Chapter 8 - The Man Dominic Trusted Most
Leo did not run.
That was the first reason I did not believe Bellini.
The second was simpler.
Leo had spent two weeks sleeping in chairs outside Dominic’s room, checking medication labels himself, and threatening anyone who approached the estate without clearance.
Guilt can perform loyalty.
But it rarely performs exhaustion that well.
Dominic did not accuse him immediately.
That mattered.
Old Dominic, I suspected, would have.
Instead he called Leo into the library.
I stayed.
Bellini’s lawyer joined by secure video with Detective Mills present.
Bellini looked terrible.
Prison gray did not suit him.
His leg was bandaged from the warehouse shooting.
Dominic’s voice was controlled.
“You said Leo paid you.”
Bellini nodded.
Leo stared at him.
“You lying piece of—”
Dominic raised one hand.
Leo stopped.
That surprised me.
Bellini continued.
“Three payments.”
“Account?”
He gave it.
Leo looked at Dominic.
“I don’t know that account.”
Detective Mills already had the records.
The account belonged to Leo Mercer Holdings.
Leo laughed once.
“I don’t have a company.”
“Apparently you do,” Mills said.
The corporation had been formed six months earlier in Delaware using Leo’s full legal name, date of birth, and an address from his old military records.
Identity theft.
Frame job.
Bellini stared at the screen.
“That’s where the money came from.”
Dominic asked, “Who told you it was Leo?”
“Matteo.”
Of course.
Matteo had received the money from the true payer, routed it through a company in Leo’s name, then paid Bellini.
Layers.
Misdirection.
Family logic.
“Who gave Matteo the money?” Dominic asked.
Bellini looked at Mills.
“My deal.”
She nodded.
“Answer.”
Bellini swallowed.
“Lucia Rossi.”
The room went silent.
Again.
Lucia had denied it.
Was she next in the chain?
Dominic did not move.
“Proof?”
Bellini gave an account number.
Mills checked.
The account belonged to the Lucia Rossi Cultural Foundation.
Dominic closed his eyes.
I felt sick.
Lucia had read Elena’s letter.
She had told Dominic to live.
Could that have been performance?
Leo said, “We need the foundation records.”
Dominic nodded.
No rage.
No order.
Just process.
I watched him.
He had changed.
That did not make him weak.
It made him harder to manipulate.
Lucia arrived voluntarily when called.
She looked tired.
“Bellini says your foundation paid Matteo.”
“It did.”
Dominic’s face went blank.
“Why?”
“I didn’t authorize it.”
“Who did?”
“My financial director.”
“Name?”
She hesitated.
“Gabriel DeLuca.”
Enzo’s son.
No one had mentioned him.
Gabriel ran Lucia’s foundation finances and had done so for twelve years.
He was forty-two.
Quiet.
Educated.
Almost never involved in Rossi criminal affairs.
At least publicly.
“Where is he?” Leo asked.
Lucia looked frightened.
“Gone.”
Mills searched.
Gabriel had emptied his apartment three days earlier.
Passport used that morning at O’Hare.
Destination: Zurich.
The pattern finally sharpened.
Enzo ordered Elena’s murder.
Years later, Gabriel learned Dominic was reopening the case.
If Dominic exposed Enzo, the entire DeLuca structure collapsed.
Enzo ordered the warehouse shooting.
But after Dominic survived, Gabriel took over quietly.
He used Lucia’s foundation to pay Matteo.
Matteo paid Bellini.
Bellini sabotaged Dominic’s recovery.
Then when questions spread, they framed Leo.
Family protection again.
Except this time, a son protecting his father.
I looked at Dominic.
He understood.
“Same disease,” he whispered.
“What?” I asked.
“Calling it love.”
Lucia began crying.
“I trusted Gabriel.”
Dominic’s expression softened slightly.
“So did I.”
Mills contacted federal authorities.
Swiss cooperation requests went out.
Gabriel’s accounts froze within hours.
His passport triggered an alert.
He was arrested at Zurich airport before clearing customs.
No body count.
No revenge.
No dramatic airport chase.
Just a man in an expensive coat stopped by bureaucracy.
Dominic seemed almost disappointed.
Then relieved.
That night, the estate became quiet.
Actually quiet.
No guards running.
No calls.
No new betrayal.
I found Dominic in the kitchen.
He was pouring coffee one-handed.
At midnight.
“You’re not supposed to have caffeine.”
“You’re not my nurse anymore.”
Technically, that was true.
His wound had healed enough that my daily contract ended that afternoon.
I had packed my duffel.
My car was still dead at the gate.
I had not left yet.
“Then I’m giving unsolicited advice.”
“My favorite kind.”
He handed me a second cup.
Decaf.
I looked at it.
“Manipulative.”
“I learned from you.”
We sat at the kitchen island.
For the first time, I wore normal clothes.
Jeans.
Sweater.
No gloves.
No chart.
The lack of professional barrier felt dangerous.
“Rent paid?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Job?”
“I have an interview Monday.”
“ER?”
“Clinic.”
“Good?”
“Maybe.”
He nodded.
I waited for an offer.
Private nurse.
Foundation job.
Anything.
He gave none.
That mattered.
“Thank you,” I said.
“For not buying your apartment building?”
“Mostly.”
He smiled.
Then became serious.
“I don’t know how to do this.”
“What?”
“Ask someone to stay without making it an order.”
My heart sped up.
“Stay for what?”
“Dinner tomorrow.”
“That’s not staying.”
“Good. I’m starting small.”
I looked at him.
“You’re asking me on a date.”
“Yes.”
“You were my patient twelve hours ago.”
“Then say no.”
I almost laughed.
“You’re very comfortable with that word now.”
“I had a good teacher.”
I looked down at the coffee.
Every warning in my head arrived at once.
Mafia boss.
Former patient.
Dangerous family.
Power imbalance.
Complicated grief.
Then another thought.
Choice.
He was giving me one.
“Dinner,” I said.
His eyes changed.
“Dinner.”
“No bodyguards at the table.”
“Agreed.”
“No expensive restaurant where I can’t pronounce anything.”
“Cruel.”
“No guns.”
“That may be unrealistic.”
I stared.
He sighed.
“Fine.”
I smiled.
Then his phone buzzed.
We both looked at it.
Dominic groaned.
“If that is another dead relative with a secret, I’m moving.”
He checked the message.
Then went still.
“What?”
He turned the screen toward me.
It was from Detective Mills.
GABRIEL TALKED.
HE SAYS ENZO WASN’T THE ONLY PERSON WHO WANTED ELENA SILENCED SIX YEARS AGO.
I stared at Dominic.
He looked exhausted.
“Of course.”
Mills sent another message.
THE SECOND PERSON IS DEAD.
Then:
YOUR FATHER.
Dominic closed his eyes.
The past had found one more door.
May you like
But this time, he did not reach for a gun.
He reached for my hand.
