Chapter 6 - The Italian Trap
The revelation hit the room like a bomb.
Marcus Vance. Julian’s own half-brother. The man who had sat at the dinner table with us three nights ago, passing the bread and asking about Maya’s favorite colors.
“He wanted Leo,” I whispered, horror rising in my chest. “If Leo died, Marcus gets control of the company.”
“He wanted both of us dead,” Julian corrected, his voice dangerously soft. “With Leo and me gone, Marcus inherits the Vance family trust and seventy percent of the voting shares. He orchestrated the hit-and-run in Chicago that killed Elena. When that didn't break me, he launched an armed assault on my home.”
Julian didn't look sad. He didn't look shocked. He looked like an apex predator that had finally identified its prey.
“Where is Marcus now?” Julian asked Mark.
“He boarded a private jet to Lake Como twenty minutes ago,” Mark reported. “He knows the attack failed. He’s heading to his estate to consolidate his security and transfer his assets out of the country.”
“Call the pilot,” Julian ordered, walking toward his desk and grabbing a clean black shirt. “Prep the helicopter. We leave in ten minutes.”
“Julian, you’re bleeding!” I grabbed his arm, my medical instincts overriding my fear. “You need stitches! You have a deep laceration in your shoulder!”
Julian stopped, turning to look at me. “I don't have time for a doctor, Claire.”
“I am a nurse!” I snapped, pulling open the medical kit mounted on the wall of the panic room. “Sit down. Right now. Or I’ll let you bleed out on your expensive Italian rug.”
For the first time in weeks, a genuine, ghost of a smile touched Julian’s lips. He sat down in the wooden chair without a fight.
My hands were steady as I cleaned the bullet graze, applied local antiseptic, and sewed four tight stitches into his shoulder. Julian didn't flinch once. He just stared into my eyes, his breath warm against my skin as I leaned close to knot the thread.
“You’re remarkably brave, Claire Bennett,” he murmured.
“I spent six years surviving a monster, Julian,” I whispered, wrapping a clean white bandage around his chest. “I know what evil looks like. Don't let your brother win.”
Julian reached up, his large hand wrapping around mine over his chest. “Come with me.”
I blinked. “To Lake Como?”
“I am going to strip Marcus of everything he owns tonight,” Julian said, his gray eyes burning into mine. “I need someone I trust with my life to protect Leo. The estate is no longer safe. I need you with me.”
Two hours later, we were inside a sleek Eurocopter, soaring over the illuminated peaks of the Italian Alps toward Lake Como. Maya was fast asleep in a noise-canceling headset in the back seat, while Leo snoozed in my lap.
Below us, the jet-black waters of Lake Como glistened beneath the moonlight.
Marcus’s estate was a sprawling, ancient palace built right on the edge of the water—Villa d'Este.
The helicopter landed softly on the private helipad behind the estate. Italian police cars, their blue lights flashing silently without sirens, had already surrounded the perimeter. Julian had called in every political favor owed to his family.
When we stepped out of the helicopter, Julian took my hand. His grip was strong, warm, and reassuring.
We entered the grand glass conservatory of Villa d'Este.
Marcus Vance was standing near the fireplace, frantically pouring a glass of bourbon. Four Italian carabinieri officers stood nearby, holding arrest warrants.
Marcus turned around, and when his eyes landed on Julian—alive, walking, and holding my hand—his glass shattered against the marble floor.
“Julian...” Marcus gasped, his face draining of all color. “I... I was just heading back to Rome to check on you—”
“Save it, Marcus,” Julian said, his voice echoing off the glass walls like a judgment from God. “The Italian authorities have the Swiss bank transfers. They have the radio logs. And they have the statements from the mercenaries currently sitting in a Florence jail.”
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Marcus stumbled back against the mantelpiece. “You can’t do this to me! I am a Vance! I built this company!”
“You murdered my wife,” Julian said, stepping forward, his presence suffocating the entire room. “You tried to murder my son. You are no longer a Vance. You are a dead man walking.”
