Chapter 3 - THE MAN WHO CONTROLLED EVERY ANSWER
“Then we find out why.”
I hadn't meant to sound so determined.
But watching Luca stare at that medical folder, I understood something.
The man who had protected me since our wedding had never learned how to protect himself from his own family.
He looked up.
“Evelyn, Matteo raised me after my father died. He kept the business together when half our partners wanted to destroy it.”
“That doesn't give him the right to decide what happens to your body.”
Luca's expression tightened.
I took his hand.
“I'm not asking you to hate him. I'm asking you to question him.”
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he nodded.
“Tomorrow, we'll start with the hospital.”
That night, Luca didn't return to his separate bedroom.
He sat beside me on the edge of my bed, his father's silver watch resting between us.
“Did you ever want children?” I asked.
He stared at the cracked crystal.
“When I was younger, yes.”
“What changed?”
He gave a humorless smile.
“Apparently, a piece of paper.”
I leaned against his shoulder.
“Luca, whatever the doctors discover, I don't want you thinking this baby is only important because it proves somebody was wrong.”
He turned toward me.
“Then what is it?”
“Our baby.”
His eyes filled.
He looked away before I could say anything else.
The following morning, Luca arranged a private appointment with an independent medical team.
He also requested his complete records from the hospital where he'd been treated twelve years earlier.
The hospital confirmed that archived records existed, although obtaining them would require verification.
For the first time, Luca insisted that nobody from the Varenna family office be involved.
While his assistant, Gabriel Ferri, helped arrange the requests, I visited my mother.
Helen Cross was recovering in a private medical facility outside Boston.
She looked better than she had in months.
Her cheeks had regained some color.
She could walk short distances without assistance.
And she still worried about me more than herself.
“Sweetheart, you're pale,” she said as soon as I entered.
“I'm tired, Mom.”
She studied my face.
Then her eyes lowered toward the crackers I'd brought instead of my usual coffee.
“Evelyn?”
I sat beside her.
“There's something I need to tell you.”
Ten minutes later, my mother was crying.
Not because I was pregnant.
Because I was frightened.
“Oh, honey,” she whispered. “You've spent so much time trying to save me that you haven't let yourself be happy.”
I shook my head.
“It's complicated.”
“Love usually is.”
She reached into the drawer beside her bed.
Inside was a small bracelet made from red thread.
She'd made it during one of her hospital stays.
“I was going to give you this when you finally stopped looking so worried.”
I smiled through my tears.
“Mom, it's string.”
“Very expensive string. I worked on it through three terrible hospital lunches.”
I laughed.
She tied it around my wrist.
Then her expression became serious.
“Evelyn, did Luca threaten you when you told him?”
“No.”
“Did he accuse you?”
“No.”
“Did he make you feel ashamed?”
I shook my head again.
“Then remember that when the rest of his family starts talking.”
I stared at her.
“What do you mean?”
My mother hesitated.
“Yesterday, a man from the Varenna family medical foundation came to discuss my treatment.”
I frowned.
“Luca handles your bills.”
“That's what I thought.”
She opened a folder beside her bed.
“The man said all my future treatments would require approval from the foundation's chairman.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
She handed me the paperwork.
At the top was a familiar name.
Matteo Varenna.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
Luca had promised to cover my mother's treatment.
I'd assumed the payments came directly from him.
Instead, they were passing through an organization controlled by his uncle.
“Did the man say anything else?” I asked.
My mother looked uncomfortable.
“He asked whether you and Luca were getting along.”
“Why?”
“He said the foundation liked to ensure families remained stable.”
My skin prickled.
“Mom, did you answer?”
“I said you seemed happy.”
She squeezed my hand.
“Was that wrong?”
“No, Mom.”
I forced a smile.
“You didn't do anything wrong.”
But I knew something was wrong.
Very wrong.
I returned to the Varenna mansion that afternoon.
Luca was waiting in the library.
He'd received an initial response from the hospital.
The original intake notes confirmed he'd been conscious and capable of answering questions before the medical authorization was signed.
His uncle had not needed to act as his representative.
“It doesn't prove the diagnosis was false,” Luca said quietly. “But it proves they weren't telling me everything.”
I showed him the foundation paperwork.
He read it.
His jaw hardened.
“Matteo told me this was simply how the medical payments were processed.”
“Why does he get to decide whether my mother receives treatment?”
“He doesn't.”
Luca stood.
“Not anymore.”
He had Gabriel arrange independent payment authorization directly with the facility.
Then he personally confirmed that my mother's existing treatment schedule would remain unchanged.
I should have felt relieved.
Instead, something still bothered me.
“Luca, why would Matteo care whether we have a child?”
He went silent.
Then he crossed to an old bookcase.
Behind its glass doors were several leather-bound volumes containing family business records.
He removed one.
“The Varenna family doesn't operate like a normal corporation.”
He opened it.
“My grandfather created a family voting trust decades ago. Certain rights pass down through the direct family line.”
He pointed to a paragraph.
“Matteo has exercised the succession proxy since my father died.”
“And when does that change?”
Luca read the next sentence.
His expression shifted.
Then he looked at me.
“When a qualifying child is born to the designated heir.”
I stared at him.
“Meaning our baby?”
Luca nodded slowly.
“The birth of my child would end Matteo's temporary voting authority over a substantial part of the family holdings.”
A terrible realization settled between us.
For twelve years, Matteo had controlled power that was supposed to be temporary.
And everyone had believed Luca would never have children.
Before either of us could speak, Gabriel entered carrying a small envelope.
He looked disturbed.
“This was left on the private dining room table after last night's dinner.”
Inside was a photograph taken during the gathering.
I was visible in the background.
My hand rested over my stomach.
May you like
On the back, someone had written four words.
THE CONTRACT FORBIDS CHILDREN.
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