Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN WHO LIFTED THE TABLECLOTH
The tablecloth rose.
And my mother looked directly into my eyes.
For three terrible seconds, nobody moved.
Margaret Hartwell stood frozen, one hand gripping the ivory fabric, her perfectly painted lips parted in disbelief.
Beside her, Sofia Marino stared at her son.
Vincent was still holding my hand.
And neither of us looked particularly interested in letting go.
"Evelyn?" my mother whispered.
I gave her a weak smile.
"Hi, Mom."
Her eyes traveled from my face to Vincent's tattooed forearms, then down to the remains of our chicken sandwich.
"What on earth are you doing?"
"Having dinner," Vincent replied.
I nearly laughed.
My mother did not.
Sofia pressed one hand against her chest.
"Vincent Marino, get out from under that table immediately."
Vincent tilted his head.
"Before or after you explain why you've signed a marriage contract for two people who haven't agreed to marry?"
The color disappeared from both women's faces.
That was when I understood.
They hadn't known we were listening.
And whatever they'd been discussing was much worse than matchmaking.
Vincent crawled out first, then offered me his hand.
I accepted.
There was something strangely reassuring about watching Chicago's most feared Mafia boss stand between me and my furious mother.
Unfortunately, he seemed equally furious.
"Fifteen years," he said quietly. "You've known what happened to Dad for fifteen years?"
Sofia glanced toward the ballroom doors.
"Not here."
"Then where?"
"Vincent, please."
He took one step closer.
"Was his death an accident?"
Silence.
My mother suddenly found the carpet fascinating.
I turned toward her.
"Mom?"
She swallowed.
"Evelyn, there are things about your father that you wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
"Your father and Enzo Marino were business partners."
I stared at her.
"What?"
Vincent frowned.
"My father never mentioned Adam Hartwell."
"Because they kept their partnership private," Sofia answered.
"Why?" I demanded.
Neither woman replied.
Vincent's expression hardened.
"What were they doing together the night they died?"
Margaret reached for my arm.
I stepped away.
"Don't touch me until you answer."
Her face crumpled slightly.
For fifteen years, my mother had told me that Dad died driving home from a business dinner.
She had cried with me through birthdays, graduations, and Christmas mornings.
She had watched me grow into a woman who still kept his photograph beside her bed.
And now she was standing in front of me, admitting that she'd hidden half his life.
Sofia finally spoke.
"Your fathers were trying to stop something."
"Stop what?" Vincent asked.
"Something dangerous."
I laughed bitterly.
"That's convenient."
Margaret looked wounded.
"Evelyn—"
"No. You don't get to look hurt because I'm asking questions."
Vincent turned toward the ballroom.
"Then we'll ask Dominic."
Sofia seized his sleeve.
"Absolutely not."
The reaction was immediate.
Too immediate.
"Why?" Vincent asked.
"Your uncle has enough responsibilities tonight."
"My uncle has run the family businesses beside me for fifteen years. If Dad was involved in something, Dominic would know."
Sofia looked at Margaret.
The two women exchanged a glance that made my stomach twist.
I knew that look.
I'd seen it whenever my mother was deciding how much truth I could handle.
Vincent noticed it too.
"What's in the marriage contract?" he asked.
Margaret straightened her shoulders.
"It's an agreement between the families."
"Not between us," I said.
"No," she admitted.
"Then it doesn't bind us."
Sofia closed her eyes.
"We know that."
That surprised me.
"Then why pretend otherwise?"
Margaret's voice trembled.
"Because we thought if you two stood together publicly, Dominic couldn't separate the families before Monday's board vote."
"What board vote?" I asked.
"The Pier Nine redevelopment," Sofia answered.
Vincent went still.
Pier Nine was one of the oldest properties controlled by the Marino family's shipping companies.
I knew it because my architecture firm had once submitted a proposal to restore its abandoned warehouses.
Our proposal had been rejected without explanation.
Vincent studied his mother.
"Dominic wants to sell the property."
Sofia nodded.
"And you want us married to stop him?"
"We want you united," she whispered.
"Then you should have started with the truth."
Before Sofia could answer, the banquet-room doors opened.
A distinguished silver-haired man in an expensive charcoal suit stepped inside.
"Well," he said pleasantly. "There you all are."
Vincent's shoulders tightened.
"Uncle Dominic."
Dominic Marino smiled at me.
"And you must be Evelyn Hartwell."
He offered his hand.
I was about to shake it when something silver swung from the chain of his waistcoat.
An old pocket watch.
Its casing had a small dent near the hinge.
And scratched beside that dent was a crooked five-pointed star.
I knew that star.
I'd scratched it myself when I was fourteen.
My father had laughed and told me I'd ruined a perfectly good watch.
Then he'd promised never to polish it away.
My mouth went dry.
"Where did you get that?"
Dominic glanced down.
"This?"
He lifted the watch.
"An old family keepsake."
I shook my head.
"No."
Vincent turned toward me.
"Evelyn?"
I pointed at the watch.
"That belonged to my father."
Dominic's smile didn't disappear.
But his fingers closed around the silver case.
May you like
And suddenly, I remembered something my mother had said at Dad's funeral.
They never recovered his watch from the wreckage.
