Chapter 10: The Bullet Meant for the Truth
The gunshot echoed through the mansion.
For one terrifying second, nobody moved.
Then everything happened at once.
“LEO!””
Ricardo’s voice ripped through the darkness.
I heard footsteps.
A chair crashing.
Someone screaming.
The emergency lights flickered back on.
And I saw Leo standing frozen in the hallway.
A few feet away, Dante was on the floor.
Blood spread across his shoulder.
He had moved.
He had pushed Leo out of the way.
The bullet meant for the child had hit him instead.
Ricardo ran to his son.
“Are you hurt?””
Leo shook his head, crying.
“Daddy…”
Ricardo pulled him into his arms.
For the first time, I saw pure fear on his face.
Not anger.
Not control.
Fear.
Meanwhile, Anthony and the guards searched the room.
The shooter was gone.
Impossible.
The mansion was surrounded.
Nobody could enter.
Nobody could leave.
Dante sat against the wall while a guard pressed a cloth against his wound.
Mrs. Carter rushed toward him.
“I’m sorry.””
Dante looked at her.
“For what?””
“I knew something was wrong.””
His expression softened.
“You tried to warn us.””
She nodded.
“I should have done more.””
I looked around the room.
Everything felt wrong.
Someone inside this mansion was moving pieces around us.
Someone who knew every weakness.
Every secret.
Every fear.
Ricardo carried Leo upstairs with one guard following.
I stayed behind.
Because I needed answers.
Anthony stood beside me.
“Clara.””
I looked at him.
“You knew Dante wasn’t the traitor.””
He nodded.
“Yes.””
“Then why didn’t you say anything?””
“Because I didn’t know who was.””
That answer frustrated me.
Everyone knew something.
Nobody knew everything.
Dante slowly stood.
The pain was obvious.
But his eyes were focused.
“I need to tell you something.””
Ricardo returned.
“Talk.””
Dante looked at him.
“Isabella knew someone was inside the organization.””
Ricardo’s jaw tightened.
“I know.””
“No.””
Dante shook his head.
“She knew who.””
The room became silent.
My heart started beating faster.
“What?””
Dante looked at the floor.
“She told me.””
Ricardo froze.
“You knew?””
Dante nodded.
“I knew she was investigating someone.””
“Who?””
Dante hesitated.
“I don’t know.””
Ricardo stepped closer.
“You don’t know?””
“She never said the name.””
“Why?””
Dante looked at him.
“Because she didn’t trust anyone.””
That hurt more than anger.
Even Ricardo looked wounded.
“My wife didn’t trust me?””
Dante’s voice lowered.
“She trusted you.””
A pause.
“She was afraid of what would happen if you found out.””
“About what?””
Dante looked at me.
“About Clara.””
I felt my stomach tighten.
“What about me?””
Dante took a breath.
“Isabella discovered that the attack on your father wasn’t random.””
Anthony stepped forward.
“Explain.””
“She found evidence that Anthony wasn’t targeted because of what he knew.””
Dante looked at me.
“He was targeted because of who he was protecting.””
I whispered:
“Me.””
Dante nodded.
“The person behind everything wanted you gone before you were old enough to remember.””
A cold silence filled the room.
Then Ricardo’s phone rang.
Everyone looked at him.
He answered.
Nobody spoke.
His face slowly changed.
“What?””
A pause.
“Where?””
He listened.
Then lowered the phone.
“Leo’s room.””
My heart stopped.
“What happened?””
Ricardo looked at me.
“The attacker left something.””
We rushed upstairs.
Leo was sitting on his bed, holding a small envelope.
His hands were shaking.
Ricardo immediately took it.
“Leo, did anyone hurt you?””
The boy shook his head.
“They said this was for Clara.””
I looked at the envelope.
My name was written on it.
Not printed.
Written.
With the same handwriting as Isabella’s letter.
I opened it carefully.
Inside was a single photograph.
A photograph of my mother.
Evelyn.
But she wasn’t alone.
She was standing beside someone.
Someone I recognized.
Someone who shouldn’t have been there.
Margaret Bell.
And behind them stood another person.
A person I knew.
A person I had trusted.
The message on the back said:
*YOUR MOTHER DIDN’T HIDE THE TRUTH FROM YOU. SHE HID THE TRUTH ABOUT YOU.*
I looked at Ricardo.
“I need to know what this means.””
Before anyone answered, Anthony picked up the photograph.
His face went pale.
“Clara…”
“What?””
He pointed at the person standing beside Evelyn.
“The man behind your mother…”
I stared.
Because I recognized him too.
It was my father.
But younger.
Alive.
May you like
And holding something in his hand.
A gun.
