PART 2.
“Julian told me that if anything ever happened to him, I was never supposed to bring Grace to you.”
For several seconds, I said nothing.
Grace tightened her fingers around my tie.
Hannah stared at the floor.
And the medal in my palm suddenly felt less like a memory and more like a warning.
I looked at the closed office door.
Then I asked the only question that mattered.
“Why?”
Hannah's eyes rose slowly.
“I don't know.”
I stepped closer.
“You expect me to believe my brother told you to hide his child from me and never explained why?”
“He explained enough.”
“What does that mean?”
Her throat moved as she swallowed.
“He said there were things happening inside your family that you couldn't see.”
My expression hardened.
“Inside my family?”
“He never gave me names.”
“That sounds convenient.”
“I know.”
“Did he tell you I was dangerous?”
“No.”
The answer came quickly.
Too quickly to be invented.
I watched her carefully.
“What did he say about me?”
Hannah looked at Grace.
For some reason, that frightened me more than if she had looked away.
“He said you loved him.”
My jaw tightened.
“He said you loved him enough to destroy anyone who hurt him.”
“That sounds accurate.”
“He also said that was the problem.”
A cold silence moved through the room.
Behind me, the forgotten video call was still connected.
One of the executives on the screen cleared his throat cautiously.
“Mr.
Caruso?”
I turned.
Six men in three cities were staring back at me.
Men who controlled ports, banks, manufacturing contracts, shipping routes.
Men who had spent months trying to get me into that meeting.
Twenty minutes earlier, sixty million dollars had mattered.
Now I could barely remember why.
“Meeting's over.”
The lead attorney blinked.
“Dominic, we haven't finalized—”
“Then don't finalize.”
“We have signatures scheduled—”
I closed the laptop.
The screen went black.
Hannah stared at me.
I picked up my phone.
“You're not leaving this room.”
Her face tightened.
“Mr.
Caruso—”
“That isn't a request.”
Grace shifted against me.
Hannah's eyes followed the movement automatically.
I noticed.
Of course I noticed.
She could be lying about Julian.
She could be manipulating me.
The medal could have been stolen.
Grace's eyes could be coincidence.
Every instinct I had developed over decades demanded suspicion.
But motherhood was harder to fake.
Hannah hadn't looked at the exits first.
She had looked at her daughter.
I pressed a number.
Vincent answered immediately.
“Boss.”
“Where are you?”
“East wing.
Why?”
“Come to my office.”
A pause.
Brief.
Almost invisible.
But I knew Vincent Rizzo better than most men knew their own fathers.
That pause mattered.
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
“I'll be there in two minutes.”
The call ended.
Hannah had gone completely still.
“What?”
I asked it quietly.
Her face had lost color again.
“Who's Vincent?”
I watched her.
“Why?”
“Julian mentioned that name once.”
That stopped me.
“What did he say?”
“He was angry.”
“When?”
“A few weeks before he died.”
“About Vincent?”
“I don't know.”
“You just said—”
“I heard Julian on the phone.
He thought I was asleep.”
Her breathing grew shallow.
“He said, ‘If Vincent finds out, we're both dead.’”
Something inside me went cold.
Not explosive.
Not emotional.
Cold.
Useful.
“What exactly did he say?”
“I don't remember every word.”
“Try.”
She closed her eyes.
“He was whispering.
He said he had found something.
He said somebody had been moving money through shell companies.
He said he had copies.”
“Copies of what?”
“I don't know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because he didn't tell me!”
Grace startled at the raised voice.
Hannah immediately stepped forward.
I lowered my tone.
Grace stared up at me with solemn gray eyes.
The anger drained from my face.
That disturbed me more than anything else.
I had never adjusted my voice for anyone.
Not employees.
Not rivals.
Not even family.
Yet one startled expression from a nine-month-old had accomplished what armed men could not.
I turned back to Hannah.
“Where are the copies?”
“I don't know.”
A knock sounded.
Three sharp taps.
Hannah's face changed.
I saw terror.
Real terror.
Vincent opened the door.
He was sixty-one, broad-shouldered, silver-haired, dressed in the same dark suits he had worn since I was a boy.
He had worked for my father before he worked for me.
He had taught Julian to drive.
He had taught me how to hold a pistol.
