Chapter 10 - [THE COMPASS POINTING TO THE TRUTH]
The silence in the sunlit dining room was absolute, deafening, and completely terrifying.
I stopped breathing. My fork slipped from my hand, clattering loudly against the fine china plate.
Arthur Bennett, the kind, loyal chauffeur who had just been given the seat of honor at the head of the table, didn't gasp. He didn't panic. He simply placed his hands flat on the linen tablecloth and closed his tired eyes.
“Let me see that,” I whispered, reaching across the table.
Luca handed me the heavy, cream-colored paper. My eyes raced over the elegant, unmistakable handwriting of Don Moretti.
“Carmine, the cancer has spread to my lungs. The doctors give me three weeks. If I die of illness, the Syndicate will consume Luca. He is not ruthless enough to hold the throne, and the wolves will tear him apart. I must die a martyr to give him the absolute power he needs. Arthur has agreed to arrange the accident with the Bellinis. Ensure the boy never knows his father chose the fire. Protect him.”
I stared at the paper. The words blurred as tears pooled in my eyes.
Luca’s father wasn't assassinated by a rival family seeking power.
He had orchestrated his own murder. He was dying of terminal cancer, and he had used his death to ignite a war that would solidify Luca’s absolute control over the Syndicate.
And Arthur—sweet, protective Arthur—had been the architect.
“Is it true?” Luca asked. His voice wasn't angry. It was utterly broken. A boy realizing his entire life was built on a foundation of orchestrated trauma.
Arthur opened his eyes. They were shining with unshed tears.
“Yes, son,” Arthur whispered, his voice barely a rasp. “It’s true.”
Luca pushed his chair back and stood up, running his tattooed hands through his dark hair. He paced the length of the table, his chest heaving as the betrayal set in.
“You let me grieve,” Luca choked out, pointing a trembling finger at the old man. “You let me go to war! You let me hunt down the Bellinis, thinking they murdered my father in cold blood! You stood next to me at his funeral and held my mother while she wept!”
“He made me swear on my life, Luca!” Arthur cried, a single tear spilling down his weathered cheek. “Your father knew you wouldn't survive the transition of power if you didn't have a reason to be ruthless! He wanted you to inherit an empire, not a slaughterhouse!”
“And what about my father?” I asked, my voice shaking violently. I stood up, gripping the edge of the table. “Arthur, what about Thomas Hayes? My dad found the tampered brakes. Julian said my dad was killed to cover it up.”
Arthur looked at me, his expression crumbling into absolute agony.
“Oh, Livvy,” Arthur sobbed, covering his face with his hands. “Thomas wasn't supposed to die. He wasn't supposed to be working that night. He came into the garage early. He found the cut brake lines, and he confronted your father, Luca.”
Arthur looked up, his eyes hollow.
“Julian didn't kill your father, Olivia. Don Moretti did.”
The room spun. I gripped the back of my chair to keep from collapsing.
“My father shot Thomas to keep the secret,” Arthur confessed, weeping openly now. “He shot him, and he set the garage on fire to make it look like an accident. I tried to stop him. I begged him not to. But he said the plan was already in motion.”
I couldn't breathe.
The man who had set up a two-million-dollar trust fund for me hadn't done it out of loyalty. He had done it out of guilt. He had bought his absolution with blood money.
“And you just let it happen,” I whispered, staring at Arthur in pure horror. “You knew my father was murdered by your boss, and you brought me into this house to scrub his floors?”
“I brought you here to protect you!” Arthur pleaded, reaching out toward me. “I couldn't save Thomas, but I swore I would keep you safe! I kept you close so Carmine and the Bellinis could never hurt you!”
“Don't touch me!” I screamed, swatting his hand away.
Luca stood frozen at the end of the table. His father wasn't a martyr trying to go legitimate. He was a ruthless mob boss who murdered an innocent mechanic and manipulated his own son from the grave.
Luca looked at the silver compass in the wooden box. The compass his father used to guide him.
It was all a lie.
Luca picked up the compass. He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sprawling, manicured estate. With a sudden, explosive roar of grief and rage, Luca threw the heavy silver compass straight through the thick glass.
The window shattered into a thousand pieces, raining shards onto the stone patio outside.
Luca turned back to Arthur. His eyes were entirely dead.
“Get out of my house,” Luca whispered.
Arthur’s breath hitched. “Luca, please. I am your family.”
“My family is dead,” Luca said, his voice cold as ice. “You have thirty seconds to walk out that door, Arthur. If I ever see your face again, I will forget that you taught me how to drive.”
Arthur slowly stood up. He didn't argue. He picked up his wooden cane, his shoulders slumped in absolute defeat. He looked at me one last time, an apology dying on his lips.
Then, the old chauffeur turned and walked out of the dining room, disappearing into the hallway.
Luca and I stood alone in the ruins of the morning sun.
“He left me a trust fund,” I whispered, the numbness settling into my bones. “Two million dollars in the blue ledger. Because he murdered my father.”
Luca looked at me, his expression softening into a shared, profound sorrow.
“We’re going to the bank, Olivia,” Luca said softly. “We’re opening the trust. We’re taking every single penny of that blood money.”
I looked at him. “And do what with it?”
May you like
Luca walked over and gently touched my shoulder.
“We burn it down. All of it.”
