Chapter 3 - The Brother Who Never Wanted the Throne
Julian Cavali owned three restaurants, a wine bar, and exactly one suit he hated wearing.
He also had a photograph of their father on the wall of every office he used.
Dante had always thought that meant love.
By sunrise, he understood it might also mean resentment.
Arthur arrived at the Lincoln Park apartment with Carlo DeLuca, Dante’s operations chief, and a folder thick enough to make Serena visibly tired before anyone opened it.
Dante did not offer Arthur coffee.
Arthur noticed.
“I deserved that.”
“You deserve several things. Coffee is simply the first I’m withholding.”
Serena almost smiled.
Arthur sat.
“I did not tell Vincent you signed the petition.”
“His message said Pendleton did.”
“Because someone used my office line to confirm it.”
“Who?”
Arthur opened the folder.
“Julian.”
Dante stared.
“No.”
Arthur slid a call log across the table.
Julian had entered the Cavali law office at 7:18 p.m.
Security footage showed him leaving at 7:43.
During that window, the office line called a Romano number controlled by Vincent’s chief aide.
Serena leaned forward.
“Why would Julian know Dante signed?”
Arthur looked embarrassed.
“He was in my office when the courier returned with the notarized copy.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“You discussed my divorce in front of him?”
“I discussed nothing. He saw the envelope.”
“Apparently that was enough.”
Carlo DeLuca put a second photograph on the table.
Julian meeting Carlo Esposito behind one of Julian’s restaurants two weeks earlier.
Dante looked at it for a long time.
“Why?”
No one answered.
Serena did.
“My father would never recruit Julian by offering him your position.”
Dante looked at her.
“Why not?”
“Because Julian never wanted your position.”
“Exactly.”
“So Dad gave him something he did want.”
Patricia closed her eyes.
Serena saw it.
“Mom.”
Patricia looked at Dante.
“Vincent told Julian you killed Enzo.”
The room went silent.
Dante’s father had died eleven years earlier after collapsing at a private dinner.
A cerebral aneurysm.
Sudden.
Unpreventable.
Dante had been twenty-one.
Julian nineteen.
Patricia continued.
“Vincent said Enzo planned to divide the business equally between you, but you arranged for his medication to be changed so you could inherit control.”
Dante laughed once.
A cold, broken sound.
“Medication?”
“Yes.”
“My father was not on medication for an aneurysm he did not know he had.”
“I know.”
“How long has Julian believed this?”
“I don’t know.”
Serena stared at her mother.
“You knew Dad was telling him?”
“I learned three weeks ago.”
“And you didn’t tell us.”
“I was trying to stop Vincent without making Julian panic.”
Serena looked away.
Dante noticed.
Every person in the room had now used silence in the name of preventing a larger disaster.
Every silence had become fuel.
Arthur said, “Julian gave Esposito access to dock rotations.”
Dante’s hands tightened.
“Did he order the hit?”
“No evidence of that.”
“Then we don’t say he did.”
Arthur looked at him.
That sentence would not have come from Dante six months earlier.
Dante noticed the look.
“Do not make a face.”
“I made no face.”
“You made a legal face.”
Serena actually laughed.
For one second, all of them heard how strange it sounded inside the worst night of their lives.
Dante looked at her.
Her laughter stopped.
But not because she was performing now.
Because she suddenly remembered they were allowed to look at each other.
That hurt in a different way.
Carlo DeLuca’s phone rang.
He listened.
Then looked at Dante.
“Julian is at the old Cavali house.”
The childhood home.
Empty since Enzo’s death.
Dante stood.
Serena did too.
“No.”
She looked at him.
He caught himself.
The word had come out automatically.
Control disguised as concern.
He tried again.
“I think it is dangerous.”
“It is.”
“I would rather you stay here.”
“I know.”
“What do you want?”
Serena looked surprised.
Then: “I want to come.”
Patricia said, “Absolutely not.”
Serena did not even turn.
“Mom, you have reached your quota of deciding my life.”
Patricia’s mouth closed.
They drove to the old house in two vehicles.
No convoy.
No army.
Arthur insisted detectives be notified about the South Docks attack because two workers had been injured.
Dante agreed.
He hated that he agreed.
That probably meant it was correct.
Julian sat alone in the living room beneath their father’s portrait.
He looked exhausted.
No weapon visible.
Dante stopped ten feet away.
“You gave Esposito my dock schedules.”
Julian nodded.
“Yes.”
Serena inhaled.
Dante remained still.
“Why?”
Julian looked at the portrait.
“Because I thought you murdered Dad.”
Dante’s face did not change.
“Who told you?”
“Vincent.”
“When?”
“Eight months ago.”
“Proof?”
“He showed me a hospital transfer and a pharmacy invoice.”
Arthur said, “Forged.”
Julian laughed bitterly.
“Now you say that.”
Serena stepped forward.
“My father manufactured it.”
Julian looked at her.
“You know that?”
“No.”
She held his gaze.
“I know him.”
Dante looked at his brother.
“Did you know tonight was an assassination?”
Julian hesitated.
“No.”
Dante saw shame.
“But?”
“I knew they were hitting the docks.”
“People could die.”
“I told myself it was cargo.”
Dante’s voice lowered.
“You told yourself what you needed to.”
Julian looked at him.
“Yes.”
Dante understood that better than he wanted to.
Julian reached beneath the coffee table.
Carlo moved.
Julian froze.
“It’s a letter.”
Dante nodded once.
Julian pulled out an old envelope.
Enzo Cavali’s handwriting covered the front.
TO MY SONS.
Julian handed it over.
“I found it after Dad died. I never showed you.”
Dante opened it.
Inside was one page.
If either of you ever believes the other murdered me, then someone has finally succeeded in turning my worst fear into a weapon.
Dante stopped reading.
Julian’s eyes filled.
Serena looked between the brothers.
Enzo had predicted the lie before he died.
At the bottom of the page was one final sentence.
The man most likely to use it is Vincent Romano.
No one spoke.
Julian sat down slowly.
Dante read the line again.
His father had known Vincent was dangerous eleven years ago.
May you like
Which meant the marriage alliance had never been the beginning of this war.
It had only been the latest move.