When our father died, Vincent stood beside us at the grave.
When Julian died, Vincent had stood beside me again.
There were very few people in the world I trusted.
Vincent was one of them.
His gaze moved from me to Hannah.
Then to the baby.
And stopped.
He recovered almost instantly.
Almost.
“What's going on?”
I lifted the medal.
Vincent's face did not change.
But his right hand slowly closed.
A tiny gesture.
Most people would have missed it.
I didn't.
“Recognize this?”
He looked at the medal.
“No.”
A lie.
I knew it before he finished the word.
I had known Vincent for twenty-eight years.
He scratched his thumb against his index finger when he lied.
He was doing it now.
I felt something inside me fracture.
Not because I knew what he had done.
Because I knew he had done something.
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
I turned the medal around.
“The J.”
His eyes narrowed.
Still controlled.
Still calm.
But I saw calculation beginning behind them.
“Looks familiar.”
“Julian wore it.”
Understanding appeared on Vincent's face with perfect timing.
Too perfect.
“Right.”
He nodded.
“From when you were teenagers.”
“You said you didn't recognize it.”
Silence.
Hannah stepped backward.
Vincent looked at her for the first time as if he were actually seeing her.
“Who is she?”
“You know who she is.”
“No, I don't.”
Hannah whispered, “He does.”
Vincent's gaze snapped toward her.
The room changed.
That was the moment.
Not when he lied about the medal.
Not when Hannah spoke his name.
When he looked at her.
Recognition.
Then fury.
Then fear.
All three passed across his face in less than a second.
I moved between them.
Vincent looked at me.
“Dominic.”
“Don't.”
“She's lying to you.”
“I haven't told you what she said.”
Another silence.
Vincent realized his mistake.
His shoulders lowered slightly.
Not surrender.
Preparation.
“You called me in here holding Julian's medal and a baby I've never seen before.
I can make assumptions.”
“You always were good at assumptions.”
“Dominic—”
“Tell me about the crash.”
His expression became unreadable.
“What about it?”
“Everything.”
“You already know everything.”
“Humor me.”
Vincent glanced toward Hannah.
I shifted so he couldn't see her clearly.
“The car went through the barrier on Route Nine,” he said.
“Hit the support wall.
Fuel line ruptured.
Vehicle burned before emergency crews arrived.”
“Body?”
“Badly burned.”
“Identified how?”
“Dental records.”
“Who arranged that?”
“The county.”
“Who gave them Julian's dental file?”
Vincent paused.
“I did.”
My pulse slowed.
Danger always did that to me.
The angrier I became, the calmer my body felt.
“And who saw the body?”
“Dominic—”
“Who?”
“The medical examiner.”
“Anyone from our family?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You remember why.”
“Tell me anyway.”
He sighed.
“The condition of the remains was severe.
I told you there was no reason to see him like that.”
“You told me.”
“Yes.”
“You insisted.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From my dead brother?”
“From something you couldn't unsee.”
Grace made a small humming sound against my chest.
I stared at Vincent.
“What hospital?”
“What?”
“The body.
Where was it taken?”
“County morgue.”
“Name of the examiner?”
“I don't remember.”
“You remember the plate number of the motorcycle that followed my father in 1997.”
Vincent said nothing.
“But you don't remember the medical examiner who identified Julian?”
His face hardened.
“You're not thinking clearly.”
There it was.
A phrase men used when they wanted control back.
I smiled slightly.
Vincent hated when I smiled.
“I've never thought more clearly.”
I crossed to my desk.
Opened the bottom drawer.
Pressed my thumb against the biometric lock hidden inside.
Hannah looked confused.
Vincent did not.
A second later, I removed a pistol.
Hannah inhaled sharply.
Grace immediately reached toward it.
I moved the weapon away from her tiny hand.
“Interesting,” I murmured.
Even now, that almost made me laugh.
Almost.
I set Grace gently into Hannah's arms.
The baby protested.
Actually protested.
She reached back toward me.
A strange pressure closed around my ribs.
“I'll take her,” Hannah whispered.
I handed Grace over.
Then I picked up the gun.
Vincent's eyes lowered to it.
“You don't need that.”
“I haven't decided.”
“For God's sake, Dominic.”
“You knew about Hannah.”
“No.”
