Ch72 - So-called cousin

On the third morning of Josef’s “course,” he brought Violet and Matteo to visit an old friend—Walter, a master engraver he had known for decades.

Walter spotted Josef the moment they entered and immediately launched into teasing him. “Well, well. Your legs still work? Didn’t need anyone to haul you up here?”

“I’m two years younger than you, old man,” Josef shot back.

Walter chuckled warmly, his eyes sliding toward Matteo. “Look at you, boy—grown this much already. A few years and I can barely recognize you.”

Matteo smiled and greeted him politely.

Then Walter’s gaze drifted to the side, landing on the girl standing next to Matteo. About the same age, head slightly lowered, poised and quiet. He froze mid-breath. He stepped closer, even lowered his glasses along the bridge of his nose to get a better look. “HOLY HELL… since when did you have a granddaughter this grown?”

Josef laughed it off. “Your eyesight’s worse than ever. She’s Edward’s apprentice. Staying with me for a few days. Not my granddaughter.”

“Really? You sure? You two might want a DNA test—she looks like she could be related.”

“Stop with the nonsense. I brought these kids to see your engraving, unless you’ve gotten too old for real work.” Josef cut him off quickly to spare Violet the awkwardness.

“I’m still working perfectly fine, thank you very much. At this rate I’ll still be engraving when you’re in the ground,” Walter replied, puffing his chest with pride.

The two seventy-something men bickered their way deeper into the workshop like squabbling schoolboys.

They had no idea that Walter’s offhand comment had set off a storm in Matteo’s mind. His gaze darted all over the room. No wonder his mother wanted Violet’s DNA.

He vaguely remembered hearing, when he was very young, that he had a cousin. But he had barely any memory of his aunt Charlotte—his father’s sister—because by the time he was born she had already been gone for years. 

He had only ever seen her in faded old photographs. The so-called cousin existed only as a story he never bothered remembering. He didn’t know her name, only that the whole family had died in an accident.

And he occasionally heard his mother mention them, though never kindly. Her face would twist as she muttered things like, “Dead or missing, it’s all the same. Just don’t come back,” or, “Everything in this family belongs to us,” followed by, “Remember, all of this will be yours one day.”

More than her anger, Matteo hated that expression—cold, venomous, like a snake tasting the air. It always made his skin crawl.

“ No wonder Mom wanted hair samples…” Matteo muttered under his breath, the thought slipping out before he could stop it.

“What hair?” Josef turned back. “Matteo, stop daydreaming and keep up.”

Violet had already found a spot to observe Walter, giving her full attention to his every move.

On the table, a piece of dark suede lay spread out. Walter held the bridge plate between his fingertips, the engraving knife resting lightly against the metal. His hand was steady, every curved line sharp and clean, each stroke almost supernatural in its precision.

Matteo, however, barely registered any of it. Engraving had always been his favorite part of watchmaking—it involved design, the one element he cared about. But today he couldn’t focus at all. His eyes kept drifting toward Violet’s face. 

DAMN IT… the more he looked, the more she really did resemble Josef—especially the eyes, the expression, the way both of them were absorbed completely, 200% lost in the craft happening before them.

If Violet truly was his cousin, then she must look a lot like her mother. And her mother had looked like Josef. Meanwhile he himself—aside from the general shape of his face—took after Claire almost entirely. Honestly, not just him; even his father Laurent didn’t resemble Josef much.

Violet looked more like Josef’s grandchild than he did.

Once the idea lodged in his mind, it wouldn’t leave. It grew from suspicion into urgency. He needed to confirm this with his mother.

By noon, after they finished lunch and were preparing to leave Walter’s workshop, Matteo couldn’t hold back any longer. He clutched his stomach dramatically and groaned, “AH—my stomach hurts. Badly.”

Walter rushed over. “What happened? Did you eat something here that upset you?”

Josef glanced at Violet and himself. “We’re both fine.”

Matteo gritted his teeth, putting on a convincing pale expression. “I think it’s the hotel breakfast… I might need to go to a hospital.”

Josef wasn’t sure what kind of game the kid was playing, but considering Matteo had performed decently the last two days—and had only seemed distracted earlier—maybe the stomachache explained why even the engraving couldn’t hold his attention. 

Josef sighed. “Fine. I’ll call your father to pick you up.”

——

In Munich, the air inside the luxury hotel room reeked of disinfectant. Thick layers of gauze wrapped around the man’s waist, but even then, the seep of blood beneath was unmistakable.

He lay half-upright against the headboard. His body, originally relaxed, stiffened the moment he heard a certain name. The small movement tugged at his wound, and his brow tightened instinctively.

Craig, who had been speaking beside him, paused mid-sentence.

Julian gestured for him to continue. “I’m fine. What were you saying about Violet?”

Craig took a breath and resumed his report. “As you predicted, the car that was supposed to pick you and Miss Violet up was intercepted halfway by gang members. They tried to kidnap whoever was inside, but once they realized it wasn’t you two, they abandoned the attempt. We’ve already notified the police.”

They both knew that informing the authorities meant little. Whoever sent those men had real power behind them. People like that didn’t move unless they already had a clean escape planned. It was unlikely the police would find the mastermind.

And who was behind it—his stepmother Serena, his cousin Marcus, or some rival from the business world—was still unclear.

As for Julian himself, he had been attacked the day before when meeting Kevin, the former financial adviser who once worked closely under his father. 

The assailants mistook Jay for him, and Jay ended up taking the worse injury—stabbed in the chest, barely missing the heart. He was now in the hospital. Julian had been stabbed in the side, and Craig survived only because he’d stepped away to park the car. 

Craig, however, blamed himself relentlessly.

The attackers had clearly been tailing Kevin and struck the moment he met with someone else. Julian didn’t know if they recognized who he was. If they did, the danger awaiting him back in the States would be far greater.

He also suspected that Serena had recently become aware of Kevin’s survival. Kevin had been on the same flight—the one everyone believed crashed with no survivors. For him to turn up in Germany unharmed… and for Serena to move so quickly to silence him… whatever secret she was hiding had to be massive.

When Julian returned home, Serena would almost certainly come check on him, pretending concern while verifying whether he had been the man on that Munich street.

But that was still days away.

“Anything else? Is she doing all right in Jura?” Julian asked.

“The first two days were uneventful,” Craig replied. “Today is her third full day in the town—excluding the day she arrived. But this morning her two bodyguards noticed something unusual.”

Craig listed the people who had been around Violet in the past few days before adding, “That woman named Claire—Josef’s daughter-in-law—took several used coffee cups and pieces of food to the clinic for DNA testing.”

“DNA TESTING?” Julian’s brows drew together. “How far along is it?”

“Her assistant dropped off the samples just now.”

Julian didn’t immediately understand why the woman would conduct a DNA test out of nowhere. She was Josef’s daughter-in-law. Other than Violet’s mentor Edward, everyone in the house had been family—her husband, her son. 

And Edward had been away in Geneva for two days, so it couldn’t be about him. That left one possibility: one of the samples was Violet’s.

The other sample was probably Claire’s husband. Perhaps Claire suspected Violet was his secret child? Julian dismissed the idea quickly. Violet’s parents were long dead, and he had seen the photo she kept by her bed.

Whatever the reason, secretly taking someone’s DNA never meant anything good.

Julian fell silent for a moment, then reached for his phone. He dialed a number he rarely used.

“Allison, it’s me. I need your help with something.”