Chapter 7 - Blood Is Not LoyaltyI moved Gabriel to the same residence where Maria and Lily were recovering.
Lily was drawing beside the living-room window when we entered.
She looked up, studied Gabriel for three seconds, and then stared at me.
“Who is he?”
“This is Gabriel.”
“Is he your friend?”
“No. He's your brother.”
Gabriel looked at her.
“Half-brother, technically.”
Lily frowned.
“What does technically mean?”
“It means we're related, but we have different mothers.”
She considered that.
Then she held out a crayon.
“You can draw with me.”
Gabriel hesitated.
Children who have been betrayed by adults learn to distrust uncomplicated kindness. He looked toward Maria first, waiting for permission.
Maria's eyes filled with tears when she saw him.
“Gabriel.”
He stood motionless.
She approached slowly and knelt in front of him.
“I knew your father loved you,” she whispered. “I'm sorry no one told you the truth.”
Gabriel looked down.
“Why didn't you find me?”
“Because I didn't know where you were.”
“Everyone says that.”
Maria accepted the accusation without defending herself.
“I understand.”
The boy's expression softened slightly.
Lily tugged at his sleeve.
“Come on. My drawing has three people now.”
For the first time that day, Gabriel almost smiled.
I watched the two children sit at the table, and something unfamiliar settled inside me.
Perhaps family was not simply the people who shared your blood.
Perhaps it was the people who still made room for you after the world had given you reasons to disappear.
My thoughts were interrupted by Vincent.
He had spent the afternoon examining the school's records and the photographs from the attempted shooting.
“Boss, the motorcycle belonged to a man named Peter Voss. He's been working for Matteo for eight years.”
“Where is he?”
“Dead.”
I turned.
“Since when?”
“His body was discovered in an abandoned warehouse an hour ago.”
“Someone killed the shooter?”
Vincent nodded.
“Two bullets to the chest. No witnesses.”
I looked toward Gabriel.
“Matteo?”
“Possibly. But there's more.”
Vincent placed a document on the table.
The records showed that Matteo had been withdrawing money from Vescari accounts for years. Some of the funds had gone to the school, others to private investigators, and millions more had gone into a company registered in Delaware.
The company belonged to a man named Richard Vale.
My legal adviser.
My closest financial confidant.
The man who had helped me acquire half the businesses in my empire.
I stared at the signature on the transfer authorization.
It was mine.
Except I had never signed it.
“Someone forged my name.”
“Repeatedly,” Vincent said.
I examined the dates.
The first transfer had occurred six months before Alessandro's death.
The last had occurred three days ago.
“This isn't just Matteo's operation,” I said.
“No.”
Vincent tapped the final page.
“Richard Vale has been moving money into a private account controlled by the man who purchased Salvatore's old properties after his arrest.”
I looked at him.
“Who?”
Vincent gave me a grim smile.
“A man listed as deceased twenty years ago.”
He handed me a photograph.
The image showed an older man entering a private club in Toronto.
Silver hair. A scar beneath the left eye. A distinctive ring on his right hand.
I recognized the ring.
I had seen it in family photographs when I was a child.
It belonged to my father.
The man in the photograph was not my father.
He was Salvatore Vescari.
My uncle had supposedly died in prison eleven years ago.
But if the photograph was genuine, then he was alive.
And he had been financing the conspiracy from the shadows.
I called Richard Vale.
He answered immediately.
“Dominic. How can I help?”
I looked at the forged signature.
“Tell me where you are.”
“At home.”
“Good. Stay there.”
I ended the call and turned to Vincent.
“Prepare the cars. We're visiting my lawyer.”
Before we could leave, Lily walked over holding her drawing.
She had added another person to the picture.
A man with gray hair stood behind the three children.
“Who's that?” I asked.
She pointed to the figure.
“My grandfather.”
I stared at the picture.
“Lily, have you ever met your grandfather?”
She shook her head.
“Mommy says I haven't. But I dreamed about him last night.”
I crouched beside her.
“What did he look like?”
She hesitated.
“He had a scar here.”
She touched the skin beneath her left eye.
My hands went cold.
Salvatore had the same scar.
May you like
Then Lily whispered something that made my entire world tilt.
“He told me not to trust you.”
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