Chapter 5 - The Night Victor Told Me the Truth
The threat changed Victor.
Not outwardly.
That was the frightening part.
He became calmer.
His voice softened.
His movements slowed.
Luca doubled security.
Victor ordered every person around my mother re-vetted.
The three flash drives were copied, encrypted, and sent to attorneys in three states.
“If something happens to us,” Victor said, “everything goes to the FBI, the press, and two engineering firms.”
I stared.
“You planned that in an hour?”
“Forty-three minutes.”
“Of course.”
Victor looked almost offended.
“An hour would be sloppy.”
I should not have laughed.
I did.
For a second the tension broke.
Then I noticed how exhausted he looked.
“When did you sleep?”
“Tuesday.”
“It’s Saturday.”
“Hypocrisy from the woman who works doubles?”
“I’m not a billionaire.”
“Sleep has income requirements now?”
I folded my arms.
“You’re going to bed.”
Victor stared.
“No.”
“You look terrible.”
“I’m fine.”
“That is exactly what every exhausted liar says.”
His mouth twitched.
I pointed down the hall.
“Bed.”
“This is my apartment.”
“Yes.”
“You’re ordering me to sleep in my own home.”
“Yes.”
Victor DeLuca, feared by judges and politicians, stared at me for five seconds.
Then walked toward his bedroom.
“Unbelievable.”
I smiled.
“Goodnight.”
He stopped.
“Where are you sleeping?”
“Guest room.”
“No.”
I raised an eyebrow.
Victor realized.
“Not like that.”
“Good recovery.”
“The guest rooms are on the west side.”
“So?”
“The exterior windows are less protected.”
I stared.
“You have different bulletproof levels?”
“Yes.”
“Of course you do.”
He opened the door opposite his bedroom.
“This room.”
I looked inside.
A smaller suite.
Still larger than my apartment.
“Fine.”
Victor nodded.
Then neither of us moved.
Something lingered.
Too personal.
Too quiet.
Victor looked at me.
“Anna.”
“Yes?”
“Gabriel saved me when I was twenty-two.”
“I know.”
“I never thanked him.”
My chest tightened.
“You were young.”
“So was he.”
“What happened that night?”
Victor leaned against the doorframe.
He told me.
A rival crew attacked his car near Red Hook.
Victor’s driver was shot.
His vehicle spun.
Gabriel rammed the attackers’ SUV, then pulled Victor from the wreck.
“He got shot because of me.”
Victor’s voice was flat.
“He visited me in the hospital afterward. I told him I owed him anything.”
“What did he say?”
Victor almost smiled.
“He asked for better dental insurance for the construction crews.”
I laughed through tears.
“That sounds like him.”
Victor looked at me.
“You remember?”
“Little things.”
I closed my eyes.
“He put ketchup on scrambled eggs.”
“Disgusting.”
“He loved terrible action movies.”
“Reasonable.”
“He sang off-key.”
“Unforgivable.”
I laughed.
Then cried.
Victor stepped closer.
He hesitated.
Like he did not know whether he was allowed.
I closed the distance and put my arms around him.
Victor went rigid.
Not because he disliked it.
Because he was unused to it.
Then his arms came around me.
Strong.
Careful.
I cried into his shirt.
“I hated him.”
Victor said nothing.
“For fourteen years, I hated him for leaving.”
His hand moved slowly over my back.
“He knew you loved him.”
“How?”
“The letter.”
I closed my eyes.
“Why did everybody lie to me?”
“Fear.”
“That doesn’t excuse it.”
“No.”
Victor’s voice lowered.
“It explains too much of my life too.”
I pulled back.
“What did your father do to you?”
His expression closed.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
He looked surprised.
People probably demanded things from Victor constantly.
Information.
Money.
Answers.
I simply waited.
Eventually he spoke.
“My mother died when I was nine.”
“I’m sorry.”
“My father decided grief was weakness.”
Victor looked toward the dark hallway.
“He made sure I learned that lesson.”
“How?”
“By punishing every sign I missed her.”
My stomach twisted.
“What does that mean?”
He did not answer fully.
He did not need to.
I could imagine enough.
Victor continued.
“When I was seventeen, I told him I wanted to leave New York.”
“What happened?”
“He had my bank accounts frozen.”
I stared.
“I thought rich kids had trust funds.”
“I did.”
He smiled without humor.
“He controlled them.”
“So you stayed.”
“Yes.”
“Then took over?”
“Eventually.”
“Why not walk away later?”
Victor looked toward Manhattan.
“Because once I had power, I convinced myself I could clean everything from inside.”
“Did you?”
“Some of it.”
“And the rest?”
He looked at me.
“Still cleaning.”
I thought about Gabriel.
About my mother.
About the drives.
“Maybe some things can’t be cleaned.”
“No.”
Victor nodded.
“Some things have to be demolished.”
The next morning, Richard arrived.
Victor had invited him.
I had not.
“You should have asked me.”
“Yes.”
Victor looked annoyingly calm.
“I should have.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because Richard called and said he knew who may have ordered the shooting.”
