Page 140 of The Cost of Silence

My vision blurs for a second. The room goes a little fuzzy at the edges. “You shot him,” I say, forcing the words through my teeth. “In the street. In the rain.”

“Very cinematic,” he says. “He was warned. He persisted. I solved the problem.”

My nails bite into my palms. “You’re proud of that.”

He tilts his head. “Pride isn’t the word I’d use. I’m satisfied. There’s a difference.”

“You left my mother alone. You left me without a father.”

“Collateral damage,” he says, without a flicker.

I think I might throw up. “And Enzo knew?” I ask, because he dangled that too, and I have to know how deep this rot goes.

Domenico’s smile returns, lazy and cruel. “My brother-in-law wasn’t stupid. He understood what had to be done. He didn’t like it, no. But he saw the value of certain alliances, the cost of others. He chose to keep the ship afloat instead of throwing me overboard and watching everything burn.”

“That’s not the man Nico told me about,” I say.

He shrugs. “Your version is prettier. That’s what grief does. It puts a halo over a head that was never quite that straight.”

“And Nico?” My voice is thinner now, stretched. “Does he know what you did to my father?”

There’s the smallest pause, just enough to make it hurt.

“He knows enough,” Domenico says. “He knows his uncle cleaned up one of Enzo’s messes. He knows the girl in the rain was a side effect.” His eyes gleam. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”

Fire burns behind my ribs, a wild mix of betrayal and something like self-defense. I’ve spent my entire adult life pretending I didn’t witness my father’s death. “He was trying to protect me,” I say, but the words wobble.

“From the truth?” Domenico tuts. “You’re a journalist, Isabella. You live on truth. He kept you in the dark because he likes the way you shine on him. He didn’t want that light turned where it might make him look… less heroic.”

“That’s not who he is,” I say, but my chest feels tight.

“If you say so.” He steps closer, hands in his pockets now, utterly at ease. “Do you know who contacted you with that lovely package for your article? The files, the leads, the whisper trails leading to ISM’s cracks?”

“The anonymous source,” I say slowly. “You.”

“Of course me.” He looks pleased. “Who else knows the shape of the beast better than the man who helped build it? I fed you what you needed, you did what you do best—you wrote. You were so eager to be right, you never stopped to think about who was holding the leash.”

“I fact-checked everything,” I say, but it comes out defensive.

“I know. You did an excellent job. You almost made me believe Enzo really had become the angel he pretended to be. Planting those shell companies was easy because you wanted to believe ISM was dirty.” His gaze flicks around the penthouse, taking in the tree, the decorations, the small domestic touches that are more mine than Nico’s. “And then you moved in here. You made my nephew soft. You made him believe he could havethis,” he gestures vaguely at all of it, “without paying the price his father never finished paying.”

“That’s not what this is,” I say. “He’s trying to be better. To break the cycle.”

“Legacy,” he says, rolling the word on his tongue as if tasting it, “cannot be avoided. You can sweep it under the rug, but sooner or later, someone trips over the lump.”

“You mean you,” I say.

He smiles again. “I mean me.”

He walks to the window, hands clasped behind his back, looking out over the city like it belongs to him. For a moment, he’s quiet, and I wonder if I can reach my phone on the table, if I can send a single word, a pin, anything.

“Don’t,” he says without turning. “You won’t make it.”

I let my hand fall. “What do you want?” I ask.

“Respect,” he says simply. “Control. The recognition I deserve. Nico and his brothers have been playing at being kings with a crown they didn’t earn. Enzo built what he built on men like me, on deals I brokered, on blood I spilled. Then he decided he was tired of the sight of it and walked away, leaving us in the dark. I won’t be left there.”

“So you decided to kill them,” I say. “Reasonable.”