Chapter 4 - The Brother in the PhotographBoston looked different when Dominic stopped trusting it.
Every familiar street became a possible route used by an enemy.
Every old friend became a question.
Every door inside Rourke House acquired a lock.
By noon, Owen had assembled everything connected to Michael’s accident.
The police report.
The autopsy.
Photographs.
Insurance documents.
Dental identification.
Dominic stood over the conference table.
“Who identified him?”
Owen looked uncomfortable.
“Patrick.”
Dominic said nothing.
His uncle’s name kept appearing.
The dental records had supposedly confirmed Michael’s identity, but the dentist who signed them had died eight months later.
The coroner had retired to Florida.
The officer who first arrived at the crash had left the department.
Too many coincidences.
Dominic called Patrick.
His uncle answered on the second ring.
“Dom?”
“Come to the house.”
Patrick chuckled.
“You know normal people start with hello.”
“Now.”
The humor disappeared.
“Is something wrong?”
Dominic looked at Elena through the glass doors.
She sat on the terrace with Clara.
Clara was banging a wooden spoon against the table while Mrs. Callahan tried unsuccessfully to stop her.
Something about the ordinary scene hurt.
Dominic had missed fourteen months of it.
Her first smile.
First tooth.
First step.
Maybe her first word.
He did not even know what food she hated.
His life had been filled with men who feared him, and somehow his own daughter had existed ten miles away without him knowing.
“Dom?”
Patrick’s voice pulled him back.
“One hour.”
Dominic ended the call.
Elena entered.
“You’re bringing Patrick here?”
“You heard Sofia.”
“She said Michael suspected him.”
“That’s why I want him where I control the exits.”
Elena folded her arms.
“You control everything.”
“Usually.”
“Except this.”
Dominic looked toward Clara.
“No. Apparently not this.”
For a moment neither spoke.
Then Elena said, “You can hold her.”
Dominic looked at her.
“You keep staring.”
“I’m observing.”
“You’ve been observing her for twenty minutes.”
“I don’t know what to do with babies.”
“She seems to think you do.”
“She thinks I’m Papa.”
Elena’s expression changed.
“You are.”
The words landed quietly.
Dominic looked away.
“A laboratory says I probably am.”
“Her heart knew before the laboratory did.”
“That’s sentimental nonsense.”
“Maybe.”
Elena smiled faintly.
“But she still screamed when Owen held her.”
From the terrace, Owen said, “I heard that.”
For the first time in days, Elena laughed.
Even Dominic almost did.
Then Patrick arrived.
He walked into the drawing room wearing a navy suit and irritation.
“What emergency requires—”
He saw Elena.
Then Clara.
His face changed.
Only for a second.
But Dominic saw it.
Patrick knew.
Dominic closed the door.
“Who is she?”
Patrick recovered.
“A maid?”
Dominic struck him.
Not hard enough to drop him.
Hard enough to split his lip.
Elena flinched.
Patrick touched the blood.
“What the hell?”
“Try again.”
Patrick stared at Clara.
Dominic stepped closer.
“You recognized her.”
“I recognized Elena.”
“You’ve never met Elena.”
Patrick’s eyes shifted.
That was enough.
Dominic grabbed him.
“Where is Sofia?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is Michael?”
“Dead.”
“The coffin was empty.”
Patrick stopped struggling.
There it was.
Shock.
Real shock.
Dominic released him.
“You didn’t know.”
Patrick wiped his mouth.
“What do you mean empty?”
“You buried bricks.”
“No.”
“Did you identify Michael’s body?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I saw him.”
“His face was burned beyond recognition.”
Patrick hesitated.
“His watch. His ring. Dental records.”
“All of which can be planted.”
Patrick sank into a chair.
Dominic studied him.
“You knew about Clara.”
Patrick covered his face.
“Yes.”
Elena made a sound of disbelief.
“You knew?”
Patrick looked at her.
“Michael told me.”
“When?”
“The week before the crash.”
Dominic’s voice hardened.
“And you said nothing to me for two years?”
“Because Michael begged me.”
“Michael is not standing in front of me.”
“No, because he died trying to protect that child!”
“Maybe.”
Patrick stared.
Dominic tossed the cemetery photograph onto the table.
“Someone lied about the body.”
Patrick picked it up.
His hands trembled.
“I didn’t know.”
Dominic believed him.
That created an even larger problem.
“Who else knew Clara existed?”
Patrick looked toward the baby.
“Your father.”
Dominic froze.
“My father died seven years ago.”
“I know.”
“Clara is fourteen months old.”
Patrick swallowed.
“He knew Sofia.”
Silence.
“Explain.”
Patrick stood.
“Your father knew you were seeing her. He had her investigated.”
“Why?”
“Because she was a Bell.”
Dominic frowned.
“So?”
Patrick walked toward the window.
“Her father, Raymond Bell, was your father’s accountant.”
Dominic remembered vaguely.
Ray Bell.
Quiet man.
