Chapter 3 - THE LEATHER JOURNAL THAT DESTROYED AN EMPIRE
"Dominic," Vincent said. His voice was no longer a command. It was a warning.
Dominic didn't flinch. His hand was steady, the barrel of the pistol leveled at Vincent’s heart.
"Seventeen years I’ve cleaned up your messes, Vince," Dominic sneered. "Seventeen years I’ve stood behind you while you took the credit, the money, and the power. But when I asked you to help me take care of Celeste, you told me she was a street rat. You told me to handle it."
Celeste was sobbing against the glass wall of the conservatory, her red dress blending into the blooming hibiscus.
I moved instinctively, stepping in front of Anthony. My body became a shield.
"So you made her Vincent's mistress?" I asked, piecing the nightmare together. "You forced her into my husband's bed to what? Extort him?"
"To blind him," Anthony answered from behind me.
I turned slightly. My son was clutching the worn leather journal. It was my mother's handwriting on the cover. Recipes and Reminders.
"Grandma didn't find Vincent's offshore accounts, Mom," Anthony said softly. "She found Dominic's. Dominic has been stealing from the family for a decade. He killed Grandma because she figured it out."
Vincent’s face contorted into something monstrous. The polished businessman vanished, replaced by the ruthless street enforcer he used to be.
"You stole from my table?" Vincent whispered, taking a step toward the gun. "You killed my mother-in-law to cover your own theft?"
"I took what was owed to me!" Dominic shouted. "And tonight, I’m taking the rest. The transfer documents you prepared for tomorrow? I already had Celeste switch the routing numbers. When you sign them, everything goes to my accounts in the Caymans."
Dominic shifted the gun toward me.
"Now, Evelyn, hand over the journal. It has the original account numbers your mother wrote down."
I looked at the book in Anthony's hands. My mother had known everything.
"Run, Anthony," I whispered fiercely.
"No, Mom," Anthony said. He stepped around me. He didn't look like a scared teenager. He looked exactly like a young Vincent. Cold. Calculating.
"Give him the book, Anthony," Vincent ordered, keeping his eyes on Dominic. "I'll handle this."
"You can't handle anything, Dad," Anthony said. He opened the journal and pulled out a delicate silver rosary.
I recognized it immediately. It was the rosary my mother held when she prayed for our family.
"Dominic," Anthony said, holding up the beads. "Do you know where I found this?"
Dominic's eyes flicked to the rosary. "I don't care."
"I found it in the floorboards of Celeste's apartment," Anthony said. "Because Celeste didn't just sleep with my father. She's the one who slipped the poison into my grandmother's tea."
Celeste screamed. "He made me do it! Dominic threatened to take my daughter!"
The distraction was all Vincent needed.
My husband lunged.
The gunshot shattered the glass ceiling. Shards of crystal rained down on us like diamonds.
Vincent tackled Dominic into the heavy wrought-iron patio table. The gun clattered across the marble floor.
I didn't scream. I didn't freeze.
I dove for the gun.
My fingers wrapped around the cold steel just as Dominic drove his knee into Vincent's ribs, throwing my husband off him. Dominic scrambled toward me, his face twisted in rage.
"Back up!" I screamed, raising the weapon. I had never fired a gun in my life, but my hands were dead steady.
Dominic froze. He looked at me, then let out a dark, mocking laugh.
"You won't shoot me, Evie. You're too soft. You've always been too soft."
"She won't have to," a voice said from the doorway.
We all turned.
Standing in the shattered doorway of the conservatory, wearing a heavy black winter coat despite the summer heat, was my mother.
May you like
She looked older, her hair fully gray, but her eyes were sharp as ever.
"Hello, Dominic," my dead mother said. "I believe you have something that belongs to me."
