Chapter 7 - NICO’S DEAD MOTHER WAS WATCHING US
Margaret survived.
Barely.
The bullet missed her heart.
Police moved her into protective custody.
Her last words before surgery haunted both of us.
Lucia Caruso.
Alive.
Nico refused it.
“My mother died in Naples.”
“Did you see the body?”
His face changed.
Closed casket.
Of course.
I was developing a hatred for those.
Officially, Lucia died from complications after a stroke.
Nico had been twenty-eight.
His father died four years later.
He inherited everything.
“What reason would she have to disappear?”
Nico looked sick.
“My father.”
That surprised me.
“Abusive?”
“Controlling.”
He almost laughed.
“Apparently our families had themes.”
Lucia had wanted Nico out of the criminal side.
His father wanted an heir.
Arguments worsened.
Then she “died.”
If she was alive, perhaps she escaped.
But why target me?
Rebecca found the link.
Lucia Caruso and my mother, Eleanor Hart, had attended Barnard together.
Roommates.
Best friends.
Neither my father nor Nico had known.
I stared at the yearbook photograph.
Our mothers.
Nineteen.
Laughing.
Arm in arm.
Everything in our marriage had roots before we were born.
Then Rebecca found sealed trust records.
Eleanor Hart and Lucia Caruso created a joint legal structure twenty-five years earlier.
Purpose:
To protect legitimate Hart and Caruso assets if either family’s male-controlled businesses became compromised by organized crime or corruption.
My mother had planned an escape route.
For both families.
The beneficiary trigger?
Marriage between one Hart descendant and one Caruso descendant.
I laughed until I nearly cried.
“Our mothers arranged this.”
Nico stared.
“Not exactly.”
The trust did not force marriage.
It only activated if such a marriage happened voluntarily.
My father had discovered the clause six months ago.
He used it.
But someone else wanted it activated too.
Lucia.
Then a secure video call came through Rebecca’s office.
Unknown origin.
She answered.
An older woman appeared.
Silver-streaked dark hair.
Caruso eyes.
Nico stopped breathing.
“Mom.”
Lucia looked at him.
“My boy.”
He stood so quickly the chair fell.
“Where are you?”
“Safe.”
“You let me bury you.”
“I know.”
His voice broke.
“Why?”
“To survive your father.”
“You could have taken me.”
“I tried.”
He turned away.
That wound was not mine to touch.
Lucia looked at me.
“You have Eleanor’s eyes.”
“Did you order Margaret shot?”
“No.”
“Did you order Andrew to move against my trust?”
“No.”
“Then why did she name you?”
“Because Andrew has been pretending to work for me for eight years.”
Silence.
Lucia had secretly built a network to expose corruption inside both families.
Andrew infiltrated it.
Fed her selective truth.
Made her believe James Hart was stealing from my trust.
Made my father believe Lucia’s network threatened me.
Made Nico believe my family wanted Caruso protection.
Made everyone afraid of everyone.
Classic.
Then Lucia said:
“There is one person Andrew answers to.”
“Who?”
“A man Eleanor trusted.”
I almost laughed.
No more trusted men.
“Name.”
“Peter Vance.”
I frowned.
“I don’t know him.”
“You do.”
Lucia’s eyes hardened.
“You call him Uncle Peter.”
My father’s older brother.
Peter Hart.
Family attorney.
Executor of my mother’s estate.
The man who administered my trust.
The man with the legal power to delay, redirect, or fabricate almost anything.
And according to Lucia:
“Peter has spent twenty-five years waiting for you to marry someone powerful enough to activate Eleanor’s final trust.”
May you like
The marriage had not protected me from his plan.
It had completed it.
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