Chapter 2 - The Signature Beneath My Roof
The name at the bottom of the page was Alessandra DeLuca.
My mother.
For several seconds, I stared at the signature because my mind refused to accept what my eyes already knew.
Alessandra’s handwriting was unmistakable.
Tall capital A.
Hard downward stroke on the D.
A slight hook through the final letter that she had used since I was a child.
I had seen that signature on birthday cards, charity checks, school documents, property transfers, and condolence letters.
Now it appeared beneath a sentence that made my stomach turn.
AUTHORIZED FAMILY LIAISON ACKNOWLEDGES PATIENT’S PREGNANCY AND REQUESTS THAT ALL FAMILY COMMUNICATION BE DIRECTED THROUGH HER OFFICE.
The date was eleven weeks earlier.
Claire had been barely eight weeks pregnant.
My mother had known.
“Where did you get this?” I asked.
Dr. Chen watched me carefully.
“Claire came to my clinic after fainting at work. She listed you as the father.”
Something inside my chest tightened.
“She listed me?”
“Yes.”
I looked toward the bedroom.
Claire was asleep behind the closed door, surrounded by warmth she should never have needed to lose.
Dr. Chen continued.
“She asked us to contact you because she said her calls were being blocked.”
My head snapped toward her.
“Blocked by who?”
“She didn’t know.”
Dr. Chen tapped the document.
“Two days later, your mother came to my office.”
I almost laughed because the alternative was breaking something.
“My mother?”
“She said Claire was going through a difficult divorce and that direct contact with you could create a serious security situation.”
“What security situation?”
“She didn’t explain.”
“Then why did you listen to her?”
Dr. Chen’s expression hardened.
“Because she arrived with documentation from your attorneys stating she was authorized to coordinate private medical communication for the DeLuca family.”
That hit even harder.
My attorneys.
My mother.
A document.
This wasn’t a misunderstanding.
It had structure.
I took out my phone.
“Marco.”
He answered immediately.
“Yes, boss.”
“Wake my mother.”
Silence.
Then, “She’s awake.”
“Bring her downstairs.”
Another pause.
“Roman—”
“Now.”
I ended the call.
Dr. Chen folded her arms.
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
I gave her a cold look.
“You think I need that warning?”
“I think you just found out your pregnant ex-wife nearly starved while someone close to you intercepted medical information.”
Fair point.
I walked downstairs.
Every light in the Gold Coast house suddenly seemed offensive.
Claire had once chosen those lamps.
She had argued with the decorator because she wanted warm light instead of something that made the place look like a hotel lobby.
There were pieces of her everywhere.
The rug beneath my shoes.
The photograph of Lake Como in the hallway.
The stupid ceramic bowl in the kitchen that she bought from a street market because she claimed expensive homes needed at least one thing that cost less than twenty dollars.
I had left all of it exactly where she put it.
I told myself it was because I didn’t care enough to change anything.
That was another lie.
My mother entered the library wearing a burgundy robe.
Alessandra DeLuca was sixty-two and carried herself like the world was constantly being granted permission to exist in her presence.
Marco came behind her.
She looked at the paper in my hand.
Then she looked at me.
Her face changed.
Barely.
But I saw it.
“You knew,” I said.
“Roman—”
“You knew Claire was pregnant.”
She straightened.
“Lower your voice.”
My laugh came out without humor.
“Claire collapsed at a bus stop because she hadn’t eaten properly in days, and you want me to lower my voice?”
Marco looked away.
My mother didn’t.
“I did what I thought was necessary.”
The room went still.
There are sentences people use when they know they are guilty but still believe they deserve to be forgiven.
That was one of them.
“When did you find out?”
“Roman.”
“When?”
“Approximately two months ago.”
“The document is eleven weeks old.”
She hesitated.
I stepped closer.
“Try again.”
“Eleven weeks.”
“Did you tell me?”
“No.”
“Did Claire ask you to?”
Her lips pressed together.
That was my answer.
“Did she?”
“Yes.”
I turned away because for one dangerous second, rage became something physical.
I placed both hands on the desk.
“She asked you to tell me that I had a child coming.”
“It was not that simple.”
“It is exactly that simple.”
“You had just gotten free of her.”
I looked back slowly.
“Free?”
Mother folded her arms.
“You were finally thinking clearly again.”
“My ex-wife is nineteen weeks pregnant and twenty pounds lighter than she should be because she’s been working herself into the ground.”
“That was her choice.”
Marco’s head lifted.
Even he looked shocked.
