Chapter 3 - THE RIVAL WHO SAVED HERMadeline woke to the smell of cedar smoke and antiseptic.
For several seconds, she did not know where she was.
Then pain tore through her left side.
She gasped.
A hand pressed gently against her shoulder.
“Don’t sit up.”
Madeline opened her eyes.
Lorenzo Castiglione was seated beside the bed.
That alone would have been enough to terrify half of New York.
Lorenzo was forty-one, dark-eyed, impeccably dressed even at two in the morning, and rumored to have ordered the deaths of men for lesser offenses than saying his name disrespectfully.
Tonight, however, his white shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows.
There was blood on his hands.
Her blood.
Madeline tried to move.
“Where am I?”
“Somewhere Salvatore doesn’t own.”
“Dominic.”
“Alive.”
“How do you know?”
Lorenzo leaned back.
“Because Salvatore tried to kill him twenty-seven minutes ago and failed.”
Madeline closed her eyes.
The relief hurt almost as much as the wound.
“You told him?”
“I sent evidence.”
“Will he believe you?”
Lorenzo gave her a look.
“You married the man. You tell me.”
Madeline almost laughed.
Instead she winced.
A woman in medical scrubs entered the room carrying fresh bandages.
“This will hurt.”
Madeline looked down.
Her dress had been cut at the side.
A bullet had grazed her ribs, carving a deep channel without entering her abdomen.
“What happened?”
Lorenzo’s expression hardened.
“When you stepped out of the elevator, two men were waiting.”
“I remember one grabbing me.”
“You broke his nose.”
Madeline blinked.
“I did?”
“You also kicked the second one hard enough to make him reconsider fatherhood.”
Despite everything, she managed a weak smile.
“Good.”
“They were trying to put you in a van.”
“How did you find me?”
“I had people watching Dominic’s building.”
Her smile disappeared.
“Of course you did.”
“For protection.”
“Whose?”
“Yours.”
Madeline stared at him.
Six weeks earlier, she would have considered the statement absurd.
Then she had overheard Salvatore speaking in a private dining room at Dominic’s charity gala.
She had entered a service corridor looking for aspirin.
On the other side of an unlatched door, Salvatore had been speaking with a man she did not recognize.
The words had changed her life.
Pier Fourteen.
Three a.m.
Dominic does not leave alive.
Madeline had stood frozen until she heard something worse.
Once Dominic is dead, blame Castiglione.
She had backed away.
A waiter had spotted her.
By morning, Salvatore was suddenly spending more time at their penthouse.
Asking questions.
Watching her.
Dominic would not hear accusations without evidence.
So Madeline had contacted the only man Salvatore intended to frame.
Lorenzo.
At first Lorenzo had believed it was a trap.
Then Madeline had sent him fragments of shipping records.
Payments.
Names.
Old photographs.
The conspiracy stretched back years.
Possibly to Dominic’s father.
Now she looked at the man her husband considered his greatest enemy.
“You knew they would come for me.”
“I suspected.”
“You should have warned me.”
“I did.”
“You sent three messages saying leave the city.”
“You ignored all three.”
“My husband was in danger.”
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.
“And now you almost died for a man who locked you outside in freezing rain.”
Madeline stared toward the ceiling.
“That part is complicated.”
“No. That part is incredibly simple.”
“Don’t.”
Lorenzo stood.
“I am not your marriage counselor, Madeline. But if someone I loved came to me bleeding information about an assassination, I would at least open the damn door.”
Her eyes flashed.
“You don’t get to speak about him like that.”
Lorenzo looked almost amused.
“You defend him even now.”
“I love him even now.”
“That is not the same thing.”
Silence filled the room.
Then Madeline asked quietly, “Why do you hate Salvatore?”
Lorenzo’s expression changed.
“I don’t hate him.”
“You’ve spent six years threatening war with his family.”
“With Dominic’s family.”
“You know what I mean.”
Lorenzo turned toward the fireplace.
“My father and Dominic’s father were not enemies.”
Madeline stared at him.
“What?”
“They pretended to be.”
“Why?”
“To keep Salvatore from knowing they were working together.”
Madeline felt cold despite the blanket.
“Working together against what?”
“Against him.”
The woman treating her wound stopped.
Lorenzo glanced at her.
“Leave us.”
She obeyed.
When the door closed, Lorenzo walked to a locked cabinet.
He removed an old envelope.
Inside were photographs.
He placed the first on Madeline’s lap.
Dominic’s father.
Antonio Vitiello.
Beside him stood Lorenzo’s father, Gabriel Castiglione.
The two men were laughing.
Friends.
The date on the back was eight months before Antonio’s murder.
Lorenzo placed down another image.
Antonio and Gabriel entering a federal courthouse through a private entrance.
“What is this?”
“They were negotiating immunity.”
Madeline looked up sharply.
“For themselves?”
“For their children.”
Lorenzo nodded.
“They wanted out.”
“Dominic never said—”
“Dominic never knew.”
The realization settled heavily between them.
