Chapter 4 - The Man Closest to the Throne
Anthony DeLuca entered the penthouse at nine the next morning carrying pastries.
That was Anthony’s way.
He could walk into a room full of suspicion and somehow make everyone feel unreasonable for doubting him.
At sixty-eight, he dressed like an old-world banker.
Gray suit.
Pocket square.
Silver hair.
Warm smile.
He had attended Nico’s school ceremonies.
Taught him to drive.
Sat beside him at his father’s funeral.
When Nico was twenty-two and inherited responsibilities he was too young to understand, Anthony had been there.
“Trust family,” Anthony always said.
Now Nico watched his uncle place a white bakery box on the table.
“You look terrible.”
“I didn’t sleep.”
“Woman trouble?”
Nico said nothing.
Anthony’s expression softened.
“Norah?”
“How do you know she left?”
A pause.
Tiny.
But Nico noticed.
“Arthur mentioned it.”
Arthur, standing near the window, said, “No, I didn’t.”
Anthony looked at him.
The warmth disappeared.
Nico felt something inside him settle.
Not certainty.
But direction.
He placed the ledger on the table.
Anthony looked at it.
No recognition crossed his face.
Too little recognition.
“What’s that?”
“Something Norah found.”
“Ah.”
Nico watched him carefully.
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“Norah was always curious.”
“About my finances?”
“About everything.”
Arthur stepped closer.
“Daniel Ellis.”
Anthony’s hand stopped above the pastry box.
Again, only for a moment.
Then he smiled.
“Haven’t heard that name in years.”
Nico sat across from him.
“My father knew him.”
“Your father knew thousands of people.”
“He worked for us.”
Anthony poured coffee.
“So?”
“He discovered missing money.”
Anthony sighed.
“Nico, every company your father touched had messy books.”
“Someone made sure Daniel died before he could explain them.”
Anthony stopped pouring.
“Careful.”
“Why?”
“Because grief makes people invent villains.”
Nico pushed his father’s letter across the table.
Anthony read it.
The color left his face.
Arthur saw it too.
Anthony folded the paper neatly.
“Your father was paranoid.”
“Was he wrong?”
“Often.”
Nico leaned forward.
“Were you stealing from him?”
Anthony laughed.
It sounded wounded.
“You’re asking me that?”
“Yes.”
“After everything I did for you?”
Nico remembered another person who had probably wanted to ask him the same question.
Norah.
After everything she had done for him, he had believed the worst without asking.
The realization made him feel sick.
Anthony stood.
“You’re emotional.”
“No.”
Nico remained seated.
“For the first time in months, I’m thinking clearly.”
Anthony looked toward Vincent.
Vincent stared at the floor.
That was enough.
Nico saw the connection.
“You two.”
Vincent said nothing.
Anthony’s face hardened.
Nico opened Norah’s ledger.
“Crown Divide.”
Arthur whispered, “Jesus.”
Anthony slowly removed his jacket.
Not preparing for violence.
Preparing to talk.
“I protected this family.”
Nico’s expression remained still.
“By stealing from it?”
“By making sure your father didn’t destroy everything.”
“You mean by making sure you controlled it.”
Anthony smiled.
“You think Norah understands what it takes to keep men loyal?”
“Leave her out of this.”
“That’s exactly what I tried to do.”
Nico’s eyes narrowed.
Anthony continued.
“She was becoming dangerous.”
“To whom?”
“To the structure.”
“You mean to you.”
Anthony ignored the accusation.
“She asked questions. She made you ask questions. You began restructuring businesses your father never intended to make clean. You started closing revenue streams.”
Nico stared.
“I was building something sustainable.”
“You were becoming soft.”
There it was again.
The word men like Anthony and Vincent used whenever Nico demonstrated humanity.
Soft.
Loving Norah was soft.
Wanting legitimate businesses was soft.
Sleeping eight hours was soft.
Forgiving was soft.
Apparently, misery was strength.
Nico looked at Vincent.
“And the fake company in Norah’s name?”
Vincent answered quietly.
“My idea.”
“Photograph?”
“Mine.”
“Private investigator?”
Vincent nodded.
Nico swallowed.
“You made me believe she betrayed me.”
Anthony interrupted.
“No. We gave you information. You chose what to believe.”
That sentence hit harder than anything else.
Because Anthony was right.
They had manipulated him.
But Nico had completed the betrayal himself.
He had chosen pride over conversation.
Suspicion over trust.
Cruelty over vulnerability.
Norah had paid the price.
“What happened to Daniel Ellis?” Nico asked.
Anthony’s face became unreadable.
“That was seventeen years ago.”
“What happened?”
“He found transactions.”
“And?”
“He threatened to go public.”
Arthur stepped forward.
“You told us he died in an accident.”
“He did.”
Nico noticed Anthony did not answer directly.
“Did you cause it?”
Anthony’s jaw tightened.
“No.”
“Who did?”
Silence.
Vincent finally spoke.
“Anthony.”
Anthony turned sharply.
Vincent looked at Nico.
“I moved money. I created companies. I manipulated records.”
His voice shook.
“But I wasn’t there when Daniel died.”
Anthony’s eyes hardened.
“Watch yourself.”
Vincent laughed nervously.
“You’re finished anyway.”
Anthony stepped toward him.
Arthur moved between them.
Vincent continued.
“Daniel called Anthony the night before his death.”
Nico stared at his uncle.
Anthony looked suddenly old.
“What did he know?” Nico asked.
Anthony sat again.
For the first time, the great Anthony DeLuca had no clever answer.
Finally, he whispered, “Everything.”
The room went silent.
But before Nico could ask more, Arthur’s phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
Unknown number.
Arthur answered.
“Hello?”
A woman spoke.
Arthur’s expression transformed.
“Norah?”
Nico stood.
Arthur put the call on speaker.
Norah’s voice entered the room.
Calm.
Distant.
“Nico is there?”
“Yes,” Arthur said.
Nico moved closer.
“Norah.”
Silence.
It was the first time he had spoken her name in three weeks.
He had imagined the moment.
Nothing prepared him for it.
Norah said, “I received another file.”
Nico closed his eyes.
“I need to see you.”
“That isn’t why I called.”
“Please.”
Everyone looked at him.
Nico DeLuca did not say please.
Norah hesitated.
Then continued.
“The ledger isn’t about stolen money anymore. It’s bigger.”
“How?”
“My father left something behind.”
“What?”
“A recording.”
Anthony’s face changed.
Norah heard the silence.
She knew.
“Anthony is there, isn’t he?”
Nico looked at his uncle.
“Yes.”
“Then don’t let him leave.”
Anthony stood.
Norah continued.
“Because my father named the person he believed arranged his death.”
Nico waited.
Norah took a breath.
“And it wasn’t Anthony.”
Everyone froze.
“It was someone my father trusted more.”
Nico looked at Arthur.
Arthur’s face went white.
May you like
Norah whispered the name.
“Arthur DeLuca.”
