Chapter 4 - blood and lies
The grandfather clock in the study chimed eleven times. Outside the rain began to lash against the leaded glass windows of the Bellaro estate.
Victor stood behind his massive oak desk, the room smelling of old leather, cigar smoke, and rain. He hadn’t touched his scotch.
The door opened, and Julian Vance—Celeste’s polished younger brother, dressed in a sharp charcoal suit—stepped inside. Unlike Celeste, Julian looked completely composed, his blond hair slicked back, a thin leather portfolio tucked under his arm.
“Victor,” Julian said, offering a tight, diplomatic smile. “My sister is hysterical upstairs. The guards won’t even let her wash the wine out of her hair. What is this ridiculous circus about an invitation?”
Victor didn’t invite him to sit. He slid the carbon copy of the birth certificate across the dark mahogany wood.
Julian looked down. His smile flickered, then vanished entirely.
“Where did you get this?” Julian asked, his voice losing its easy charm.
“Your sister is Elena’s daughter,” Victor said, leaning forward, resting his heavy fists on the desk. “Which means Senator Vance never adopted her legally. Which means her claim to the Vance political dynasty is a total fraud. And more importantly—she was raised to know she had Bellaro blood.”
Julian swallowed, his fair skin tightening around his eyes. “Victor, Silvio knew. Our father knew. It was kept quiet to protect the family after the 1984 hit on Aunt Elena. Celeste didn't find out until two years ago.”
“And that’s when she came to me,” Victor said with a quiet, lethal calm. “She introduced herself at the charity gala. She seduced me. She pushed for this wedding. Why? Because under the old Bellaro syndicate charter, an outsider wife gets nothing if the don dies. But a direct blood descendant inherits the northern territories.”
Julian didn’t deny it. He closed the portfolio in his hands and placed it on the desk.
“Even if that’s true,” Julian said in a low voice, “it doesn't explain the maid. Why do you care about Clara Hayes? She’s nobody. A stray Silvio took in out of pity.”
“Is she?” Victor asked. He pulled the brass key from his pocket and dropped it on the polished wood. It made a sharp, metallic clink.
Julian’s eyes locked onto the key. For a fraction of a second, his breath hitched.
“You recognize this key, don’t you, Julian?” Victor asked softly.
Julian stepped back, his hand instinctively touching the inner lapel of his jacket. “I have no idea what that is.”
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“You’re a terrible liar,” Victor said, straightening to his full height. “Because the fire report from ten years ago listed only one car parked outside that burning cabin. A silver sedan registered to the Vance Law Firm.”
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