“You knew about Grace.”
“No.”
“You knew Julian wasn't using his real name.”
“No.”
“You knew he was afraid of you.”
That landed.
Vincent's face changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Hannah saw it too.
I pointed the gun toward the floor.
“Tell me why.”
Vincent looked at Hannah.
“Get her out.”
“She stays.”
“This doesn't concern her.”
“She has Julian's daughter in her arms.”
Vincent stared at Grace.
For the first time, something resembling grief appeared in his eyes.
It vanished quickly.
But not quickly enough.
“You knew,” I said.
His gaze returned to mine.
“Dominic.”
“You knew she existed.”
He looked older suddenly.
Not weak.
Just tired.
“Julian came to me.”
Hannah went rigid.
My grip tightened around the gun.
“When?”
“Three months before the crash.”
“Why?”
Vincent walked toward the window.
I raised the pistol.
“Stay where you are.”
He stopped.
For decades he had given orders in my family's homes.
Now he took one from me.
“He was frightened,” Vincent said.
“Of whom?”
“You.”
The word hit the room like glass breaking.
Hannah's eyes closed.
I felt absolutely nothing.
That was how I knew the pain had gone too deep to reach yet.
“Explain.”
Vincent turned.
“Julian discovered something he shouldn't have.”
“The shell companies.”
His eyes narrowed.
So Hannah's memory had been correct.
“What did he tell you?”
“Enough.”
Vincent looked at her with contempt.
“Apparently too much.”
“Look at me.”
He did.
“What did Julian discover?”
For a long time, Vincent didn't speak.
Then he said, “Your father left two ledgers.”
I frowned.
“My father left dozens.”
“Not accounting ledgers.”
“What kind?”
“The kind that kept him alive.”
Vincent's voice dropped.
“Names.
Payments.
Judges.
Police chiefs.
Customs officers.
Politicians.
Men on payrolls who could never be connected publicly to the Caruso organization.”
Hannah's face drained.
I stared at Vincent.
“Why haven't I seen them?”
“Because your father didn't leave them to you.”
The answer irritated me.
“Who did he leave them to?”
“Julian.”
That made no sense.
I had inherited the businesses.
The properties.
The holdings.
The private networks.
Julian wanted none of it.
He had spent most of adulthood avoiding the family's darker machinery.
My father had called him soft.
I had called him smarter than the rest of us.
“Why Julian?”
“Because your father knew you would use them.”
The bluntness nearly made me smile.
“And Julian wouldn't?”
“That was the idea.”
“Where are they?”
“Gone.”
“You're lying.”
“I burned one.”
“One?”
“The second disappeared.”
“Julian took it.”
Vincent said nothing.
Which meant yes.
The room became very quiet.
“And you killed him for it.”
Hannah's breath caught.
Vincent looked offended.
Actually offended.
“No.”
“You arranged the crash.”
“No.”
“You managed the investigation.”
“Yes.”
“You supplied the dental records.”
“Yes.”
“You prevented me from seeing the body.”
“Yes.”
“Yet you didn't kill him?”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“Then who did?”
Vincent stared at me.
And for the first time since I had known him, he looked afraid.
Not of the gun.
Not of me.
Of the answer.
“Your brother didn't die in that crash.”
Every sound in the room disappeared.
Hannah whispered, “What?”
I stared at Vincent.
He continued quickly.
“The body wasn't Julian's.”
My hand lowered.
“What did you say?”
“The dental records were switched.”
“By you?”
“Yes.”
“Whose body was it?”
“I don't know his name.”
“You expect me to believe—”
“He was already dead.”
“Who killed him?”
“I don't know.”
“Stop saying that!”
Grace began crying.
The sound cut through me.
Hannah rocked her instinctively, whispering into her curls.
I turned away for one second.
One second.
When I looked back, Vincent's hand was inside his jacket.
I raised the gun.
“Don't.”
He froze.
Slowly he pulled out his phone.
Then placed it on my desk.
“You want proof?”
I didn't answer.
He unlocked the device.
Opened a hidden folder.
Scrolled.
Then turned the screen toward me.
A photograph.
Dark.
Grainy.
Taken at a distance.
A man stepping from the back of a black SUV.
Lean.
Tall.
Dark hair longer than Julian normally wore it.
