Chapter 4 - The Night Everything Broke
The man in the photograph was my uncle.
Victor DeLuca.
My father’s younger brother.
I stopped breathing.
Victor had died eighteen months after my accident.
Heart attack.
At least that was what I had been told.
He had visited me in the hospital.
Brought flowers.
Sat beside my bed.
Told me I was strong.
The memory made me sick.
I looked at my father.
“Victor?”
“Elena.”
“No.”
I lifted the letter.
“Was Uncle Victor involved?”
My father sat heavily in the nearest chair.
The ballroom blurred behind him.
Luca stepped closer to me.
I could feel his presence without looking.
My father rubbed one hand across his face.
“Yes.”
The word barely made sound.
I stared at him.
“How?”
Victor had spent years believing he deserved control of DeLuca Hospitality.
My father was the older brother.
The successful one.
The respected one.
Victor smiled at family dinners while resentment grew underneath.
According to my father, Victor began secretly doing business with a rival criminal organization that wanted access to DeLuca shipping contracts.
Luca discovered it.
Then Luca began dating me.
That complicated everything.
Victor realized hurting me could damage Luca and weaken my father simultaneously.
“The driver was told to scare you,” my father said.
“Scare me?”
His voice cracked.
“Yes.”
I laughed.
It came out like a sob.
“He broke my pelvis.”
“I know.”
“He damaged my spine.”
“I know.”
“He almost killed me.”
“I know!”
My father shouted it.
The room went quiet again.
I had forgotten people were watching.
Luca turned toward the crowd.
“Everyone out.”
My father looked at him.
“You don’t give orders here.”
Luca stared back.
“Tonight I do.”
Maybe it was his voice.
Maybe it was the name Moretti.
Maybe everyone finally realized this was no longer entertainment.
Within minutes, the ballroom emptied except for security, my father, Luca, and me.
I looked at my father.
“You knew who did it.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Three days after.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Victor still had access to the family.”
“So?”
“So I needed proof.”
“You had a photograph.”
“A photograph is not proof enough when accusing your brother of conspiring with men like that.”
I pointed at Luca.
“And he knew?”
“Eventually.”
I turned toward him.
“When?”
“The night Arthur asked me to leave.”
I felt physically ill.
“So both of you lied.”
Luca didn’t defend himself.
“Yes.”
I hated that answer.
I hated him for giving it.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because Victor knew you loved me.”
“That doesn’t answer anything.”
“He threatened to finish what he started.”
I froze.
My father spoke quietly.
“He said if Luca remained in your life, you would never leave the hospital.”
I stared at Luca.
“You believed him?”
“No.”
“Then why did you go?”
“Because I believed what I was capable of doing if I stayed.”
Silence.
He looked toward the windows.
“When I found out Victor was involved, I wanted him dead.”
My father’s face hardened.
Luca continued.
“I had men ready.”
“You were going to kill my uncle?”
“Yes.”
The bluntness shocked me.
He looked back at me.
“Your father stopped me.”
I turned.
My father gave a bitter laugh.
“Not for Victor.”
“For Elena,” Luca said.
Arthur nodded.
“If Victor died immediately after the attack, the men behind him would know Luca discovered the connection. Elena would become leverage again.”
“So what did you do?”
My father answered.
“We made them believe Luca abandoned you.”
My heart hurt.
“Made them believe?”
“Victor needed to believe you were no longer useful against him.”
I looked at Luca.
“So you disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“You blocked me.”
“Yes.”
“You watched me call you.”
His face tightened.
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
He didn’t answer.
“How many?”
“Forty-three.”
I stared.
“You counted?”
“I remember everything about you.”
The words were no longer romantic.
They were devastating.
I turned away.
Tears burned my eyes.
“You could have trusted me.”
“I know.”
“You could have told me.”
“I know.”
“You let me think I wasn’t worth staying for.”
His voice broke.
“I know.”
I hit him.
Not hard.
My palm struck his chest.
Then again.
He didn’t move.
“I hated myself.”
“I know.”
“I thought you saw me in that hospital bed and decided I was too much.”
“No.”
“I thought you didn’t want someone broken.”
His expression changed.
“Elena.”
“Don’t.”
“You were never broken.”
“Don’t say that now.”
He stopped.
I cried.
Not elegantly.
Not quietly.
Three years of grief came out ugly.
Luca stood there and let me hate him.
My father watched.
Then I turned on him.
“And you.”
He flinched.
“You watched me fall apart.”
“I watched you survive.”
“You knew why.”
“Yes.”
