Chapter 11 - THE LAST LETTER FROM CELESTE
Celeste Russo had died eighteen months earlier in what authorities called a boating accident.
Dominic had never questioned it.
He'd been devastated.
He'd buried her beside her parents.
He'd spent months blaming himself for not being there.
Now investigators reopened the case.
The original accident report contained inconsistencies.
Witness statements had been altered.
A security recording had disappeared.
And Julian Mercer had signed several documents connected to Celeste's final medical examination.
Dominic stared at the files.
His stomach tightened.
“What happened to her?”
Claire looked at him.
“We're still investigating.”
Beatrice sat beside him.
She knew better than to offer false comfort.
Then Claire produced an envelope.
“This was found in Celeste's private storage unit.”
Dominic stared.
His name was written across the front.
He recognized her handwriting.
His hands trembled as he opened it.
Dominic,
If you are reading this, I failed to tell you the truth while I was alive.
I need you to know that I loved you.
I also need you to know that I made terrible choices.
Julian convinced me he was helping you. He said the treatments would reduce your pain. I believed him longer than I should have.
When I discovered what he was doing, I tried to stop him.
He threatened Anthony.
He threatened Samuel.
He threatened you.
I was afraid.
But fear does not excuse what I allowed.
I am gathering evidence.
If something happens to me, find Matteo.
He knows where the records are.
And Dominic, please forgive yourself for surviving.
You were never the reason Anthony disappeared.
I am sorry.
Celeste.
Dominic lowered the letter.
For a long time, he couldn't speak.
Beatrice watched him.
His face was pale.
His eyes filled.
He had loved Celeste.
He had also been betrayed by her silence.
Now he understood that she had been both victim and participant.
The truth was painful.
Complicated.
Human.
He folded the letter carefully.
Then whispered:
“She tried.”
Beatrice nodded.
“Yes.”
He looked at her.
“But she waited too long.”
Beatrice said nothing.
He closed his eyes.
“I don't know how to feel.”
She reached for his hand.
“You don't have to decide tonight.”
Dominic nodded slowly.
For years, he'd believed grief required certainty.
A villain.
A victim.
A reason.
Now he was learning that some truths were too complicated to fit into a single judgment.
That evening, he placed Celeste's letter beside her photograph.
He did not destroy it.
He did not forgive everything.
He simply allowed the truth to exist.
Then he called Anthony.
His brother answered slowly.
“Dom?”
Dominic smiled through tears.
“Hey, little brother.”
Anthony laughed softly.
“Not little.”
Dominic laughed.
“No.”
He looked toward the window.
May you like
“Not anymore.”
For the first time in ten years, the future felt larger than the past.
