CHAPTER 20 : The Background Clue

The penthouse was silent when I woke up.

It was a heavy, suffocating silence. The kind that comes after a scream.

I rolled over, my body aching from the adrenaline crash of the gala. The space beside me was empty. The sheets were perfectly smooth, untouched. Julian hadn't come to bed.

I dragged myself up. I didn't bother looking for him. I knew where he would be—locked in his study, hiding behind his "security protocols" and his scotch, keeping the ghosts of 2005 away from me.

Ask him about the warehouse fire.

I walked into the massive walk-in closet. My eyes went instantly to the back corner, where my ruined white wedding dress was stuffed behind a row of winter coats.

I pulled it out. The silk was wrinkled and stained, a sad relic of the girl I used to be. I reached into the tear in the lining of the bodice.

My fingers brushed against the glossy paper.

I pulled out the photograph.

Target: Eleanor Hayes.

I had looked at this photo a dozen times. I had focused on my mother’s smiling face, on the way she held me on the swing set. I had focused on the target on her back.

But I hadn't looked at where we were.

I took the photo into the bathroom, where the lighting was brightest. I sat on the edge of the tub and laid the photo on the marble counter.

I pulled out my phone and opened the camera app. I hovered the lens over the photo, zooming in on the background details until the grain of the film became visible.

It was a park. A generic city park with rusted swing sets. But in the far distance, behind the chain-link fence, there was a building.

It was a brick warehouse. Old. Dilapidated.

I zoomed in further. There was a faded sign painted on the side of the brickwork. Most of it was obscured by a tree branch, but the top letters were visible.

V & T IMPORTS

My breath caught.

V & T. Vencetti and Thorne.

I lowered the phone. Julian had told me the Vencettis were his sworn enemies. He said they had been at war for decades. But this photo was from twelve years ago. And that sign... it looked like a partnership.

I quickly opened a browser on my phone. My fingers flew across the keyboard.

Vencetti Thorne Imports 2005.

The search results loaded instantly.

MASSIVE BLAZE CONSUMES EAST SIDE WAREHOUSE New York Chronicle - November 2005

I clicked the first link. The article was archived, the text small and blocky.

"A three-alarm fire destroyed the headquarters of V&T Imports last night, killing fourteen workers inside. The warehouse, a joint venture between the Vencetti and Thorne crime syndicates, was leveled to the ground."

I scrolled down, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Police suspect arson. The fire is believed to be the catalyst for the violent split between the two families. While no arrests were made, sources close to the investigation claim the fire was set from the inside."

I read the next line, and the blood drained from my face.

"The sole survivor of the blaze was the 18-year-old heir to the Thorne empire, Julian Thorne, who was seen exiting the building moments before the structure collapsed."

I dropped the phone. It clattered against the marble floor.

Julian wasn't just a bystander. He was the survivor. And if the police were right... he was the arsonist.

He had burned down a building with fourteen people inside. He had destroyed the partnership.

Ask him who really started this war.

Luca wasn't lying. Julian had started it. He had burned the bridge—literally—and killed people to do it.

And my mother? The photo was taken at that park, right next to that warehouse. She must have seen something. She must have known.

That’s why she was a target. Not because she threatened to go to the police about smuggling... but because she knew Julian Thorne was a mass murderer.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I looked pale, terrified.

I was married to a man who burned people alive to get what he wanted.

And I was living in his house.

Suddenly, the bathroom door handle turned.

Locked.

"Vivian?" Julian’s voice came from the bedroom. "Are you in there?"

I scrambled to pick up the phone and the photo. I shoved the photo into my pajama pocket.

"Just a minute!" I called out, flushing the toilet to cover the noise of my panic.

I took a deep breath. Neutral face. Calm face.

I unlocked the door and opened it.

Julian was standing there. He looked terrible. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw unshaven. He was still wearing the tuxedo pants and white shirt from last night, though the tie was gone and the collar was open.

He looked at me, his expression softening slightly.

"I brought you coffee," he said, gesturing to the nightstand.

"Thanks," I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. I walked past him, giving him a wide berth.

"Vivian," he said, reaching out to catch my arm.

I flinched. I couldn't help it. The image of the burning warehouse flashed in my mind.

Julian froze. He looked at his hand, then at my face. He saw the fear.

He slowly dropped his hand.

"You're afraid of me," he stated. It wasn't a question. It was a realization that seemed to cut him deeper than any bullet.

"Should I be?" I asked, turning to look at him. "You tell me, Julian. Should I be afraid of the man who survived the fire in 2005?"

His eyes widened. A flash of pure, unadulterated panic crossed his face.

"You looked it up," he whispered.

"I did," I said. "Fourteen people, Julian. Did you hear them scream?"

He stepped back. He looked like he had been slapped.

"It wasn't like that," he said, his voice pleading. "Vivian, you don't understand."

"Then make me understand!" I shouted. "Tell me the truth!"

"I can't," he rasped. He looked at the door, then back at me. "If I tell you... you will never look at me the same way again."

"I already don't," I said coldly.

I walked to the closet and grabbed a bag.

"What are you doing?" Julian asked, panic rising in his voice.

"I'm leaving," I said. "I can't stay here. I can't be married to a murderer."

"You can't leave," Julian said, stepping in front of the door. "Luca is still out there. He will kill you."

"At least I know he's a killer," I spat. "With you... I never know who I'm sleeping next to."

Julian stood there, blocking the exit. He was big, powerful, and lethal. But he looked broken.

He looked at me for a long time. Then, slowly, he moved aside.

"Go," he whispered. "But take the security team. Please."

I didn't answer. I grabbed my bag and walked out.

I didn't look back.