Disappeared after an embezzlement scandal.
“My father accused him of stealing.”
“Your father framed him.”
Dominic stared.
Patrick continued.
“Ray discovered that your father had hidden money from partners. He threatened to expose him. Your father destroyed him first.”
“Ray died in prison.”
“Yes.”
“And Sofia knew?”
“Eventually.”
Dominic understood.
“She came after me because of my family.”
Patrick nodded.
“At first.”
Elena whispered, “Then she fell in love.”
Patrick looked at her.
“Yes.”
Dominic’s mind raced.
If Sofia’s father had held evidence against the Rourkes, then Sofia might have inherited it.
And Clara might be connected to it.
“The child is the key,” Dominic murmured.
Patrick looked at him.
“What?”
Dominic showed him the photograph.
Patrick read the message.
His face changed again.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Patrick walked toward the fireplace.
“Raymond Bell kept a ledger.”
“What ledger?”
“One your father never found.”
“Money?”
“Names. Accounts. Judges. Officials. Every person your father paid during twenty years.”
Owen swore softly.
Dominic stared at Clara.
“So whoever wants the ledger believes Sofia passed the location to our daughter.”
“That would be insane,” Elena said. “She was a newborn.”
“Not directly.”
Dominic picked up the Saint Christopher medal.
“Michael gave her this.”
He examined the pendant.
A scratch crossed the back.
He pressed the edge with his thumbnail.
Nothing.
Owen brought a magnifying glass.
Dominic studied the engraved initials.
D.R.R.
Except the final R looked strange.
He twisted the rim.
The back of the medal popped open.
Inside was a miniature storage chip.
Everyone stared.
Patrick whispered, “Michael.”
Owen extracted it.
Within minutes they loaded the contents.
One encrypted file.
A photograph.
And coordinates.
The photograph showed Michael standing beside Sofia.
Both alive.
Behind them was a lighthouse.
The date stamp showed the picture was taken eight months after Michael supposedly died.
Elena gasped.
Dominic stared at his brother’s face.
Michael was alive after the crash.
Owen opened the coordinates.
Cape Ann.
An abandoned lighthouse property.
Patrick looked at Dominic.
“You’re thinking of going.”
“Yes.”
“Could be a trap.”
Dominic slipped the medal into his pocket.
“Everything is a trap.”
Elena stood.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“Michael protected Clara for me. Sofia trusted me. I’m coming.”
Dominic turned.
“You stay with my daughter.”
“Our daughter?”
Elena’s voice sharpened.
“I changed her diapers when she was sick. I stayed awake through fevers. I worked two jobs so she had formula. She may be your blood, Dominic, but she is my child too.”
The words struck harder than Patrick’s betrayal.
Dominic looked at her.
She was right.
Clara reached toward them from Mrs. Callahan’s arms.
“Mama.”
Elena’s face softened instantly.
Then Clara looked at Dominic.
“Papa.”
Two words.
Two parents.
Neither biological arrangement nor legal document could simplify what the child already understood.
Dominic nodded once.
“You stay with her because she needs you.”
Elena relaxed slightly.
“And because I intend to return.”
Dominic left for Cape Ann before sunset.
The abandoned lighthouse stood above a black Atlantic.
Owen and three men searched the lower building.
Dominic climbed alone.
At the top, he found a dusty room.
One table.
One chair.
One recent coffee cup.
Still warm.
Dominic turned sharply.
Someone had been there minutes earlier.
On the wall hung a photograph.
Sofia.
Clara.
Elena.
And Dominic himself.
All taken secretly.
Across the photograph someone had written:
ONE FAMILY. FOUR TARGETS.
A floorboard creaked behind him.
Dominic spun.
A man stood in the doorway.
Older.
Thin.
A scar at his chin.
Dominic’s weapon lifted.
The man raised both hands.
“Easy, brother.”
Dominic stopped.
His gun remained aimed.
His heart did not seem to understand what his eyes were seeing.
Michael Rourke smiled weakly.
“Hi, Dom.”
Dominic crossed the room in three strides.
He hit him.
Michael fell into the wall.
Then Dominic grabbed him and pulled him into an embrace so violent it nearly became another fight.
“You’re dead.”
“I noticed.”
Dominic shoved him away.
“You let me bury you.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“You had two years!”
Michael’s eyes filled.
“I was trying to keep your daughter alive.”
Dominic went still.
Michael looked toward the stairs.
“We have to leave.”
“Where is Sofia?”
Michael’s expression darkened.
“Alive.”
Dominic’s breath caught.
“Where?”
“I’ll take you to her.”
A gunshot exploded below.
Owen shouted.
Michael grabbed Dominic’s arm.
“They followed you.”
Dominic looked toward the stairs.
Michael whispered the final words Dominic expected least.
“And Dom?”
“What?”
“The traitor isn’t Patrick.”
Another gunshot shook the tower.
May you like
Michael met his brother’s eyes.
“It’s Owen.”
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