CHAPTER 4 — The Cost of Revenge
Preston Whitcomb arrived at the estate three days later.
He came uninvited.
Which meant he was either desperate or stupid.
Enzo met him in the lower study, where the walls were lined with old DeLuca records and newer sins.
Preston looked older than the funeral photos Enzo had studied. His hands shook slightly. His confidence was gone, but his arrogance still clung like a stain.
“You got what you wanted,” Preston said immediately. “The marriage. The control. Everything.”
Enzo said nothing.
“That girl is unstable,” Preston continued quickly. “If she’s telling you things—stories—she’s confused. She always was fragile.”
Enzo tilted his head slightly.
“Fragile,” he repeated.
“Yes,” Preston said, seizing it. “You know how girls like that are. Imagination. Trauma response. You can’t trust—”
Enzo crossed the room in three steps.
Preston stopped talking.
Not because he wanted to.
Because he suddenly understood distance.
“You sold her,” Enzo said quietly.
Preston swallowed. “It was business.”
Enzo nodded once.
“Business,” he repeated again.
Then he asked, almost gently:
“Did you ever wonder why she stopped calling you ‘father’ in private school reports?”
Preston hesitated.
Something shifted behind his eyes.
“Enzo—”
“Answer.”
A long silence.
Then Preston exhaled.
“She was difficult to manage,” he said carefully.
That was not an answer.
It was confirmation.
Enzo turned away slightly.
When he spoke again, his voice was calm.
Almost detached.
“I’m going to make a decision,” he said.
Preston frowned. “About what?”
Enzo looked back at him.
“About whether you leave this house alive.”
Preston’s face drained.
For the first time, fear finally reached him properly.
But before anything else could happen, footsteps sounded behind them.
Harper had entered the room.
She looked smaller than before.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
But she stood.
And that, more than anything, changed the atmosphere.
“Don’t,” she said softly.
Preston turned toward her instantly. “Harper, sweetheart—tell him—”
She flinched at the word sweetheart.
Enzo saw it.
Preston didn’t.
Harper looked at Enzo instead.
“I don’t want him dead,” she said.
A pause.
Then, quieter:
“I just want him gone.”
Enzo studied her for a long moment.
Then nodded once.
“Done.”
Preston exhaled in relief—
Until Enzo added:
“But not by me.”
Preston froze again.
Enzo gestured slightly to his men outside the door.
“Take him to federal custody,” he said. “Everything I found goes with him.”
Preston’s voice cracked. “You can’t—”
“I already did.”
As guards moved in, Preston turned back toward Harper, desperate.
“You need me,” he said. “I built your life—”
Harper finally looked at him directly.
And for the first time, there was no fear in her eyes.
Only exhaustion.
May you like
“No,” she said quietly. “You built my prison.”
And she didn’t watch him leave.
