline Bennett, had quietly accumulated minority interests in companies connected to Damian Vale’s father.

Hotels.

Warehouses.

Construction firms.

Land.

Debt instruments.

Whenever Vale businesses suffered financial trouble, anonymous investment companies stepped in.

Those companies belonged to trusts controlled by my mother.

“She was building leverage,” I whispered.

Matteo nodded.

“Insurance.”

“Against whom?”

“Everyone.”

Including my father.

Especially my father.

We moved before dawn from the hotel to a secure townhouse Luca owned near Lincoln Park.

I agreed only after he showed me the security system and handed me the access codes himself.

“You can change them,” he said.

“You’d still know how to get inside.”

“Yes.”

“At least you admit it.”

“I’m trying something new.”

“What?”

“Not lying to you.”

I looked at him.

“That must be exhausting.”

His mouth twitched.

For a man with Luca’s reputation, he smiled more than Damian ever did.

Matteo sat downstairs under guard.

Luca hadn’t decided whether his uncle was a traitor, an accomplice or something more complicated.

Neither had I.

At seven in the morning, I called the attorney who had handled my mother’s estate.

Disconnected.

At seven-fifteen, I called his office.

Closed permanently.

At seven-thirty, Adrian found his obituary.

Dead three years.

Stroke.

Convenient.

At eight, Luca placed a folder in front of me.

“What’s this?”

“Your father’s financial position.”

I opened it.

Victor Bennett was not merely seventeen million dollars in debt.

He was ruined.

The family company had been losing money for years.

Loans were secured against our house, commercial property and several investments.

My father had concealed everything.

“How much does he actually owe?”

“Forty-three million.”

My stomach dropped.

“To Damian?”

“Seventeen. Another nine to banks.”

“And the rest?”

Luca tapped the final page.

“Matteo.”

I stared at him.

His uncle had loaned my father seventeen million dollars through private companies.

The exact amount Victor claimed Damian was forgiving in exchange for me.

“Why?”

“I intend to ask.”

We returned downstairs.

Matteo looked tired for the first time.

Luca threw the folder onto the table.

“Explain.”

Matteo read the page.

Then sighed.

“I kept Victor afloat.”

“For what?”

“To stop Damian from taking control.”

“You financed Isabella’s father?”

“Yes.”

“Without telling me.”

“Yes.”

“For six years.”

“Yes.”

Luca’s voice became dangerously quiet.

“Why?”

Matteo looked at me.

“Because Caroline asked me to.”

My throat tightened.

“You knew my mother?”

“Very well.”

“How well?”

Matteo looked toward the window.

“For twenty-six years.”

I did the math.

Before she married my father.

“Were you…”

“No.”

His answer came immediately.

“We were friends.”

Luca watched him.

Matteo continued.

“Your mother knew the Moretti family through charity work. She discovered our businesses weren’t entirely legitimate.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” I said.

He almost smiled.

“She hated what our world did to ordinary people. But she also understood something most idealists don’t.”

“What?”

“Money is power. And if decent people refuse to understand power, indecent people keep all of it.”

That sounded exactly like something my mother would say.

“When did she discover my father was stealing?”

“About a year before she died.”

My chest tightened.

“How did she die?”

Matteo didn’t answer.

Luca looked at him.

“Uncle.”

“I don’t know.”

Not good enough.

“My mother died when her car went off Lake Shore Drive during a storm.”

“I remember.”

“The police called it an accident.”

“Yes.”

“Was it?”

Matteo’s silence was answer enough.

I stood so quickly the chair scraped backward.

“No.”

“Isabella—”

“No.”

My hands began trembling.

Not sadness.

Rage.

“Who?”

“We never proved anything.”

“WHO?”

Luca stood.

“Isabella.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

That stopped me.

He approached slowly.

“Sit if you want. Stand if you want. Break something if it helps. But breathe long enough to hear the answer.”

I hated that he was right.

I looked at Matteo.

“Who?”

“Victor met Damian’s father three days before Caroline died.”

My father.

The man who stood beside me at her funeral.

Who held my shoulders while I sobbed.

Who told reporters my mother had been the love of his life.

I felt sick.

“Did he kill her?”

“We don’t know.”

“Did Damian?”

“He was only beginning to run parts of his family business then. We found no proof he ordered anything.”

“But my father knew.”

“I believe so.”

I turned away.

For years, I had protected my father from the ugliest possibility.

He stole after grief changed him.

He became cruel after losing her.

He made terrible decisions because he missed her.

Maybe none of that was true.

Maybe the grief had been theater.

Luca’s phone rang.

He answered.

“Speak.”

A voice said something I couldn’t hear.

Luca’s face hardened.

“When?”

Another pause.

“Keep everyone away.”

He ended the call.

“What happened?”

He looked at Matteo.

“Victor Bennett’s house is burning.”

I stared at him.

“What?”

“Fire department responded ten minutes ago.”

“My father?”

“Missing.”

I grabbed my coat.

Luca caught my elbow.

I immediately pulled away.

He released me.

“Sorry.”

That mattered.

“I’m going there.”

“No.”

“You just said—”

“I know what I said. And this isn’t about controlling you.”

“Then don’t.”

“It’s about the fact that whoever burned that house may be waiting for you to show up.”

“I need to know whether my father is alive.”

“We’ll find out.”

“How?”

“My people are already there.”

“I’m not sitting in this house while—”

My phone rang.

Unknown number.

Everyone froze.

I answered.

“Hello?”

At first there was only static.

Then my father’s voice.

“Isabella.”

I closed my eyes.

Alive.

“Where are you?”

“Listen carefully.”

“Dad—”

“Do not trust Matteo.”

Matteo went rigid.

My father continued.

“And do not trust Luca.”

I looked across the room.

Luca heard every word.

“Who should I trust?” I asked. “You?”

My father inhaled sharply.

“I deserve that.”

That shocked me more than anger would have.

“Where are you?”

“Damian has me.”

Luca reached for his phone.

I shook my head.

“Why?”

“Because you took something he needs.”

“The files?”

“No.”

My father’s voice broke.

“You.”

I swallowed.

“What does he want?”

“Your signature before midnight on your birthday.”

“That’s six days away.”

“I know.”

“What happens at midnight?”

My father started speaking rapidly.

“If you don’t sign the proxy voluntarily before the trust activates, Damian loses any legal path to controlling the assets.”

“So let him lose.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then explain.”

“He won’t let the trust activate.”

My blood went cold.

“What does that mean?”

My father was crying now.

I had heard Victor Bennett cry exactly once in my entire life.

At my mother’s funeral.

“If you die before your twenty-ninth birthday without a spouse or child,” he whispered, “the trust dissolves and the assets return to the underlying companies.”

Damian’s companies.

The room became completely silent.

My father continued.

“That’s why he needed to marry you, sweetheart.”

I looked at Luca.

“And if he can’t?”

My father whispered:

“Then he needs you dead.”