Chapter 8 - The Truth About Adrien ViscariVictor never fired.
That became obvious within five minutes.
A table had been set inside the hangar.
White linen.
Crystal glasses.
Food from a restaurant I recognized.
My favorite Italian place.
Victor knew what I ordered.
Of course he did.
Marcus had probably told him.
“Sit,” Victor said.
I remained standing.
Marcus shoved my shoulder.
Victor’s head snapped toward him.
“Don’t touch her.”
Marcus froze.
For one absurd second, I almost laughed.
The man who orchestrated my entire life objected to bad manners.
Victor gestured toward my chair.
“Please.”
“My hands are tied.”
He looked irritated.
“Marcus.”
Marcus cut the restraints.
I sat only because my knees were weak.
Victor poured water.
“I know you have questions.”
“I have one.”
“Ask.”
“Where is my mother?”
His face changed.
There.
Pain.
Real or performed, I couldn’t tell.
“Isabelle made choices.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“She’s alive.”
My heart stopped.
“Where?”
“I can take you to her.”
I stared.
Victor continued.
“But first, you need to understand the truth about Viscari.”
I almost groaned.
“Everyone keeps telling me everyone else is lying.”
“Because they are.”
“Then show me my mother.”
Victor leaned back.
“She refused to see you.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“For years.”
“No.”
“She believed proximity endangered you.”
“That sounds like protecting me.”
“She abandoned you.”
“You hunted her.”
“I wanted what belonged to me.”
“Evidence?”
His gaze met mine.
“You.”
I felt sick.
Victor spoke gently.
“I made mistakes. I was younger. Ruthless. Your mother frightened me because she tried to destroy everything I had built.”
“You mean expose your crimes.”
His mouth tightened.
“The world is more complicated than that.”
“People who say that usually mean they did something terrible.”
For the first time, anger flashed across his face.
Then vanished.
“You have Isabelle’s temper.”
“Good.”
He slid a document across the table.
A trust agreement.
I scanned it.
One billion dollars.
Companies.
Properties.
Investment accounts.
All designated for me.
“If you sign,” Victor said, “everything becomes yours.”
“What do I sign away?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why do you need my signature?”
“You acknowledge your identity as my daughter.”
I laughed.
“That’s it?”
“And you transfer the Harbor House archive to my attorneys.”
There it was.
“No.”
Victor sighed.
“Elena.”
“No.”
“You don’t understand what those records contain.”
“Enough to scare you.”
“Enough to destroy thousands of innocent people.”
“Then let investigators decide.”
Marcus snorted behind me.
Victor gave him a sharp look.
Then returned his attention to me.
“You believe Adrien Viscari is honorable?”
“No.”
That surprised him.
“I barely know him.”
“Good.”
“But he protected me when Marcus was trying to drag me out of his club.”
Victor looked at Marcus.
Marcus stared down.
“He helped my mother when he was eighteen.”
“Did he tell you why?”
“Because she needed help.”
Victor laughed softly.
“Adrien was in love with Isabelle.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Hopelessly.”
Pieces shifted.
The photograph.
Adrien’s protectiveness.
His grief when he talked about my mother.
Victor smiled.
“You didn’t know.”
“He was eighteen.”
“Your mother was twenty-four.”
“Did anything happen?”
“No. Isabelle loved me then.”
His smugness made my skin crawl.
“But Adrien would have died for her.”
Victor leaned forward.
“Perhaps that’s why he is so eager to protect you.”
I didn’t answer.
Victor studied my expression.
Then he said, “Your mother isn’t the only person alive who was supposed to be dead.”
He slid another photograph across the table.
Adrien’s brother Luca.
Older.
Alive.
Taken recently.
My mouth opened.
“Adrien thinks he died.”
“Adrien thinks many things.”
“Where is he?”
“With your mother.”
Every secret seemed to contain another.
Victor stood.
“Come with me voluntarily. Hand over the archive. And I will take you to Isabelle.”
“And if I refuse?”
His expression softened in a way that scared me more than rage.
“You are my daughter.”
“So?”
“So eventually you’ll understand that people like us do not get to refuse family.”
I thought of Marcus.
People like him always used the same vocabulary.
Love.
Family.
Protection.
All words turned into cages.
I stood.
“Then you don’t know me at all.”
Victor’s face hardened.
He looked at Marcus.
“Take her downstairs.”
Marcus grabbed me.
I kicked him immediately.
He swore.
Victor shouted, “Enough!”
Alarms sounded.
Gunfire erupted outside.
Victor’s men scrambled.
Marcus dragged me toward a side door.
Then the lights died.
A familiar voice came through the darkness.
“Let her go.”
Adrien.
Marcus spun.
Emergency lights flashed red.
Adrien stood twenty feet away with Dominic and three armed men.
His shirt was bloodstained near his shoulder.
My chest tightened.
Marcus pulled a gun.
Adrien’s weapon rose.
“Marcus.”
Victor stepped between them.
“Think carefully.”
Adrien’s eyes never left Marcus.
“I already did.”
Victor smiled.
“Still reckless after all these years.”
Then another voice came from behind Victor.
“Drop the weapon.”
A woman stepped into the light.
Gray streaks in dark hair.
Thin face.
Familiar eyes.
My mother.
Alive.
I forgot the gunfire.
Forgot Marcus.
Forgot everything.
“Mom?”
Her face broke.
“Elena.”
Marcus moved.
Adrien fired.
The bullet hit Marcus’s gun hand.
He screamed.
Dominic rushed him.
Victor backed away.
But I couldn’t move.
My mother walked toward me.
Every childhood memory returned at once.
Her perfume.
Her songs.
Her hands braiding my hair.
The night she kissed my forehead and said she had to go away for a little while.
Sixteen years.
I had mourned her.
Hated her.
Needed her.
She stopped inches away.
“You got so tall.”
I began sobbing.
Then I hit her.
One slap.
Not hard.
Enough.
She accepted it.
“You were alive.”
“I know.”
“You were alive!”
“I know.”
“You let me bury you!”
Her tears fell.
“I know.”
Then I collapsed against her.
She wrapped her arms around me.
And for a few seconds, I was eleven years old again.
Behind us Victor said quietly:
“Touching.”
My mother stiffened.
He pointed a gun directly at Adrien.
“You took my wife once.”
Adrien stared back.
May you like
Victor smiled.
“This time, I’m taking my daughter.”
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