I crossed the room before I knew I had moved.
I stopped inches from her.
“Be very careful what you say next.”
Mother’s face paled, but her pride survived.
“Claire always knew how to make you lose perspective.”
“She almost lost my child.”
Her eyes flickered.
My child.
She hadn’t expected me to say it so quickly.
Neither had I.
Yet the moment the words left my mouth, I knew they were true.
I didn’t need a test.
Not emotionally.
Not yet.
Claire had never lied to me about anything that mattered.
I had been the liar.
I had told her our marriage meant less than it did.
I had told her divorce was what I wanted.
I had told her she would be better without me.
And now I was learning that after I abandoned her, the people I trusted made certain she could never reach me again.
“I want every letter Claire sent here,” I said.
Mother blinked.
“What?”
“Every package. Every message. Every call record.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I turned to Marco.
“Lock down the house.”
Mother inhaled sharply.
“Roman.”
“Nobody destroys paper. Nobody wipes a phone. Nobody leaves.”
“You cannot imprison your own family.”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“But I can preserve evidence inside my own home until my attorney and the police tell me what legally happens next.”
That surprised everyone.
Including me.
A younger version of me would have handled betrayal differently.
That was exactly what the people around me expected.
Maybe that expectation had helped create this disaster.
I called Gabriel Stone, my personal attorney.
He answered on the fourth ring sounding half asleep.
“Roman?”
“Get dressed.”
“What happened?”
“I need copies of every document connected to my divorce.”
A pause.
“All right.”
“And every transfer made to Claire Bennett.”
Longer silence.
“What do you mean, every transfer?”
“The settlement.”
“Roman, that was completed months ago.”
“How much?”
“Two point four million dollars, plus the condo allowance.”
I looked directly at my mother.
Her face became perfectly still.
“Which account received it?”
Gabriel rustled papers on the other end.
“I don’t have that information at home.”
“Find it.”
“Roman, what is going on?”
“My ex-wife was found unconscious tonight.”
Silence.
“She’s pregnant.”
More silence.
“And she has apparently been living on less money than one of my restaurants spends on flowers.”
Gabriel swore under his breath.
“I’m coming in.”
“Bring everything.”
I ended the call.
Mother walked toward the door.
Marco blocked it.
She stared at him.
“You would stop me?”
Marco said quietly, “Tonight, ma’am, yes.”
Before she could answer, Dr. Chen appeared in the doorway.
“Roman.”
Something about her expression made every person in that room stop.
“What happened?”
“Claire woke up.”
I was already moving.
Then Dr. Chen caught my arm.
“There’s something else.”
I looked at her.
“She became agitated when she heard your mother’s voice downstairs.”
My mother went pale.
“What did she say?”
Dr. Chen swallowed.
“She said she remembered the night she came here.”
I froze.
“What night?”
“Three months ago.”
My mother whispered, “That’s impossible.”
Dr. Chen heard her.
So did I.
I turned toward Alessandra.
“What happened three months ago?”
She said nothing.
I ran upstairs.
Claire was awake when I entered.
Her face looked impossibly small against the pillows.
Her eyes found mine immediately.
For one second, neither of us spoke.
Then I moved toward the bed.
“Claire.”
She flinched.
That stopped me harder than a bullet could have.
I stayed where I was.
“You’re safe,” I said.
A tear slid into her hair.
“No,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I’m starting to.”
Her eyes moved toward the hallway.
“Your mother knows.”
“I know.”
Claire closed her eyes.
“I tried to tell you.”
The words nearly broke me.
“When?”
“So many times.”
“I never got anything.”
“I know.”
“How?”
Her breathing quickened.
“Roman, please.”
“Claire, I need to know.”
She opened her eyes again.
Fear lived there.
Not fear of me.
Fear for me.
And somehow that was worse.
“She took my letters,” Claire whispered. “She took the ultrasound pictures. She told me you’d ordered everyone to keep me away.”
“I never did.”
“I know that now.”
My throat tightened.
“Who else?”
Claire shook her head.
“Rest.”
“No.”
Her fingers caught my sleeve.
Weakly.
Desperately.
“Roman.”
“I’m here.”
“It wasn’t only your mother.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
Claire looked toward the door as though she expected someone to be listening.
Then she whispered the name of the man who had stood beside me for fifteen years.
The man who knew every security code I owned.
The man I called my brother even though we shared no blood.
May you like
“Dominic was there.”
And downstairs, at that exact moment, someone shouted that Dominic Vale was gone.
