Chapter 3 - THE PHOTOGRAPH IN THE LINING
Vincent’s confident posture evaporated. The guests at the table were now openly murmuring, a few of the older men discreetly pushing back their chairs, preparing for violence.
"Dom, let me explain," Vincent said, holding his hands up. "The ticket is for business. The Canadian suppliers—"
"You hate the Canadian route," Dominic interrupted, his voice terrifyingly calm. "You begged me to give it to Paulie three months ago."
Catherine suddenly lunged for her purse on the table.
"Michael," Dominic barked.
The massive bodyguard stepped out from the shadows near the doorway, blocking Catherine’s path. He didn't touch her, but his sheer size made her freeze.
"Where are you going, my love?" Dominic asked, not taking his eyes off his brother.
Catherine’s chest heaved. "Dominic, you have to understand. I only covered for Vincent because... because he was protecting you!"
Vincent spun toward her. "Shut your mouth, Cath!"
"Protecting me from what?" Dominic demanded, closing the distance between him and his fiancée.
"From what your father was going to do," Catherine cried out, a tear finally ruining her perfect makeup. "Anthony wasn't just losing his memory, Dominic. He was losing his mind. He was going to destroy the family name!"
I felt Anthony’s grip tighten on my hand. "Liar," the old man whispered. "You're a liar."
"Am I?" Catherine yelled, dropping all pretense of elegance. She unclasped her designer purse with shaking hands. "I found it in his study the morning of the accident! He was packing a bag. He was going to bring it to the press!"
She pulled out a small, worn leather wallet and threw it onto the table. It slid across the polished mahogany and stopped inches from Dominic’s hand.
Dominic stared at it. "What is this?"
"Look inside," Catherine snapped. "Ask your precious father what he’s been hiding for twelve years."
Dominic slowly reached out and picked up the wallet. He flipped it open. From my seat beside Anthony, I could see Dominic’s broad shoulders instantly rigidify. The air seemed to leave the room.
"Dad," Dominic whispered, his voice cracking for the first time. "Where did you get this?"
Anthony bowed his head, tears dripping onto his lap. "Maria made me swear. On her deathbed, she made me swear to protect the boy."
Dominic reached into the wallet and pulled out a faded Polaroid photograph. He turned it around so Vincent, Catherine, and I could see it.
It was a picture of a baby. A newborn wrapped in a blue hospital blanket.
But it wasn't just the baby. Beside the child, looking exhausted but radiant, was a woman with striking red hair.
I gasped.
Dominic looked at me, his eyes wide and hollow. "You recognize her."
"That's..." I stammered, my mind spinning perfectly out of control. "That's Elena. My older sister. But... she died in a car crash twelve years ago."
Dominic’s hands began to shake. "Elena was my fiancée before she died." He looked at his father. "Who is the baby, Dad?"
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Anthony looked up, his eyes meeting his son's.
"He's your son, Dominic. And he's still alive."
