Chapter 11
Dominic reached for Victor Romano.
My father’s illegitimate older son.
I had never met him.
Nobody had.
At least that was the story.
Thomas found the first clue inside the unlabeled drives Sofia left behind.
One video showed her speaking to a man whose face remained outside frame.
His voice was older.
“Dante needs to know about Victor.”
Sofia replied, “Not until his father admits it.”
My father never did.
The recording ended there.
Rosa went pale.
Javier looked genuinely confused.
Good.
A secret beyond him.
I turned toward Rosa.
“Who is Victor?”
She said nothing.
Mia whispered, “Another uncle?”
I almost laughed.
Apparently.
I sent the children upstairs.
This time they went willingly after I promised the truth would follow.
I looked at Rosa.
“Start.”
Victor was born before my father married my mother.
His mother came from a smaller family.
My grandfather refused to recognize the child publicly because he feared competing succession claims.
Victor was raised elsewhere.
Paid for.
Watched.
Hidden.
The classic Mafia solution to human complexity.
“What happened to him?”
Rosa answered.
“He left.”
I stared.
“Meaning?”
“He stopped taking family money.”
“When?”
“Twenty years ago.”
“And Dominic?”
Her silence answered.
He knew.
Of course.
Dominic had found a blood alternative.
Not Javier.
Victor.
Older than me.
Male.
My father’s son.
Exactly the kind of symbol old captains could use if they wanted to call me an interruption rather than a leader.
I looked at Javier.
“You knew?”
“No.”
He laughed bitterly.
“Guess I really was the idiot.”
“Yes.”
He accepted it.
Progress.
Rosa continued.
“Dominic found Victor two years ago.”
“Did Victor agree?”
She hesitated.
“No.”
That mattered.
I leaned forward.
“So Dominic built a succession movement around a man who refused.”
“He thought Victor would change his mind.”
“Why?”
“Because of the children.”
My stomach tightened.
“What about them?”
Rosa looked ashamed now.
Finally.
“Dominic believed if Victor saw Leo being raised soft, he would feel obligated.”
There it was.
The attacks on my children were not only about provoking me.
They were propaganda.
Create examples of “weakness.”
Show them to a hidden blood claimant.
Convince him the family needed rescue.
My son’s fear had been curated for an audience.
I stood.
“Where is Victor?”
Rosa shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Then Javier spoke.
“I do.”
Everyone turned.
He smiled without humor.
“Dominic took him to the barbecue.”
My blood went cold.
May you like
Victor Romano had been among the guests.
And I had not even known my own brother was standing in my yard.