Beard.
Baseball cap.
But I knew the way he carried his shoulders.
I knew the scar visible along his left wrist.
I knew the shape of his hand.
My brother.
Alive.
The date beneath the photograph was four months after his funeral.
Hannah staggered.
“No.”
I grabbed the phone.
Swiped.
Another photograph.
Julian outside a motel.
Another.
Julian speaking to a woman I didn't recognize.
Another.
Julian entering a church in Montreal.
Another.
Taken six months ago.
Alive.
My heart struck once, violently.
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
“Where?”
“I lost him.”
“When?”
“Five months ago.”
“You knew for thirteen months that Julian was alive?”
“Yes.”
“And you let me bury an empty coffin?”
“Yes.”
I hit him.
No warning.
No hesitation.
My fist caught his mouth.
Vincent stumbled into the desk.
Hannah screamed.
Grace cried harder.
Vincent spat blood onto the marble.
He didn't fight back.
That made me angrier.
I grabbed his jacket.
“You stood next to me at the funeral.”
“Yes.”
“You watched my mother put flowers on that coffin.”
“Yes.”
“You watched me spend eighteen months thinking he burned alive.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he asked me to.”
My fist stopped.
Vincent looked directly into my eyes.
“Julian arranged his own death.”
Hannah shook her head.
“No.”
Vincent ignored her.
“He came to me three months before the crash.
He said people were watching him.
He said the missing ledger had become dangerous.
He wanted to disappear.”
“Why not tell me?”
“Because he believed you were compromised.”
“By whom?”
“He wouldn't say.”
“Bullshit.”
“He thought somebody close to you was using your organization without your knowledge.”
“Who?”
“He didn't know.”
“And he thought it was you?”
“No.”
Vincent wiped blood from his lip.
“He thought whoever it was could see everything you saw.”
My anger slowed.
Everything I saw.
My security reports.
My phones.
My staff.
My cars.
My financial systems.
My house.
Someone close enough to watch me from the inside.
I looked toward the ceiling camera in the corner.
Vincent followed my gaze.
His expression changed.
“Is that connected to the house system?”
“Yes.”
His face turned pale.
“Then we need to leave.”
“Why?”
“Because I disconnected every camera near this office before coming upstairs.”
I looked at the tiny red indicator.
It was still glowing.
A chill passed through me.
Vincent whispered, “That camera shouldn't be on.”
The lights went out.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Hannah screamed.
Grace began wailing.
I moved instantly.
“Down!”
Glass exploded.
A bullet punched through the window.
Another struck the bookshelf.
I fired toward the muzzle flash outside.
Vincent tackled Hannah behind the desk.
Grace's cries filled the room.
“Security!”
I shouted.
Nothing.
No footsteps.
No alarms.
Nothing.
The house had gone silent.
Completely silent.
Vincent cursed.
“System's compromised.”
A third shot ripped through the room.
Then the emergency lights flickered on.
Dim red strips along the floor.
Enough to see Hannah curled around Grace beneath the desk.
Enough to see blood spreading across Vincent's shirt.
“Vincent.”
He looked down.
A bullet had entered beneath his shoulder.
“I'm fine.”
“You're bleeding.”
“I've done it before.”
He reached into his jacket.
Pulled out a key.
Small.
Brass.
Old-fashioned.
He shoved it into my hand.
“What is this?”
“Julian gave it to me.”
“When?”
“The night he disappeared.”
“What does it open?”
“I promised him I wouldn't tell you unless Grace came into this house.”
My blood went cold.
“What?”
Hannah stared at him.
Vincent looked at the baby.
“He knew this might happen.”
Another burst of gunfire hit the outside wall.
Vincent winced.
“The key opens a box at Union Station.”
“What box?”
“Locker 314.”
“What is inside?”
“The second ledger.”
I stared at him.
“You said it disappeared.”
“It did.”
“You lied.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Julian made me.”
I almost hit him again.
Then he caught my wrist.
Hard.
His eyes were suddenly desperate.
“Dominic, listen to me.
The ledger isn't the important part.”
“Then what is?”
“He left something else in the locker.”
“What?”
“A recording.”
My pulse hammered.
Vincent's grip tightened.
“He told me that if Grace ever entered your home, then the person hunting him had finally found Hannah.”