“You let me blame myself.”
“I thought anger at him would keep you away from him.”
“That was the point?”
“To keep you alive.”
“You keep saying that like it forgives everything.”
“No.”
That surprised me.
My father looked older than he had an hour earlier.
“It doesn’t.”
He stood.
Slowly.
“When your mother was sick, I promised I would protect you.”
My throat tightened.
“She died knowing I would.”
“Mom would never have wanted this.”
“I know.”
He swallowed.
“I realized that too late.”
I looked at him.
“What happened to Victor?”
My father glanced at Luca.
Luca answered.
“He confessed.”
“What?”
“Not to police.”
“To Arthur.”
“When?”
“Sixteen months after your accident.”
My father lowered his head.
“He came to me drunk.”
Victor had been terrified.
The criminal group he worked with was collapsing internally.
He wanted protection.
He admitted everything.
The driver.
The threat.
The plan.
My father recorded the conversation.
“Why didn’t you turn him in?”
“I intended to.”
“But?”
“He died two days later.”
Heart attack.
This time, apparently, true.
Or maybe not.
I looked at Luca.
“Did you kill him?”
“No.”
I studied his face.
“Did your people?”
“No.”
My father spoke.
“I believe him.”
That mattered.
A little.
“What happened to the others?”
Luca’s face hardened.
“Gone.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means none of them can hurt you.”
I didn’t ask more.
Not then.
The letter remained on my lap.
I looked at the remaining pages.
“Why didn’t you come back after Victor died?”
Luca answered slowly.
“Because Arthur asked me for one more year.”
I laughed in disbelief.
“And you agreed?”
“You were recovering.”
“So?”
“You had started your studio again. Your therapists said you were making progress. Every report I received said you were rebuilding your life.”
“Reports?”
He realized the mistake immediately.
My eyes narrowed.
“You had reports on me?”
“Security reports.”
“You were spying on me.”
“Protecting you.”
I looked between the two men.
“Amazing. You really are perfect for each other.”
Neither smiled.
I turned the page.
Near the bottom, Luca had written something.
If your father ever gives you this letter, I hope it means the danger is gone.
And I hope you are happy.
Even if happy has nothing to do with me.
My eyes blurred.
There was a final line.
I still have the daisy.
I looked at his wrist.
The tattoo.
He saw me notice.
“Still there.”
I touched the flower in my hand.
“Why did you come tonight?”
He looked at my father.
“Because Arthur called me.”
I went still.
“What?”
My father stared at the floor.
“I called him yesterday.”
Everything shifted again.
“Why?”
My father looked at me.
“Because I found out you were planning to move.”
I blinked.
I had rented an apartment.
Accessible.
Downtown.
I had told him that morning.
“You called Luca because I’m moving out?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
He inhaled.
“Because I realized I was about to do it again.”
“Do what?”
“Make your life smaller because I was afraid.”
The silence changed.
My father looked toward my wheelchair.
“I built the foundation in your name without asking.”
“Yes.”
“I planned the center.”
“Yes.”
“I convinced myself it was for you.”
I said nothing.
“It was for me.”
His voice cracked.
“I needed your accident to become something I could control.”
That was the first completely honest thing he had said all night.
“I called Luca because the truth belonged to you.”
I stared at him.
“And the gala?”
“I knew he would come.”
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“And you still told him to stay away?”
“I’m learning slowly.”
Despite everything, I almost laughed.
Then Luca spoke.
“There’s something else.”
My stomach dropped.
“Of course there is.”
He reached into his pocket.
This time he removed a key.
Small.
Silver.
He placed it in my hand.
“What’s this?”
“The Queens clinic.”
I stared.
“The building?”
“Yes.”
“You own it.”
“Not anymore.”
My pulse jumped.
“What did you do?”
“Transferred it.”
“To who?”
He looked at me.
“You.”
I shook my head immediately.
“No.”
“Elena.”
“I don’t want your guilt gift.”
“It isn’t.”
“Then what is it?”
He paused.
“The thing I should have done three years ago.”
“What?”
“Trust you to decide what happens next.”
I stared at the key.
He stepped back.
No pressure.
No demand.
Just space.
Then he said, “If you never want to see me again, the building is still yours.”
My father looked at him.
Luca turned toward the exit.
Every part of me panicked.
Again.
I gripped the flower.
“Luca.”
He stopped.
I hated how much power that single moment had over me.
Three years earlier, he walked away because two men decided what was best for me.
May you like
This time, the choice was mine.
“Don’t leave yet.”
