Chapter 6 - Other DeLuca
Julian DeLuca was four years younger than Marcello and had spent most of his life pretending not to care that everyone remembered it.
Their father, Alessandro DeLuca, had built DeLuca Holdings from a regional hotel company into a private real-estate, hospitality, and logistics empire valued at more than three billion dollars.
Marcello was Alessandro’s eldest son.
Julian was the son of Alessandro’s second marriage.
The distinction had poisoned family dinners for decades.
When Alessandro died six years earlier, Marcello became chief executive.
Julian became executive vice president of strategic operations.
The title sounded important.
It was not the title Julian wanted.
Marcello called him at 10:30 that morning.
“Where were you between seven and eight last night?”
Julian laughed.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Answer.”
“At your gala.”
“Where specifically?”
“Drinking overpriced champagne with people pretending they care about pediatric hospitals.”
“Were you upstairs?”
A pause.
“What is this?”
“A question.”
“I went to the men’s room.”
“Upstairs?”
“There was a line downstairs.”
Marcello closed his eyes.
“Did you see Camille?”
Another pause.
“No.”
“Did you see Owen?”
“Marcello, if this is about that little girl—”
“How do you know what Lily said?”
“The entire ballroom knows.”
“Her name wasn’t announced.”
Silence.
Julian recovered quickly.
“Someone told me.”
“Who?”
“I don’t remember.”
Marcello knew his brother well enough to recognize a lie and badly enough to know that accusing him would only produce a better one.
“Board meeting tomorrow at nine.”
“About?”
“Foundation controls.”
Julian laughed again, but there was no humor in it.
“You’re turning a toddler’s imagination into corporate governance?”
“See you at nine.”
Marcello hung up.
Across the table, Marcus Chen looked unimpressed.
“He slipped.”
“Yes.”
“Not enough.”
“I know.”
Marcus slid another report toward him.
“Owen approved all three Aurora engagements.”
“Of course he did.”
“Julian countersigned two.”
Marcello stared at the signatures.
“What did the board think Aurora did?”
“Family wellness logistics.”
“That means nothing.”
“Exactly.”
Marcello walked to the window.
His father used to say theft was rarely hidden by darkness.
It was hidden by boring language.
Consulting.
Logistics.
Advisory.
Administrative services.
Words designed to make busy people turn the page.
Marcello had turned too many pages.
His phone rang again.
His mother, Teresa DeLuca.
“Your fiancée is in my apartment crying,” she said.
Marcello pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Why?”
“She says you’ve accused her of faking a pregnancy.”
“I asked for medical confirmation.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
Teresa’s voice dropped.
“Come here.”
“Mother—”
“Now.”
Teresa lived twelve blocks away in an apartment overlooking the East River.
When Marcello arrived, Camille was seated on a cream sofa, tears on her cheeks.
Teresa stood by the fireplace.
At seventy-one, she had perfected the ability to terrify powerful men with silence.
“Sit,” she told Marcello.
He remained standing.
Camille spoke first.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this.”
“Then show me.”
“I shouldn’t have to.”
“Camille.”
“No. You either trust me or you don’t.”
Teresa looked between them.
“What exactly would satisfy you?”
“A physician confirming she is pregnant.”
Camille’s face hardened.
“I will not submit my body for inspection because a stranger’s child told a story.”
Marcello felt the old instinct to apologize.
He suppressed it.
“This isn’t only Lily anymore.”
He placed copies of the security logs on the table.
Camille looked.
Teresa picked them up.
“What am I looking at?”
“Camille’s credential disabled the cameras.”
Camille stood.
“I didn’t do that.”
“Owen’s badge accessed the elevator five minutes later.”
“So someone copied our credentials.”
“Maybe.”
“Then why are you treating me like a criminal?”
“Because you won’t give me the one answer that ends this.”
Camille looked toward Teresa.
“Tell him.”
Teresa did not.
Instead, she stared at Camille’s belly.
Then at her face.
“Were you upstairs last night?”
Camille whispered, “Yes.”
Marcello went still.
Teresa asked, “Why did you lie?”
Camille began crying again.
“I was sick.”
“Sick how?”
“I was bleeding.”
Marcello’s anger vanished beneath alarm.
“What?”
“I panicked. I went upstairs because I thought something was wrong with the baby.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was terrified.”
Teresa’s expression softened.
Marcello took a step closer.
Then Camille added, “Owen saw me upset and helped me.”
That explained Owen.
Possibly.
It explained the upstairs trip.
Possibly.
It did not explain Lily.
Marcello looked at her belly.
“Did you call your doctor?”
“Yes.”
“Which doctor?”
“Dr. Lauren Keene.”
Marcello nodded.
“Good.”
Camille blinked.
He took out his phone.
“Let’s call her together.”
May you like
For the first time, Camille’s tears stopped instantly.
And Teresa saw it.
