"Thanks, Aiden, for your help," Lucius said as he waited outside the mansion, his gaze fixed on the driveway where Aiden’s car had just pulled in.
"Boss, I’m sorry," Aiden began, stepping out of the car. "I let Roderick get beaten up in the bar." He tilted his head toward the passenger seat, where Roderick sat slumped, his eyes closed.
Lucius glanced at his nephew and sighed. "It’s alright. Thanks for bringing him ho in one piece."
Moving to the passenger side, Lucius opened the door and gently nudged Roderick.
"Uncle, what are you doing?" Roderick mumbled groggily, his eyes fluttering open.
"Taking you inside," Lucius replied, slipping an arm under Roderick to help him out of the car.
Once inside the mansion, Lucius guided Roderick to his room. He helped his nephew collapse onto the bed.
Scanning the cupboard, Lucius found the first-aid kit and returned to Roderick’s side. The bruises on his lips, cheek, and hands didn’t go unnoticed from Lucius’s sharp gaze.
Roderick sat up, his expression clouded with irritation. "You should leave. I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone, especially you."
Lucius raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "Reserve that hate for later," he replied calmly. Ignoring Roderick’s protest, he opened the first-aid kit and pulled out a disinfected cotton ball. He leaned in, dabbing gently at the bruises on Roderick’s face.
"Ahh," Roderick whimpered, flinching. "It’s burning," he complained.
"You shouldn’t have gotten yourself into a fight, then," Lucius muttered, a hint of amusent in his voice. "Stop being a crybaby." He applied ointnt to the reddened areas with practiced care.
"You’ve not changed a bit, have you?" Lucius said, a small chuckle escaping him as he finished.
Roderick’s lips curled into a faint smirk. "The sa goes for you, Uncle. You keep your dogs around ," Roderick shot back in defiance.
Lucius paused, eting his nephew’s gaze with a steady intensity. "When will you start respecting them? They’re family to ," he pronounced firmly.
"Yeah. Everyone except is your family," Roderick muttered under his breath, watching as Lucius carefully wrapped a bandage around his bruised knuckles.
Lucius sighed. "Well, I never considered you an outsider," he replied softly. "It’s you who pushed away, Rick."
He finished tending to the bandage and straightened, locking eyes with his nephew.
"Why did you call my dad that day?" Roderick murmured, his voice cracking slightly. "The fishing could have waited. You don’t know what it feels like to suddenly lose a father."
In his intoxicated state, he spoke more freely than he ever would have sober, the pain he usually buried spilling to the surface.
Lucius’s expression shortened as he took in Roderick’s words. He let out a slow breath before replying. "I feel guilty about it, Rick. I’ve carried that guilt every day since."
He paused as though the mories were pulling him backward in ti. "I can empathize with your pain. You might think it’s a lie, but I was as devastated as you were. Maybe even more. He wasn’t just your father—he was my brother, my best friend and everything to ."
Lucius’s voice faltered, and for a fleeting mont, the usual strength in his deanor seed to crack. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to continue. "If I could take back that day, I would."
Roderick glanced at his uncle, a flicker of recognition passing through him as he noticed the silent pain in Lucius’s expression.
But exhaustion soon overtook him, and his eyes gradually closed as he collapsed onto the bed, lying on his back.
Lucius couldn’t help but smile faintly. Gently, he adjusted Roderick’s posture, ensuring he lay comfortably, before pulling the duvet over him.
As a final gesture, Lucius ran his hand lightly through his nephew’s disheveled hair, a softness in his touch that belied his usual stern deanor toward Roderick.
"I’m close to the truth," Lucius whispered. "I’ll prove to you it wasn’t who sched against Antoine."
Straightening, he stayed for a mont before turning toward the door. With one last glance at Roderick, Lucius stepped out of the room.
Reaching his room, Lucius opened the cupboard and retrieved the worn out file.
He settled into the chair by the window, the faint moonlight casting a soft glow across the room. Layla was already deep in slumber. Careful not to disturb her, Lucius switched on the table lamp, its warm light pooling over the file in his hands.
This ti he read it thoroughly and with each word his heart would sank further.
’Why didn’t Antoine tell that Matteo called him that day? What did they talk about? Antoine never liked Matteo.’ The questions gnawed at him.
’And why was the report altered?’ he wondered, his brow furrowing. ’There’s no evidence dash cam recovered, according to the old report. Why did such an important evidence is removed? Or did Matteo have it all along?’
The burden of these unanswered questions bore down on Lucius. He leaned back in the chair, running a hand through his hair.
Lucius picked up the phone from the table, his fingers trembling slightly as he opened Demitri’s contact. With a sharp exhale, he began typing.
"Are you keeping the secret from forever?" he typed and hit send.
The minutes ticked by as he stared at the screen, waiting for a reply. When none ca, he typed again, this ti more direct. "I found the original file related to my brother’s case. Matteo talked to my brother last."
He tapped send again, his jaw tightening as he leaned back in his chair. Finally, his phone buzzed, and Demitri’s reply flashed on the screen:
"Matteo can’t be the one!"
Lucius frowned at the surprising emoji but quickly began typing.
"I’m shocked too. Help . I need to reach the truth. I feel their deaths are connected, and sohow, I’m at the center of it all."
On the other end, Demitri stared at the screen, his expression unreadable. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. After a mont’s hesitation, he finally formulated a reply and sent it to Lucius.
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