Chapter 4 - THE MAFIA BOSS'S DARKEST SECRET
My father had just accused the man helping me of destroying our family.
I stood in Roman Costa's office, holding my phone so tightly my fingers hurt.
Roman watched my expression change.
"What happened?"
I looked at him.
For the first time since we'd met, I saw him differently.
The expensive suit.
The private office.
The guards.
The power.
Perhaps Preston wasn't the only dangerous man who knew how to make cruelty look respectable.
"My father says you ordered the takeover."
Roman went completely still.
Marco, standing near the doorway, turned sharply.
"Boss—"
Roman raised one hand.
Silence.
Then he looked at me.
"That's what Arthur said?"
"Yes."
"His exact words?"
"The man who ordered the takeover was Roman Costa."
Roman slowly sat down.
For several seconds, he didn't speak.
I felt my anger rising.
"Tell me he's wrong."
He looked up.
"I didn't order your father's company stolen."
"Then why would he say your name?"
Roman's expression darkened.
"Because three years ago, Vincent Caruso was still using my name to authorize business deals."
I stared.
"What does that mean?"
"He had access to certain investment accounts and contract approvals through our former partnership."
"Did you know about Bennett & Sons?"
Roman hesitated.
"Yes."
My stomach dropped.
"You knew?"
"I knew Vincent wanted to acquire the company."
"And you allowed him?"
"I refused the proposal."
I took a step backward.
"How convenient."
Roman didn't move.
"Your anger is justified."
I laughed.
"That's generous."
He leaned forward.
"But I won't ask you to believe me without evidence."
I picked up my handbag.
"Good. Because I don't."
He stood.
"Sloan, wait."
"No."
I walked toward the door.
"Three years ago, Preston told my father everything was under control. Two weeks later, Dad was in the hospital and our company was gone."
My voice broke.
"I won't make the same mistake twice."
Roman didn't block my path.
Instead, he stepped aside.
"You have every right to leave."
That surprised me.
He continued.
"But take the files. Have them reviewed by an attorney of your choosing."
I looked at the folders.
"Why?"
"Because the truth shouldn't depend on whether you trust me."
I hesitated.
Then took the copies.
At the care facility, I found my father sitting beside the window.
Arthur Bennett had once been a strong man with broad shoulders and calloused hands.
He built houses.
Lifted steel beams.
Carried me on his shoulders when I was little.
Now he struggled to hold a spoon.
I knelt beside his wheelchair.
"Dad?"
His eyes filled with tears.
I took his hand.
"I'm here."
He squeezed my fingers.
"Ro... man."
My heart tightened.
"Roman Costa?"
He nodded.
"Did he hurt you?"
My father's face twisted with frustration.
He tried to speak.
I waited.
After several painful attempts, he whispered, "Name."
"His name?"
Dad nodded again.
Then slowly shook his head.
I frowned.
"Someone used his name?"
My father's eyes widened.
He squeezed my hand hard.
"Yes."
Relief flooded me.
Then Dad gripped my wrist.
"Blue."
"The blue folder?"
He nodded.
"Where is it?"
His breathing grew uneven.
I waited while he gathered strength.
Finally, he whispered, "Wall."
"What wall?"
He closed his eyes.
"Old office."
I leaned closer.
"The old company office?"
He nodded.
Then a tear rolled down his cheek.
"Behind... Mom."
My breath caught.
The portrait of my late mother had hung behind my father's desk for twenty years.
I kissed his forehead.
"I'll find it, Dad."
As I stood, he grabbed my hand once more.
His expression was filled with terror.
May you like
He forced out three words.
"Don't trust Vincent."
