Chapter 5 - THE DEAD BROTHER
The grand foyer of the Moretti estate went dead silent.
The warmth from Nicholas’s touch vanished as he pulled his hand away, his entire demeanor shifting instantly from a protector back to a predator.
“Explain,” Nicholas said, his voice dropping an octave.
“We took them to the warehouse by the docks, just like you ordered,” Marco said, his expression grim. “We tied Andrew to a chair. His mother was in the other room. We hadn't even touched him yet, Boss. I swear.”
“Then how is he dead?”
“Poison,” Marco said. “He started foaming at the mouth two minutes after we sat him down. We found a crushed capsule in his jacket pocket. He must have swallowed it in the SUV when he realized where we were taking him.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Andrew had killed himself?
The man who had manipulated me, terrified my mother, and played the perfect fiancé for years had taken a cyanide pill the moment he was caught.
“He knew,” Nicholas murmured, his eyes narrowing in furious realization.
“Knew what?” I asked, my voice shaking.
“He knew I wouldn't let him live,” Nicholas said bluntly. “He knew the penalty for threatening a Moretti is death. But cowards don't carry suicide pills just in case, Sarah. They carry them when they’re working for someone worse than me.”
Nicholas turned to Marco.
“Where is Patricia?”
“In the holding cell at the warehouse, Boss. She’s hysterical.”
“Get the cars ready,” Nicholas ordered. “We’re going to have a talk with my dear stepmother.”
“I’m coming with you,” I said instantly.
Nicholas turned to me, his jaw tight. “Sarah, you just got your mother back. Stay here. It’s not safe.”
“He was my fiancé, Nicholas!” I shot back, stepping into his space. “He slept in my bed for three years! He lied to my face every single day. If his mother knows why he did it, I want to hear it.”
Nicholas stared down at me. For a moment, I thought he was going to order his men to lock me in a room.
But then, a faint glint of profound respect flickered in his dark eyes.
“You’re braver than he ever was,” Nicholas said quietly.
He gestured toward the door. “Let’s go.”
The drive to the docks was a blur of neon lights and heavy rain. The warehouse was a massive, rusted structure that smelled of salt and old oil.
Inside, the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense.
Andrew’s body had already been moved, covered by a simple white sheet in the corner of the main floor. I didn't look at it. I couldn't.
We walked past the main floor and into a small, windowless office.
Patricia Collins was handcuffed to a metal chair. Her expensive pearl necklace was broken, scattering white beads across the concrete floor. Her makeup was smeared, and she looked like a cornered rat.
She looked up as Nicholas entered, her eyes filled with pure terror.
But when she saw me standing behind him, her fear twisted into bitter rage.
“You,” Patricia spat at me. “You ruined everything. If you had just let him send your mother away, none of this would have happened!”
Nicholas didn't yell. He didn't raise a hand.
He simply pulled a chair out, turned it backward, and sat down directly in front of her.
“Your son took a poison capsule, Patricia,” Nicholas said smoothly. “Do you know what kind of men carry suicide pills?”
Patricia didn't answer. She just trembled.
“Spies,” Nicholas answered for her. “Rats. Men who know that what they’ve done is so unforgivable that a quick death is better than what’s waiting for them.”
He leaned closer.
“Andrew didn't just want money from Carol, did he?”
Patricia looked away, squeezing her eyes shut.
“I’ll ask you one more time,” Nicholas said, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper. “Before I let Marco use the pliers. Who was Andrew working for?”
Patricia broke.
She began sobbing hysterically, her head falling forward.
“He was working for the Romanos!” Patricia cried.
The name sucked the air out of the room.
Marco cursed violently under his breath. Nicholas went completely still.
The Romano family. The Moretti syndicate’s oldest, deadliest rivals.
“Why would the Romanos care about a bastard son?” Nicholas demanded.
“They didn't care about Andrew!” Patricia sobbed. “They cared about the key!”
I frowned. “What key?”
“Giovanni’s key!” Patricia cried, looking at Nicholas. “When your father died, he left a private safety deposit box in Switzerland. A box that contains the master ledgers for the entire Chicago underworld. The Romanos have been trying to find it for years.”
Nicholas’s jaw tightened. “My father never told me where the key was.”
“He didn't tell you,” Patricia sneered bitterly. “Because he gave it to Carol!”
My heart stopped.
My mother? My mother had the key to the Chicago mafia’s greatest secret?
“Giovanni knew he was dying,” Patricia continued, her words tumbling out in a panicked rush. “He knew the Romanos would tear his family apart looking for the ledgers. So he sent the key to the one person nobody would ever suspect. His secret mistress. A quiet receptionist in the suburbs.”
Patricia looked at me, her eyes filled with manic hatred.
“Andrew found out. The Romanos approached him six months ago. They told him if he found the key, they would make him a made man. They would give him the respect he deserved as Giovanni’s son.”
It all made terrifying sense.
Andrew hadn't proposed to me out of love. He had proposed to get inside my house. He had spent three years searching for a key my mother didn't even know she was hiding.
“And when he couldn't find it,” Nicholas said, piecing it together, “he tried to put Carol in a facility so he could tear the house down to the studs.”
“Yes!” Patricia cried. “But he failed. And he knew the Romanos would kill him for failing. That’s why he took the pill!”
Nicholas stood up.
He didn't look angry anymore. He looked like a king preparing for war.
“Marco,” Nicholas said. “Lock her up. Keep her alive.”
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He turned to me, his dark eyes locking onto mine with fierce intensity.
“Sarah,” he said. “We need to talk to your mother.”
