Chapter 9 - THE BROTHER WHO WASN'T IN THE GRAVE
Vivien was removed from the estate under the supervision of my attorney and security team.
I did not threaten her.
I did not touch her.
I simply ended our engagement and instructed her to leave.
She refused at first.
Then she saw the documents Daniel Mercer had uncovered.
Her face went pale.
“Cassandra is alive,” I said.
Vivien stared.
“You don't know anything.”
I placed the photograph on the table.
Cassandra in Switzerland.
Living under the name Margaret Bellini.
Vivien looked away.
I continued.
“She has been receiving money connected to Duca shipping accounts.”
Vivien swallowed.
“Lorenzo—”
“And she has been working with Adrian Voss.”
Silence.
I leaned forward.
“What happened to Gabriel?”
Vivien's eyes filled.
For a moment, she looked younger.
Almost frightened.
Then she whispered:
“He isn't dead.”
My heart stopped.
I stared.
“What?”
She looked at me.
“Gabriel is alive.”
The room seemed to tilt.
I had buried my brother.
I'd stood beside his grave.
I'd watched my mother collapse with grief.
I'd spent four years carrying guilt because I hadn't protected him.
Now Vivien was telling me he'd survived.
“Where is he?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
I stared.
“Don't lie.”
“I'm not.”
She swallowed.
“My mother told me he escaped the warehouse fire.”
I felt cold.
“Then why didn't he come home?”
Vivien looked down.
“Because someone convinced him you were the traitor.”
The words hit like a knife.
Me.
My brother believed I had betrayed him.
I stood.
“Who?”
Vivien whispered:
“Your father.”
I stared.
“My father was already dead.”
She shook her head.
“He left documents. Letters. Evidence.”
My chest tightened.
“Forged evidence?”
“I don't know.”
She looked at me.
“But Gabriel believed it.”
That night, Daniel Mercer confirmed something extraordinary.
The body buried as Gabriel Duca had been misidentified.
The original identification relied on personal effects and incomplete forensic records.
A later review raised serious doubts.
I sat alone in my study.
The photograph of Gabriel lay before me.
My brother.
Alive.
Somewhere.
And possibly believing I had tried to kill him.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A familiar voice spoke.
“Lorenzo.”
I stopped breathing.
“Gabriel?”
Silence.
Then:
May you like
“Stay away from Elena and my daughter.”
The line went dead.