Hannah made a broken sound.
“And if that happened,” Vincent continued, “you were supposed to hear the recording immediately.”
The office door handle moved.
Slowly.
Someone was outside.
Vincent released me.
I raised the gun.
The handle stopped.
A voice came through the door.
Calm.
Familiar.
“Dominic?”
My blood froze.
Not because I recognized the voice.
Because Hannah did.
She clamped one hand over her mouth.
Tears filled her eyes.
Grace stopped crying.
The baby turned toward the door.
The voice came again.
“Hannah?”
She shook her head violently.
“No.”
I whispered, “Who is that?”
Hannah looked at me.
Her lips barely moved.
“Julian.”
My heart stopped.
The door opened.
I aimed.
A man stepped through.
Tall.
Dark coat.
Wet hair.
Scar along his wrist.
Gray eyes.
My brother.
Alive.
For eighteen months, I had imagined what I would say if death could be reversed.
I had imagined rage.
Relief.
Questions.
Violence.
Instead, I said his name.
“Julian.”
His eyes went to me.
Then Hannah.
Then Grace.
Something in his face broke.
“My God.”
Hannah began crying.
Julian moved forward.
I kept the gun aimed at his chest.
“Stop.”
He stopped.
His gaze lowered to the weapon.
“Fair.”
“Are you alive?”
His mouth twitched.
“That seems like a stupid question.”
I almost shot him for that alone.
“Who was in the car?”
“I don't know.”
“Why fake your death?”
“To keep them away from Hannah.”
“Who?”
His eyes moved toward Vincent.
Then back to me.
“You still don't know?”
“No.”
Julian's expression hardened.
“That means he's still inside.”
“Who?”
He stepped closer.
I raised the gun again.
“Don't.”
“Dominic, we don't have time.”
“For eighteen months, I had nothing but time.”
“I know.”
“You let me bury you.”
“I know.”
“You let our mother think you were dead.”
Pain passed across his face.
“I know.”
“You hid a child from me.”
At that, Julian looked at Grace.
His daughter stared back.
Nine months old.
The first time she had ever seen her father.
Julian's eyes filled.
He whispered, “She got bigger.”
Hannah slapped him.
The sound cracked through the room.
Julian didn't move.
Hannah hit him again.
“You were alive?”
“I can explain.”
“You were alive?”
“Hannah—”
“You let me have her alone!”
“I was trying to keep you safe.”
“I thought you were dead!”
“I know.”
“You knew I was pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“You knew I had no one.”
“Yes.”
Her hand rose again.
This time he caught it gently.
Hannah stared at him, shaking.
“You don't get to touch me.”
Julian released her immediately.
Grace watched everything.
Then she reached toward him.
One small hand.
Julian looked as if someone had stabbed him.
He took one step forward.
And every light in the house suddenly turned back on.
A man's voice came through the speakers.
Smooth.
Amused.
“That's touching.”
Everyone froze.
I knew that voice.
I had heard it almost every day of my life.
Julian went white.
Vincent whispered, “No.”
The office monitor switched on by itself.
Static filled the screen.
Then an image appeared.
A man seated in my private downstairs study.
Relaxed.
One ankle resting across his knee.
A glass of whiskey in his hand.
Behind him stood two armed men wearing my security uniforms.
I stared at the screen.
My mind rejected what my eyes were seeing.
Because the man sitting in my house could not possibly be there.
I had watched his coffin descend into the ground eleven years ago.
Julian stepped beside me.
His voice was barely audible.
“This is what I was trying to tell you.”
The man on the screen smiled.
Older now.
Thinner.
But unmistakable.
Our father.
Salvatore Caruso.
Dead eleven years.
Alive tonight.
He lifted the whiskey glass toward the camera.
“Hello, boys.”
My gun lowered.
Julian stared at the screen.
Hannah held Grace tighter.
Vincent looked like he had seen the devil walk through the wall.
My father took a slow drink.
Then smiled.
“You've both caused me an extraordinary amount of trouble.”
I couldn't speak.
He leaned closer to the camera.
“And Dominic?”
His smile vanished.
“Don't open locker 314.”
The screen went black.
A second later, every door in the house locked at once.
READ FULL PART 2:
Source: Stories of Destiny · Thao Thao
