Chapter 6 - MY MOTHER’S NAME IN THE ORSINI FILE
My mother had been dead eight years.
Cancer.
She raised Micah and me alone after our father left.
At least that was the story.
Now Freddy claimed Catherine Carter was Conrad Orsini’s daughter.
Which made me—
Raphael stared at me.
“Family.”
“No.”
The word came out too fast.
Blood was biology.
Family was who stayed when biology became inconvenient.
Conrad had never existed in my life.
I wanted nothing from him.
But legally?
Everything changed.
If the succession trusts dissolved, Catherine’s descendants could inherit portions.
Me.
Micah.
Conrad had not threatened Micah merely to scare me away.
Micah was part of the succession structure.
“He needs us alive,” I said.
Raphael shook his head.
“Until the vote.”
Then?
If Conrad established himself as representative of Catherine’s line, he could control Micah’s inherited voting interest while Micah was a minor.
And if I were gone—
Conrad could attempt guardianship.
My stomach turned.
“He isn’t getting near him.”
“No,” Raphael said.
Not a promise spoken dramatically.
A conclusion.
We tested DNA legally.
Confirmed.
My mother had been Conrad’s daughter.
Her mother, Evelyn Carter, worked briefly at an Orsini-owned hotel.
Conrad never acknowledged the child publicly.
But he paid support secretly for years.
Then stopped.
My mother apparently never told us.
Maybe she wanted the Orsinis nowhere near her children.
I finally understood why she panicked when I accepted the estate job two years earlier.
She had said:
“Rich families never give without collecting.”
I thought she meant employers.
She meant the Orsinis.
Conrad’s plan was bigger than Raphael.
He had engineered a succession crisis.
He needed Raphael exhausted, unstable and publicly compromised.
He needed me frightened away.
He needed access to Micah.
Then he could step forward as grandfather and trustee.
But something bothered me.
“If he wants control through Micah, why threaten him?”
Raphael answered:
“Because he doesn’t need Micah healthy.”
I felt sick.
A living minor unable to exercise rights independently could be controlled through guardianship.
Conrad needed Micah alive.
Dependent.
Vulnerable.
That made his illness useful.
I nearly vomited.
Raphael caught my shoulders.
“Elena.”
“I’m okay.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“I have to be.”
His expression changed.
“You said the same thing I did.”
I looked at him.
The one everyone needs.
The person who cannot collapse.
Raphael understood.
“You don’t have to be okay right now.”
That sentence broke me.
I cried against his chest.
Not elegantly.
Not romantically.
I soaked a probably four-thousand-dollar suit with tears.
Raphael did nothing except hold me.
No promises.
No orders.
No fixing.
When I finally stepped away, I was embarrassed.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t.”
“Your jacket—”
“Costs less than Micah.”
I laughed through tears.
Then Raphael touched my cheek.
Stopped.
“May I?”
I knew what he meant.
I nodded.
He wiped one tear away.
Nothing more.
That restraint mattered.
Later that night, Micah called.
“Can I ask something?”
“Always.”
“Why are two lawyers arguing outside my room about whether Grandpa Mafia can legally visit me?”
I closed my eyes.
Raphael, sitting across the room, almost choked on coffee.
“Who told you?”
“I have Wi-Fi.”
Of course.
Micah knew enough.
Not everything.
I told him Conrad was our biological great—
No.
Grandfather.
The word felt wrong.
Micah was silent.
Then:
“Does that mean I have to start wearing suits?”
Raphael laughed.
Actually laughed.
Micah heard.
“Is that him?”
“Yes.”
“Tell Mafia Batman I beat his security guy at chess.”
Raphael leaned toward the phone.
“He let you win.”
Micah shouted:
“REMATCH.”
For thirty seconds, everything felt normal.
Then the mansion alarm activated.
Not fire.
Security breach.
Raphael stood.
Marco—
No.
Dominic entered.
“Sir.”
His face was pale.
“What?”
“The photographs.”
“What about them?”
“We identified the camera operator.”
Raphael waited.
May you like
Dominic looked directly at me.
“It’s Sabine.”
