Chapter 7 - THE SEALED CONFESSION
The courtyard fell into a silence so profound you could hear the distant rustle of autumn leaves blowing across the stone patio.
Anthony’s hand trembled slightly, the barrel of his pistol wavering between Dominic and Evelyn. Around him, the syndicate guards shifted uneasily, glancing at one another as the tension reached a snapping point. They had pledged loyalty to the Romano name, but watching a brother execute another brother in cold blood over financial embezzlement was a line even syndicate soldiers hesitated to cross.
“You’re bluffing,” Anthony spat, though his voice lacked its previous conviction. “If you shoot me, the council will declare open war on your loyalists by morning. There won't be anything left of your empire.”
“I don't care about the empire,” Dominic replied, his voice dead calm, steady as a rock. “I care about the truth.”
Dominic slowly lowered his weapon by a single inch, but kept his eyes locked on Anthony.
“Drop the gun, Anthony. Now. Before my snipers on the ridge finish what they started five minutes ago.”
Anthony’s eyes darted toward the surrounding tree line. He knew Dominic didn't bluff when it came to perimeter security. With a curse of pure frustration, Anthony let his pistol slip from his fingers, clattering loudly against the cobblestones.
“Secure him,” Dominic ordered without breaking eye contact.
Two of Dominic’s loyal guards sprinted out from the shadow of the guesthouse, grabbed Anthony by the arms, and shoved him hard against the side of the lead SUV, slapping heavy steel handcuffs onto his wrists.
Bianca, who had been watching from the passenger seat of the second car, tried to open the door and slip away into the darkness.
“Not so fast, Bianca,” I called out, stepping out of the shed with Noah holding tightly to my hand. “You have a foundation gala to attend, remember?”
Bianca froze, her hand resting on the door handle, her face flushed with humiliation and rage. She glared at me as if she wanted nothing more than to tear me limb from limb.
Dominic walked over to Anthony, grabbing him roughly by the collar of his shirt and pulling him upright.
“Where is the original ledger from nineteen-eighty-five?” Dominic demanded. “The one containing the true shareholder registry for the Palermo shipping lines?”
“I don't know what you’re talking about,” Anthony snarled, spitting a drop of blood onto the pavement.
“Check his inside pocket,” Evelyn suggested quietly, stepping closer with Noah still at her side. “When I fitted his formal suit last month, I noticed an extra inner pocket sewn into the lining. He always kept his most important documents there.”
One of the guards reached into Anthony’s jacket and pulled out a thick, leather-bound ledger stamped with the official wax seal of the Palermo Maritime Guild.
Dominic took the ledger, flipped it open, and ran his thumb down the yellowed pages until he stopped at a signature near the bottom.
His eyes widened slightly.
“It’s signed by my grandfather... and countersigned by his brother,” Dominic whispered. He looked up at Anthony in disbelief. “The transfer of assets was legal. The family wasn't disinherited—we were defrauded by our own grandfather to cover up his brother’s exile.”
Anthony let out a dry, bitter laugh. “You finally figured it out. The great Romano dynasty was built on a stolen signature and a fake funeral.”
Dominic didn't strike him. Instead, he handed the ledger to Evelyn.
“Mrs. Brooks,” Dominic said softly, his tone laced with deep respect. “You kept this family’s secrets safe for forty-three years at great personal risk. What else did my mother leave behind in your care?”
Evelyn reached into the small wooden sewing box Noah had carried the entire night. She pulled out a small, heavy brass key attached to a faded blue silk ribbon—the exact same silk ribbon we had seen beneath the lining of the fake wedding dress hours ago.
“She left her final testament,” Evelyn said clearly. “Not written on paper, but recorded on a microcassette tape hidden inside the lining of her actual wedding gown—the one Bianca tried to send to the auction house.”
Bianca’s breath hitched from inside the car. “You—you knew about the tape?”
“Your mother knew you and Anthony were watching her every move,” Evelyn replied, looking straight at Bianca. “That’s why she had me sew the cassette into the hem of the original dress before you ever laid hands on it.”
Dominic turned sharply toward the main house.
“Claire,” Dominic said, looking directly at me. “Where did Anthony’s shipping manifest say the original gown was sent?”
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“Not a restoration workshop,” I answered, pulling the receipt from my apron pocket. “A private storage unit at the municipal docks downtown. Unit four-fourteen.”
Dominic looked at his guards. “Get a transport vehicle ready. We’re going downtown.”
