Chapter 4 - The Shadow of the Patriarch
The quiet stone crypt was filled with the hum of the freezing wind outside.
Dominic stood motionless beside the marble tomb, holding the yellowed birth registry in his broad hand. Beside him, Julian lay groaning on the floor, clutching his broken wrist.
"She’s my sister?" Dominic asked, his deep voice dropping into a low, lethal whisper.
Julian panted heavily, looking up at Dominic with wild, terrified eyes. "Yes! Agatha gave birth to twins in Palermo! But Don Carmine only wanted a male heir to take the throne! He gave Vivienne away to a secondary family in Chicago and raised you as his sole son!"
Dominic’s mind moved with rapid, terrifying clarity. The entire multi-decade lie was unraveling before his eyes. Vivienne hadn't spent forty years trying to destroy the Ravelli empire out of random greed—she was fighting to reclaim a bloodline legacy that had been stolen from her at birth!
"Why did she marry my brother Thomas?" Dominic growled softly.
"Because it was the only way she could get back into this house!" Julian confessed desperately. "She married Thomas fifteen years ago to gain access to the estate blueprints! She wanted to find the original birth registry before Don Carmine’s trust defaulted to you!"
Frank stepped up beside Dominic, holding his radio. "Boss... we have a situation upstairs in the main house. Agatha just locked herself inside the master study with Vivienne."
Dominic didn't waste another second. He grabbed the briefcase, turned around, and sprinted back up the chapel stairs into the blizzard.
He burst through the side entrance of the main mansion, his heavy shoes pounding against the hardwood corridor.
Outside the master study, two security guards were trying to breach the oak double doors with a crowbar.
"Get back!" Dominic ordered.
Dominic stepped back, raised his heavy boot, and kicked the lock mechanism with immense physical power. The solid oak doors splintered inward with a deafening crash.
Dominic stepped into the study.
The room was dimly lit by the crackling fireplace. Sitting in two leather armchairs opposite each other were eighty-year-old Agatha and forty-one-year-old Vivienne.
Agatha held an antique silver revolver in her frail hand, aimed directly at Vivienne’s chest. Vivienne sat perfectly still, a cold, mocking smile on her fair face despite the weapon pointed at her.
"Mother, put the gun down," Dominic commanded, his voice steady as iron as he stepped into the center of the room.
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Agatha didn't lower the weapon. Her hands trembled, but her eyes burned with a dark, fierce desperation. "She knows everything, Dominic. If she leaves this house tonight, the Council of Nine will tear this family apart."
"She knows because it's true, Mother," Dominic said softly, pulling the yellowed birth registry from his coat. "Vivienne is my twin."