I stopped arguing.
Richard looked ten years older than the night at the restaurant.
He placed a file on the table.
“Ethan.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
Victor’s expression hardened.
Richard continued.
“My son has been involved with people I didn’t know about.”
“Be specific.”
“Private debt.”
“Gambling?”
“Yes.”
Victor said nothing.
Richard continued.
“Twenty-two million.”
I almost choked.
“How does someone gamble twenty-two million dollars?”
Richard looked ashamed.
“Carefully at first.”
Victor opened the file.
Loan records.
Private clubs.
Offshore betting accounts.
One creditor name appeared repeatedly.
MASON KLINE.
Victor went still.
“You know him.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“My father’s former attorney.”
Richard stared.
“Alessandro’s?”
“Yes.”
Victor’s voice hardened.
“Mason handled the old construction partnerships.”
My stomach dropped.
“He knows about Tower Seven.”
“Yes.”
Richard sat.
“Mason contacted Ethan six months ago. Offered to refinance his debts.”
Victor understood first.
“In exchange for what?”
“Information. Access to Caldwell archives. Internal records.”
“And now?”
Richard looked at me.
“Ethan called me this morning.”
“What did he say?”
“He asked whether Anna had found Gabriel’s files.”
I felt cold.
Victor’s jaw clenched.
“Your son is working with Kline.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Then Richard said, “I think Ethan arranged the archive theft.”
My chest tightened.
The restaurant humiliation suddenly felt different.
“Did he know who I was that night?”
Richard looked sick.
“I don’t know.”
Victor leaned forward.
“You’re going to find out.”
Richard’s phone buzzed.
He looked.
His face drained.
“What?”
He turned the screen.
A photograph of Ethan.
Bruised.
Tied to a chair.
Message:
BRING THE MARTINEZ DRIVES TO PIER 41.
COME ALONE.
OR YOUR SON DIES FOR HIS FATHER’S MISTAKES.
Richard stared.
“They have him.”
Victor said, “Kline.”
I looked at Richard.
“You’re not going alone.”
He laughed bitterly.
“He’s my son.”
“So?”
“You don’t understand.”
I stared.
“Actually, I understand perfectly what it feels like when a father chooses something else over his child.”
The words struck.
Richard looked away.
I regretted nothing.
Victor stood.
“We’re not giving them the originals.”
Richard shook his head.
“If Ethan dies—”
“He won’t.”
“You can’t promise that.”
Victor looked at me.
Something changed in his face.
“No.”
He said quietly.
“I can’t.”
That was different.
Not false confidence.
Truth.
“We plan carefully.”
I looked at Victor.
“Police?”
Richard immediately said, “No.”
Victor ignored him.
“Yes.”
Richard stared.
“You call police and Kline panics.”
Victor said, “I am done protecting men who use fear to keep crimes private.”
The words settled over the room.
Richard looked toward me.
Maybe he understood they were meant for him too.
Victor contacted a federal agent he trusted.
Agent Helena Shaw.
She arrived within an hour.
No nonsense.
Sharp eyes.
She reviewed Gabriel’s files.
Then looked at Victor.
“This could put your father’s former associates in prison.”
“Yes.”
“And potentially expose DeLuca companies.”
“Yes.”
“You still want federal involvement?”
Victor did not hesitate.
“Yes.”
I watched him.
Helena did too.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“Most billionaires discover civic responsibility later.”
Victor’s mouth twitched.
“I’m ahead of schedule.”
The plan formed.
A duplicate drive.
Tracking device.
Richard would make the exchange.
Victor and federal agents would remain hidden.
I was ordered to stay behind.
I objected.
Victor looked at me.
“Anna.”
“No.”
“Kline threatened your mother.”
“Exactly.”
“And Ethan assaulted you.”
“I still don’t want him killed.”
Victor’s expression softened.
“I know.”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“I’m not asking.”
Helena looked between us.
“Are you two always like this?”
“We’re nothing,” I said.
Victor said, “Apparently.”
I glared.
Helena smiled.
“Fine. Ms. Martinez remains in the command vehicle.”
Victor looked ready to argue.
I smiled sweetly.
“Apparently.”
That evening, as we prepared to leave, Victor found me alone near the penthouse window.
“Scared?”
“Yes.”
He seemed surprised.
“Good.”
“What?”
“Being scared means I understand the danger.”
Victor nodded.
I looked at him.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Of Kline?”
“No.”
“What then?”
His gaze stayed on mine.
“You.”
My heart changed rhythm.
“What about me?”
“That I won’t be able to keep you safe.”
“You’re not responsible for everything.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
I almost smiled.
Victor stepped closer.
“I’m trying.”
I looked up.
“So am I.”
For one suspended second, I thought he might kiss me.
He did not.
Instead he touched my cheek.
Barely.
His thumb near my jaw.
A tenderness so unexpected it hurt.
Then Luca entered.
“We’re moving.”
Victor dropped his hand.
The moment disappeared.
But not entirely.
May you like
Because once someone touches you like they are afraid of losing you, you do not forget.
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