Chapter 6 - The Secret of Arthur Vance
"Who was Arthur Vance?" I demanded, my voice trembling violently as I pushed past Dominic into his private study.
I didn't care about the pain in my ribs. I didn't care about the fresh red blood oozing through the white bandages beneath my sweater. I shoved past Enzo, who stood near the heavy oak desk looking like a man awaiting an execution.
Dominic closed the heavy study doors behind us, turning the brass lock with a sharp click.
"Clara," Dominic said, reaching out to steady me as I stumbled against the leather sofa. "Sit down. You’re bleeding."
"DON'T TOUCH ME!" I screamed, turning on him with a wild, desperate energy. "Who was my father, Dominic?! Tell me the truth! Tell me right now or so help me God I will walk out those front gates and let Victor Costa kill me!"
Dominic stopped mid-step. The cold, impenetrable mob boss evaporated, replaced by a man looking at a raw, exposed nerve.
He slowly walked over to his heavy wall safe hidden behind a framed oil painting. He tapped in a six-digit code, pulled the heavy steel door open, and extracted the thick leather folder Enzo had carried into the ICU two weeks ago.
He walked over and set it gently on the glass coffee table in front of me.
"Read it," Dominic said quietly, sitting down in the armchair across from me.
With trembling fingers, I opened the file.
Inside were yellowed newspaper clippings from 1994, police reports, bank statements, and black-and-white surveillance photographs of a young, handsome man with my dark hair and gray eyes.
Arthur Vance. My father.
According to the police reports, my father wasn't a factory worker. He was a high-level financial accountant who managed the money laundering networks for the Costa crime family in the early nineties.
In November of 1994, after discovering that the Costa family was planning to eliminate him to cover their tracks, my father stole fifteen million dollars from their offshore accounts and vanished into thin air. He changed his name, moved my mother to Cleveland, and lived under the radar for six years—until Victor Costa’s father finally tracked him down and orchestrated the "factory accident" that killed him.
"Your father didn't die of a stroke, Clara," Dominic explained softly, his eyes filled with a deep, tragic sadness. "He was murdered by Victor Costa’s father. But before your father died, he hid the fifteen million dollars in a secret trust fund—a trust fund that required two signatures to unlock once you turned twenty-six."
I swallowed hard, staring at the old photographs of the man who used to hold me on his shoulders at the park. "My... my mother's heart treatment..."
"Your mother didn't just develop a heart condition, Clara," Dominic said, leaning forward and resting his hands on his knees. "Victor Costa found your mother six months ago. He couldn't access the trust fund without you, so he deliberately contaminated her medication to create massive medical expenses—forcing you to look for fast cash so you would surface in New York."
A cold, sickening horror washed through my veins. "The catering job at the Aster Crown..."
"Was a trap," Dominic confessed, his voice dropping into a raspy whisper. "Costa’s men tipped off my security detail that a hitman was going to be at that party. I thought the target was my mother. I had my men pull up files on every new catering staff member hired for the event to find the shooter's contact. That’s how I found your file six weeks ago."
I stared at him, my head spinning violently. "You knew... you knew who I was before I ever picked up that tray?"
"I knew you were Arthur Vance’s daughter," Dominic admitted softly. "I knew Costa was bringing you to that hotel to kidnap you and force you to sign over the fifteen-million-dollar trust fund. I was planning to intercept you after the party to protect you. But I never expected you to throw yourself in front of seven bullets to save my mother."
I looked down at the gold band on my finger.
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"You didn't marry me to protect me from being a witness," I whispered, tears spilling over my lashes. "You married me because I’m the daughter of the man who stole Costa’s fortune."
"I married you," Dominic said, taking my shaking hands in his, "because the second I saw you bleeding on that marble floor, I realized you were the bravest person I had ever met. And I pledged my life to make sure Victor Costa never touches a single hair on your head ever again."
