Chapter 5 - THE WEIGHT OF THE PAST
The heavy oak service door clicked shut behind Celeste, sealing away the last remnants of the deception that had poisoned the DeLuca household for years. The ballroom, moments ago humming with elite socialite chatter and the clinking of champagne flutes, now stood nearly empty. Only a handful of close family loyalists, Dr. Harris, Elena, little Leo, and Frank remained beneath the glittering chandeliers amid scattered white rose petals crushed on the floor.
Marco stood alone in the center of the vast room, staring down at the spot where Celeste had dropped her master keycard. The quiet was heavy, almost oppressive, broken only by the faint, rhythmic ticking of the antique grandfather clock near the library archway.
Elena slowly walked over, guiding young Leo gently by the hand until they stopped a few feet from their brother.
“You didn’t know,” Elena said softly, breaking the silence. It wasn’t an accusation; it was an observation born of years of shared survival under their father’s ruthless roof.
Marco raised his head, his eyes bloodshot and haunted. “I should have seen it. I let her isolate Dad. I let her push you out.”
“She was good at what she did,” Elena replied, her gaze softening as she looked toward the old man in the wheelchair. “She played the long game, Marco. Just like she played the board members.”
In the wheelchair, Frank DeLuca shifted forward, his right hand trembling as he reached out toward his son. Marco crossed the floor in two quick strides and dropped to his knees beside his father, taking the old man’s frail, shaking hand in his own.
“Dad,” Marco murmured, his voice thick with unexpressed emotion. “I’m sorry. I should have listened to you this afternoon.”
Frank squeezed Marco’s fingers with a surprising amount of strength. His breath hitched as he fought past the lingering effects of his stroke to find the right words. “You... trusted her. That’s... not a crime.”
“It nearly cost me everything that matters,” Marco said, looking back at Leo, who was watching them with wide, intelligent eyes that were unmistakably DeLuca.
Elena gently nudged the boy forward. “Leo, say hello to your uncle.”
Leo stepped hesitantly toward Marco, clutching a small, worn wooden toy car in his small hand. He looked up at the tall, imposing man who commanded entire cities, yet looked so suddenly vulnerable.
“Mom said you like cars,” Leo said quietly, his voice small and sweet in the vast, quiet room.
Marco felt a lump form in his throat that no amount of mafia power or wealth could swallow away. He reached out and gently placed his hand on the boy’s dark curls, feeling the undeniable warmth of his own blood running through the child’s veins.
“I do, Leo,” Marco said, a thick tear finally breaking free and tracking down his cheek. “I like cars very much.”
Dr. Harris stepped forward, clearing his throat gently. “If you all don't mind, I’d like to run a quick post-stress evaluation on Frank just to make sure his blood pressure has stabilized after everything that happened tonight.”
“Of course, Samuel,” Marco said, standing up and pulling his father gently by the wheelchair handles. “Let’s take him up to the private study. It’s quieter there.”
As they moved toward the elevator, Marco noticed something glinting near the base of the grand staircase—a small, silver locket that must have slipped from Celeste’s neck during the struggle. He bent down and picked it up. The clasp was loose, and when he popped it open, a tiny, folded piece of paper fluttered out onto the carpet.
May you like
Marco knelt down and unfolded the slip of paper. It was a handwritten medical record receipt from a private clinic in Boston dated three years ago—not for financial records, but for a pediatric DNA profile.
His heart stopped.
