THE FORGED TICKET IN THE NIGHT

Vincent Caruso’s hand froze inches from the brass doorknob of the music room.

The silence that followed Dominic’s question was absolute. Fourteen dinner guests in the adjoining dining room had stopped speaking. The faint clinking of silverware had ceased.

Dominic did not raise his voice. He didn't have to.

“Turn around, Vincent.”

Slowly, the older man turned. The color had completely drained from his face, leaving his skin the color of old parchment. He forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

“Dominic, this is absurd,” Vincent said, his voice carrying a slight tremor. “I reached for the door because I will not stand here and be interrogated in front of your guests over a delusion fabricated by a maid.”

Dominic’s dark eyes shifted to Anna, then back to Vincent.

“She didn't fabricate anything,” Dominic said quietly. “She only played three notes. You’re the one who provided the panic.”

Vincent straightened his jacket, desperately trying to reclaim his authority. “I am trying to protect you. Thomas Ellison was a grifter who took advantage of your mother’s kindness. I handled the situation sixteen years ago to spare your family the embarrassment.”

“Handled it?” Dominic stepped away from the piano, his imposing frame casting a long shadow across the Persian rug. “How exactly did you handle a man who supposedly vanished?”

Vincent swallowed hard. “I paid him to leave. It was business.”

“Then why did you just say he should have kept his mouth shut?”

Vincent had no answer. For the first time in twenty-three years, the untouchable manager of the Moretti empire looked like a cornered animal.

Dominic didn't yell. He simply looked at the two armed security guards standing in the hallway.

“Escort Mr. Caruso to the basement office,” Dominic ordered. “Take his phone. Take his keys. He doesn't leave this house until I have the truth.”

“Dominic, you cannot do this!” Vincent shouted as the guards grabbed his arms. “I built this family alongside your father!”

“And tonight, we find out who you destroyed in the process,” Dominic replied coldly.

As the guards dragged Vincent away, Dominic turned back to Anna. She was still sitting on the piano bench, her hands trembling violently in her lap. She had just triggered the collapse of the most powerful man in Dominic’s inner circle.

Dominic walked over and gently closed the lid over the piano keys.

“Get your coat, Anna,” he said, his voice entirely devoid of its usual harshness.

“Sir?”

“We are going to the rehabilitation center. Right now.”

Anna stood up, panic seizing her chest. “Please, Mr. Moretti. My father is a sick man. He can barely speak. He didn't do anything to your mother.”

“I know,” Dominic said softly. “But if Vincent knows he’s alive, your father is no longer safe.”

Twenty minutes later, Dominic’s black SUV pulled up to the curb of the Oakwood Rehabilitation Center. Anna rushed through the sliding glass doors, Dominic following closely behind her. The night nurse at the front desk looked up in surprise.

“Anna? Visiting hours ended at eight.”

“I need to see my father,” Anna breathed, her heart hammering against her ribs. “Room 114.”

The nurse frowned, looking at her computer screen. “Your father isn't in 114 anymore, honey.”

Anna stopped dead. “What do you mean?”

“He was checked out for an emergency medical transfer twenty minutes ago,” the nurse explained. “A private transport team came for him.”

Dominic stepped forward, his presence immediately commanding the room. “Who authorized a transfer?”

“The paperwork was already signed,” the nurse stammered, intimidated by his tone. She reached across the desk and handed Dominic a pink carbon copy of a transfer ticket.

Dominic looked at the signature on the bottom line.

His jaw locked. His breathing stopped.

Anna looked at the paper, confused. “Whose signature is that?”