“Salvatore did.”
“Yes.”
“What happened to your father?”
“Three months after Antonio died, Gabriel disappeared.”
Madeline’s fingers tightened around the photograph.
“His body?”
“Never found.”
“And you think Salvatore—”
“I know Salvatore ordered both hits.”
“Proof?”
Lorenzo pulled a small voice recorder from the envelope.
“This belonged to my father.”
Madeline stared.
“What’s on it?”
“A conversation between Antonio and Salvatore.”
“Why haven’t you given it to Dominic?”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“The night his father died.”
Madeline’s face went still.
Lorenzo continued.
“I went to the hospital.”
“Salvatore was there.”
“Yes.”
“He told Dominic you had arranged the shooting.”
“Yes.”
Madeline understood.
“And Dominic believed him.”
“He was twenty-seven years old. His father was dead. Salvatore had raised him.”
She looked down at the recorder.
“Play it.”
Lorenzo hesitated.
Then pressed the button.
Static.
Footsteps.
Antonio Vitiello’s voice.
If I sign those papers, Dominic walks away from this life.
Salvatore answered.
You don’t get to dismantle what our father built.
Antonio laughed bitterly.
You don’t care about what he built. You care that without this business, nobody fears you.
Then Salvatore said something that made Madeline’s skin prickle.
Fear is the only inheritance worth leaving.
Antonio replied.
Then leave it to your own son.
Silence.
Madeline looked at Lorenzo.
“Salvatore has a son?”
“No legitimate one.”
The recording continued.
Salvatore’s voice was lower now.
Dominic was raised for this.
He is stronger than your conscience.
Antonio answered.
Dominic is my son. Not your weapon.
The recording ended.
Madeline felt sick.
Lorenzo sat across from her.
“Antonio was killed twelve days later.”
“Dominic has to hear this.”
“He will.”
“When?”
“When I know the man listening is Dominic and not Salvatore’s nephew.”
Before Madeline could answer, the door burst open.
One of Lorenzo’s men entered.
“We have movement.”
“Where?”
“Front gate.”
“How many?”
“Eight vehicles.”
Lorenzo stood.
Madeline’s pulse spiked.
“Salvatore?”
The guard shook his head.
“No.”
“Then who?”
The man looked directly at Madeline.
“Dominic Vitiello.”
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.
“How did he find us?”
A distant explosion answered.
The windows trembled.
Madeline struggled upright.
“What was that?”
Lorenzo walked toward the door.
“Your husband knocking.”
Outside, engines roared.
Men shouted.
A second explosion tore through the night.
Lorenzo pulled a handgun from beneath his jacket.
Madeline grabbed his wrist.
“Don’t shoot him.”
“If he shoots first—”
“He thinks you kidnapped me.”
“He thinks a lot of things.”
“Lorenzo.”
Their eyes met.
“Please.”
Something softened briefly in his expression.
Then he nodded.
“I won’t kill him.”
Madeline exhaled.
Lorenzo added, “Unless he makes it extremely inconvenient.”
He walked out.
Madeline swung her feet toward the floor.
Pain almost dropped her.
She pushed through it.
Across the property, Dominic’s voice thundered through the rain.
“CASTIGLIONE!”
Madeline reached the window.
Below, black SUVs filled the driveway.
Dominic stood in front of them without an umbrella, rain soaking his hair and suit.
A dozen armed men surrounded him.
Mateo stood nearby.
Lorenzo emerged onto the stone steps.
No weapon visible now.
“Vitiello.”
Dominic’s voice was deadly calm.
“Give me my wife.”
Lorenzo looked up toward Madeline’s window.
Dominic followed his gaze.
Their eyes met through the glass.
Madeline saw it instantly.
Shock.
Relief.
Then guilt.
Dominic took one step forward.
“Madeline.”
She pressed a hand against the wound beneath her bandages.
Blood had begun seeping through again.
Dominic saw it.
His face changed.
For the first time since she had known him, Dominic Vitiello looked terrified.
Madeline opened the window.
Cold rain swept inside.
“Stop,” she shouted. “No one fires.”
Dominic stared at her.
“Come down.”
She shook her head.
“First you listen.”
His expression tightened.
“Madeline—”
“You locked me out because you thought loyalty meant obedience.”
“That is not—”
“It is exactly what happened.”
Rain ran down his face.
She could see dozens of men watching.
She did not care.
“You want me to come back to you?” she called.
Dominic said nothing.
“Then hear the truth in front of everyone.”
Lorenzo turned slightly, studying her.
Madeline lifted the voice recorder.
“Your uncle murdered your father.”
Dominic went completely still.
Then a single gunshot cracked through the storm.
The window beside Madeline exploded.
She dropped.
Dominic shouted her name.
Lorenzo turned.
Mateo drew his weapon.
A second shot came from the trees.
Not aimed at Dominic.
Not aimed at Lorenzo.
Aimed directly at Madeline.
May you like
A sniper had found them.
And whoever had sent him was determined to make sure Antonio Vitiello’s secret died with her.
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