Chapter 1
Dominic Caruso entered the kitchen and saw his nine-year-old son pressed against Brooke’s side.
Then he saw the belt.
The broken glass.
The overturned chair.
The bruises.
Gary was still half-sprawled across the kitchen table where Brooke’s kick had sent him.
Dominic’s face went completely still.
Gary had heard stories about that expression.
None ended well.
Brooke stepped in front of Ethan.
“Dad, don’t.”
Dominic looked at her.
She was seventeen, breathing hard, fists still clenched.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t make this worse.”
That stopped him more effectively than a gun could have.
Dominic took out his phone.
He called 911.
Gary stared at him.
“You’re calling the police?”
Dominic looked at the bruises on Ethan’s arms.
“Yes.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
Claire finally moved from the doorway.
She crossed the kitchen and crouched beside Ethan.
He flinched.
Claire stopped immediately.
Her face crumpled.
“Sweetheart…”
Ethan buried himself deeper against Brooke.
Dominic noticed.
So did Brooke.
That hurt Claire more than anything anyone could have said.
Police arrived first.
Paramedics followed.
Ethan had extensive bruising in different stages of healing but no broken bones. A shallow cut on his foot came from the shattered drinking glass. His ribs were tender where Gary had grabbed and shoved him during earlier incidents.
Brooke had redness along one wrist where Gary had tried to pull her away from Ethan.
Gary complained that Brooke had assaulted him.
The kitchen camera did not capture everything.
Brooke did not deny the kick.
“He was charging at me with the belt after beating my brother.”
Officers photographed the belt where it lay.
The chair.
The glass.
The spilled water.
And a strange streak of dark green paint across the kitchen floor.
One officer asked:
“What’s the paint from?”
Gary answered too quickly.
“Ethan.”
Ethan looked up.
“No.”
Gary glared at him.
The boy immediately lowered his head.
Dominic’s hands tightened.
Brooke touched his arm.
“Dad.”
He forced them open again.
Detective Lena Price arrived from the Columbus-area domestic violence unit.
She separated the adults.
Gary was detained based on the visible injuries, Brooke’s account, and the scene.
Claire was not arrested.
But child protective services immediately opened an investigation into whether she had known Ethan was being abused and failed to protect him.
Then Lena asked Dominic:
“Do you live here?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Claire and I divorced four years ago.”
“You have custody?”
“Joint legal custody. Claire has primary residential custody.”
“Any restrictions?”
Dominic answered without pretending otherwise.
“My parenting time is structured because of my criminal history.”
Lena looked at him.
“What criminal history?”
Dominic met her eyes.
“Organized crime.”
Silence.
“Current?”
“My lawyer can answer what I’m required to answer.”
Fair enough.
Then Brooke handed Lena her phone.
“I think this matters.”
On the screen was a photograph Brooke had taken three days earlier.
The back fence behind the house.
A crude green symbol had been painted across it.
Underneath the photograph Brooke had typed one note to herself:
Same paint as Gary’s garage shelf.
Lena looked back toward the kitchen floor.
The same shade of green.
Brooke whispered:
“Gary told Mom Dad’s enemies painted that fence.”
May you like
Dominic slowly turned toward Gary.
For the first time, the bruises were no longer the only thing in the room requiring an explanation.
