Chapter 7 - THE WOMAN AT THE GRAVE
“Vanessa visited Caroline's grave?”
Luca's voice was dangerously quiet.
Adrian looked at the note.
“Richard's daughter?”
I nodded.
“That's what Matthew wrote.”
Luca turned away.
For a moment, I thought he might throw the paper.
Instead, he folded it carefully and placed it inside his jacket.
“Then we ask her.”
Vanessa was waiting in the Moretti mansion's sitting room when we returned.
She wore a cream-colored sweater.
Her hair was pulled back.
Without the emerald gown and diamonds, she looked younger.
Almost ordinary.
But the moment she saw Luca, her expression hardened.
“You've been avoiding me.”
Luca stopped near the fireplace.
“I've been learning things you should have told me.”
Vanessa looked toward Henry.
“More stories from the driver?”
Luca placed Matthew's note on the table.
“Why did you visit Caroline Hayes's grave?”
Vanessa went still.
I saw her fingers tighten around the edge of her sweater.
“Who told you that?”
“Answer me.”
She looked at the note.
Then at Luca.
“Because I wanted to know who she was.”
Luca frowned.
“You knew about Caroline?”
“Of course I knew about her.”
“She died before we met.”
Vanessa nodded.
“My father mentioned her.”
“Why?”
Vanessa swallowed.
“Because he said she was the reason you stopped trusting people.”
Luca's expression darkened.
“And you believed him?”
“I believed many things my father told me.”
For the first time, there was no practiced smile.
No sharp insult.
Just exhaustion.
“I went to her grave because I was afraid you still loved her.”
Luca stared at her.
“She was dead.”
Vanessa's eyes filled.
“That doesn't make a woman easier to compete with.”
I watched her carefully.
It was the first honest thing I'd heard her say.
But honesty about jealousy wasn't the same as honesty about everything else.
“Did you know she had a child?” Luca asked.
Vanessa looked down.
“Yes.”
The word struck the room like a blow.
Luca stepped backward.
“How long?”
“Six months.”
“And you didn't tell me?”
“My father said the boy was being used to blackmail us.”
Luca laughed bitterly.
“Us?”
“He told me someone was pretending to be your son. He showed me photographs. Medical records. Things that looked convincing.”
“Did you ever meet Matthew?”
Vanessa hesitated.
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“When?”
“Last month.”
Luca stared at her.
“Where?”
“At a coffee shop near the cemetery.”
“What did he want?”
Vanessa's voice trembled.
“He wanted to know why my father was paying someone to watch him.”
Silence filled the room.
I thought of the photograph left for me at St. Agnes.
Someone had been watching Noah too.
“Who was watching him?” I asked.
Vanessa looked at me.
For a moment, the old contempt returned.
Then it faded.
“I don't know.”
Luca spoke quietly.
“Then tell us what you do know.”
Vanessa wiped her cheeks.
“My father gave me a folder. He said if Matthew ever contacted me, I should convince him to leave Chicago.”
“Where's the folder?”
She hesitated.
“In my car.”
The folder contained bank statements, photographs, and correspondence.
Most of it concerned payments made through a private charitable foundation.
The foundation's name was familiar.
The Bellini Children's Trust.
Vanessa had hosted fundraising dinners for it.
I had helped arrange the flowers.
I remembered her boasting that the trust supported disadvantaged young people.
Now the statements showed payments to private investigators, security firms, and a series of temporary residential addresses.
One address belonged to Matthew.
Another belonged to a young woman named Eleanor Rose.
Luca stared at the second name.
“She's alive.”
Henry leaned forward.
The old man's hands trembled.
“Where?”
The address was in Chicago.
Less than twenty minutes from the mansion.
But the most disturbing detail wasn't the location.
It was the date.
Someone had paid for Eleanor's apartment only four days earlier.
Richard Bellini had known exactly where she was.
We found Eleanor at a small community center on the South Side.
She was twenty-four.
Dark-haired.
Quiet.
And unmistakably the girl from the photograph.
She wore a simple navy cardigan.
A silver rose bracelet hung from her wrist.
When she saw Henry, she stopped walking.
“Mr. Walker?”
Henry covered his mouth.
“Ellie?”
For a moment, she seemed uncertain.
Then she crossed the room and embraced him.
The old man began crying.
“I thought I'd lost you.”
Eleanor held him tightly.
“You tried to save us.”
His shoulders shook.
“I didn't try hard enough.”
She pulled back.
“You came back. That's what matters.”
I felt tears gather in my eyes.
Then Eleanor turned toward Noah.
Her expression changed completely.
“Noah?”
My brother stood frozen.
He hadn't spoken since we'd entered.
Eleanor approached slowly.
“Hey, little troublemaker.”
He gave a shaky laugh.
“You used to call me that.”
“I know.”
He looked at her bracelet.
“You got it back.”
She nodded.
“Eventually.”
Then she embraced him.
And my brother, who struggled to remember parts of his childhood, held her as though he'd never forgotten her at all.
Luca stood a few feet away.
Eleanor noticed him.
Her smile disappeared.
“You're Luca.”
He nodded.
“I've been looking for you.”
She folded her arms.
“For how long?”
The question landed hard.
Luca lowered his eyes.
“Not long enough.”
Eleanor looked at Henry.
“Does he know?”
Henry hesitated.
“Most of it.”
She turned back to Luca.
“Then you know your father saved me.”
“Yes.”
“And you know my real father helped destroy your family.”
Luca nodded slowly.
“I know what I've been told.”
Eleanor's expression hardened.
“Then you don't know enough.”
She reached into her bag.
She removed a small leather notebook.
The cover was worn.
A child's drawing had been tucked between its pages.
The same drawing Henry had brought to the dinner.
But this one contained something the first had not.
A third figure.
A woman standing beside the little girl.
Her face had been crossed out with blue crayon.
Eleanor pointed to it.
“My mother drew that.”
I stared at her.
“Your mother?”
She nodded.
“She was afraid someone would recognize her.”
Luca frowned.
“Who was she?”
Eleanor looked directly at Vanessa.
“Ask her.”
Vanessa went pale.
“I don't know your mother.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“Yes, you do.”
She opened the notebook.
Inside was a photograph of a young woman standing beside Richard Bellini.
The woman's face was unmistakable.
Same dark eyes.
Same sharp cheekbones.
Same elegant smile.
Vanessa stared at the photograph.
“No.”
May you like
Eleanor's voice trembled.
“YOUR FATHER TOLD EVERYONE MY MOTHER WAS DEAD. BUT SHE'S THE WOMAN WHO RAISED YOU.”
