Page 108 of Silent Vendetta (Vendetta Duet)

CHAPTER49

Hunter

Acold knot tightened in my stomach. There was no way what this guy was saying was true. I mean, this guy might’vebelievedit to be true, but it couldn’t be.

Alexander was the closest thing I had to a father after my dad was killed. He was a fixture in our family through all those years, particularly in those early days after my father’s death. It was incomprehensible to think he did this.

But if this guy was wrong, how could I explain the money? How could I explain Stanley knowing his son was hit by a car when that was never introduced into public record?

Well, not until Payne’s recent hearing. Maybe he heard it then?

But how did he know about the unlocked door of our mansion? That wasn’t in any police reports or public records either. It was an important clue that police withheld so that, should the real killer ever come forward, they’d know he wasn’t faking a confession.

The prosecutor in me sifted through every word he’d said, wanting desperately to poke holes in his belief, to find evidence that contradicted his claims.

But there was none.

In fact, as his confession settled into my soul, a clarity came into focus. Knowing the personalities of my father and Uncle Alexander, I could see a scenario playing out.

I could almost picture it: them driving through the dimly lit suburb, perhaps coming from a business meeting, and then the sudden jolt, the sickening thud. My father would’ve wanted to call the police, but Uncle Alexander was a force to be reckoned with. My father’s older brother must’ve dragged the boy off to the side, not wanting to get into trouble, not wanting to risk his family fortune and good name to lawsuits for something that couldn’t be changed.

He must’ve been the one Luna’s father saw leaving the alley just as he stumbled across the boy’s body.

I bet my father was insisting they call for help, but Uncle Alexander convinced him that someone was with the kid—Luna’s dad—helping him, and in a moment of panic, my father must’ve agreed to drive away.

And I bet Stanley was right. That guilt, the image of that injured boy, would’ve haunted my father. He’d have grappled with the need to confess, especially with another man facing the blame.

But if my father was arrested, Uncle Alexander would be arrested too. Leaving the scene of a crime after a hit-and-run was a big offense. A huge one, if it involved a kid that later died. And if they found out the kid was intentionally moved, they could have argued moving him had caused him more harm, possibly even resulting in his death.

Worse, moving the body might open the door to an argument of intentional homicide. Meaning they could have argued the boy was struck on purpose, and while that might not have been true, Alexander would have known that was a risk.

That he could have been facing a murder charge.

If my father was about to reveal it all, Uncle Alexander would have lost everything. His reputation, his stake in the company. Financially, he probably would’ve been sued by the kid’s family, and most significant of all, he risked his freedom.

We all want to believe that those around us that we love, particularly family, would never be capable of hurting us. But as a prosecutor, I had seen time and time again that statistically, it was the people closest to the murder victim, the people they trusted the most, that often caused their death.

Each revelation snapped into place, shards of a fractured mirror reflecting a truth I hadn’t seen before.

My father had killed that kid. He’d struck that teenage boy with his vehicle, resulting in his death, and that was why my father had seemed so solemn in the days before he was murdered.

A memory flashed—our last conversation, the way his eyes had clouded over when I’d said I wanted to be just like him. A hero to me, yet drowning in his own guilt.

Before my dad ever had a chance to repent for his sins, a stranger came into our home and slit his throat.

The memory of my father’s lifeless body had poisoned my soul, filling it with a venomous rage, and the injustice of it all had led me to seek vengeance against people who’d hurt others.

Vigilantism is defined as the act of punishing those who perpetrate crimes and doing so without legal authority. While I preyed on the scums of the city, I also hunted the man who’d killed my father.

I never imagined that the man would turn out to be a vigilante in his own right. A man who was seeking vengeance against the driver who had gotten away with killing his son.

“You’re telling me my uncle Alexander convinced you to kill my father?”

I still couldn’t accept it, no matter how much it made sense. This was a confessed killer, after all.

“He didn’t just convince me. He told me how to get into the house. When I got there, I almost didn’t go through with it because you were in the room but…” Stanley’s eyes filled with tears. “The man killed my child and left him for dead. And there he was, enjoying the company of his own son, living in a mansion like nothing had ever happened. Like my son’s life didn’t matter.”

Stanley shook his head and looked down at the ground.

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