Chapter 9
Victor Vaughn was alive.
Forty-one years old.
Living under another surname two states away.
I laughed when Thomas confirmed it.
Not because anything was funny.
Because Mafia families apparently spend half their time burying living relatives and the other half worshipping dead ones.
Damian had known where Victor was all along.
My father had hidden him.
Why?
Because Victor’s mother was a household employee.
The same classification later used against Evelyn.
The irony was almost perfect.
I looked at Damian.
“You built your entire argument around household blood being inferior.”
His expression hardened.
“And your chosen heir is the son of a household woman.”
Silence.
Miles looked shocked.
Veronica stared.
There it was.
Tradition was never principle.
It was convenience.
Victor mattered because he was male.
His mother’s status stopped mattering when his existence became useful.
“Did Victor agree to this?”
Damian said nothing.
That answer interested me.
I found Victor at a rural property the next morning.
He opened the door before I knocked.
Same eyes as my father.
Different life in the face.
“You’re Alexander.”
“You’re apparently dead.”
He smiled faintly.
“I’ve heard.”
Good start.
We sat outside.
No guards close enough to hear.
“Damian wants you.”
“I know.”
“For the chair?”
“He wants what he thinks my name can do.”
“Will you?”
Victor laughed.
“No.”
Simple.
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because I spent forty years watching from outside.”
He looked toward the fields.
“People inside Vaughn think the chair is power. From far enough away, it looks like a cage everybody decorates.”
I almost liked him.
Almost.
“What happened?”
He told me.
My father had an affair with Victor’s mother before marriage. Grandfather refused to acknowledge a son born to household staff. Damian wanted the child kept nearby as a possible backup.
My father did something unexpected.
He sent Victor away with his mother and money enough to disappear.
Not noble.
But better than turning the child into a contingency.
Damian never forgave him.
“When did he contact you?”
“After Evelyn died.”
My chest tightened.
“Why then?”
Victor looked at me.
“Because Damian said your daughter made the family vulnerable.”
There it was.
Sofia.
Always.
“What did you say?”
“That any man frightened by a three-year-old girl probably shouldn’t run anything.”
I almost smiled.
Then Victor’s face changed.
“He didn’t stop asking.”
“How often?”
“Every few months.”
“What changed recently?”
He looked toward the house.
“Veronica.”
I went still.
“Explain.”
May you like
“She came here.”
My fiancée had met the brother I did not know existed.
