Chapter 7
The first incident was a loose balcony planter.
It fell thirty seconds after Lily crossed beneath it.
Elena pulled her away from the splash of soil.
I remembered.
We blamed wind.
The second was a service cart rolling down a corridor.
Again, Elena stopped it.
The third was a decorative screen that tipped near Lily during a family brunch.
A bodyguard caught it.
Three harmless near-misses.
Three security reports.
Three conversations about whether my household protection had become careless.
I stared at Grant.
“You filed those reports.”
“Yes.”
“Did you create the incidents?”
“Two.”
My jaw tightened.
“The third?”
Celeste looked away.
I understood.
She had tipped the screen herself.
My hands became very still.
Not rage.
Something colder.
“You staged danger around my daughter repeatedly.”
Celeste snapped:
“She was never touched.”
I almost laughed.
“That is your defense?”
“The point was perception.”
“No.”
My voice lowered.
“The point was power.”
She stared.
I continued.
“You wanted me doubting my security chief.”
Silence.
“You wanted captains seeing instability.”
Nothing.
“You wanted Grant elevated.”
Her expression hardened.
“And you?”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“You think everyone should simply accept every change you make because you’re Damian Bellucci.”
There.
The real grievance.
I had replaced half the old household security structure over two years.
Younger men.
Direct reporting.
Less family privilege.
Grant, though competent, was kept below chief because I did not trust how closely he aligned with older relatives.
Apparently correctly.
Celeste continued.
“Our father’s generation understood family security.”
“My father’s generation also lost two men because nobody questioned a cousin.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Different times.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“Same excuse.”
Then Elena said something unexpected.
“Sofia knew about the first plan.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Not the accidents.”
She looked at Celeste.
“The idea that Lily could be used to judge your leadership.”
My chest tightened.
“When?”
“Before Sofia died.”
Celeste closed her eyes.
Too late.
May you like
The conspiracy had roots older than Grant’s ambition.
My wife had seen them growing.
