Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN WITH TEN FINGERS
“Don't open those gates.”
Adrian Castellano's voice cut through the banquet hall.
His security chief, Marcus Reed, stopped with his radio halfway to his mouth.
Fifty-eight wealthy guests sat frozen beneath the golden chandeliers.
Across the magnificent table, Bianca Sterling gripped her champagne glass so tightly I thought it might break.
Her father, Charles Sterling, hadn't moved.
He simply watched Adrian.
And somehow, that frightened me more than anything else.
“Sir?” Marcus asked.
Adrian looked at Samuel Whitaker.
“Tell me exactly what happened to my mother's hand.”
The seventy-nine-year-old pianist lowered himself into a chair.
“October fourth. Fifteen years ago. Your mother was trying to retrieve something from the old conservatory when a heavy iron door closed on her left hand.”
Adrian's expression changed.
“The conservatory?”
Samuel nodded.
“The one your father built behind the east gardens.”
“But she died in September.”
“No, sir.”
Samuel's voice trembled.
“That's what they told you.”
Adrian stared at him.
For fifteen years, he'd visited his mother's grave every October.
He'd sent white roses.
He'd spoken to a stone.
And now an old man was telling him those visits had been built on a lie.
“Marcus,” Adrian said. “Bring the woman inside. Keep everyone else here.”
Bianca stood.
“Adrian, darling, you can't seriously believe this nonsense.”
He turned.
“Sit down.”
She froze.
“I am your fiancée.”
“And she's my mother.”
His voice cracked on the last word.
For the first time since I'd known him, Adrian Castellano looked less like a feared mafia boss and more like a boy who'd just lost his mother all over again.
Five minutes later, Marcus returned.
Behind him walked a woman in a gray wool coat.
She looked about sixty.
Her dark hair had been carefully pinned back.
She wore a delicate pearl necklace and carried a worn leather handbag.
When she saw Adrian, tears immediately filled her eyes.
“My beautiful boy.”
Adrian didn't move.
The woman took another step.
“Adrian, sweetheart. I've waited so long.”
Then she opened her arms.
And I saw her hands.
Ten perfectly ordinary fingers.
Samuel closed his eyes.
Bianca made a small sound of relief.
But Adrian remained silent.
“Who are you?” he finally asked.
The woman stopped smiling.
“I'm your mother.”
“My mother had an accident.”
Her eyes flickered toward Samuel.
“That old man has always been confused.”
Samuel rose.
“I knew Maria Castellano for twenty-five years.”
The woman smiled coldly.
“Then perhaps you should remember that people survive accidents.”
“Not without losing the fingers that were severed,” Samuel answered.
The woman's face changed.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
So did Adrian.
He approached her.
“What did my mother call me when I was little?”
The woman swallowed.
“Sweetheart.”
Adrian shook his head.
“What did she call me when nobody else was listening?”
Silence.
Then she whispered, “My little prince.”
Adrian stepped back.
“No.”
The woman suddenly looked toward Charles Sterling.
It was a small movement.
Almost invisible.
But Charles immediately stood.
“Adrian, this is becoming embarrassing. That poor woman is clearly distressed.”
Adrian turned slowly.
“Why are you answering for her?”
Charles adjusted his cuff links.
“Because I helped your mother during a difficult period.”
“By signing her discharge papers three weeks after her funeral?”
Charles didn't answer.
Instead, he looked toward Bianca.
His daughter suddenly spoke.
“Adrian, please. My father has protected your family's businesses for years.”
“That's what I'm beginning to question.”
The woman in the gray coat took a trembling breath.
“My name is Margaret Hale.”
Samuel stiffened.
I noticed.
Adrian noticed too.
“You know her?”
Samuel nodded.
“Margaret worked as your mother's private secretary.”
Margaret lowered her eyes.
“I never wanted to deceive you.”
“Then why did you?”
She looked toward Charles again.
“Because someone told me Maria had finally agreed.”
“Agreed to what?”
Margaret's hands began shaking.
“To let you believe she was gone.”
The silence became unbearable.
Adrian approached her.
“Where is she?”
Margaret didn't answer.
He stepped closer.
“Where is my mother?”
“I don't know.”
Charles gave a quiet sigh.
“That's enough.”
Adrian turned toward him.
“No. We're just getting started.”
I stood beside the banquet table, still holding the music box.
Nobody had remembered to dismiss me.
Perhaps nobody cared.
But I kept studying the photograph beneath its faded lid.
Maria Castellano.
Smiling.
Holding a newborn baby.
Something about the photograph bothered me.
The woman wore a thin gold necklace.
A small oval pendant rested against her baby's blanket.
I'd seen that pendant before.
Not in a photograph.
In my father's bedroom.
My father, Daniel Mitchell, was sixty-three.
He'd spent the last eight months in and out of Philadelphia hospitals.
He used to repair antique clocks and mechanical instruments.
Last winter, when his health began declining, he'd given me a small wooden jewelry case.
Inside was an oval gold pendant.
He'd told me it belonged to someone who had once saved his life.
I hadn't questioned him.
Now my stomach tightened.
Because the pendant in the photograph looked exactly like it.
“Clara?”
I looked up.
Adrian was watching me.
“You've been staring at that photograph.”
I swallowed.
“Mr. Castellano, I think I've seen that necklace.”
Bianca immediately laughed.
“Of course you have. Every poor girl dreams of expensive jewelry.”
Adrian ignored her.
“Where?”
“At my father's house.”
Charles Sterling slowly turned his head.
It was the first time he'd looked directly at me all evening.
“Your father?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Daniel Mitchell.”
The change in his expression was unmistakable.
He knew that name.
Margaret Hale took one step backward.
Samuel reached for the piano bench.
And Adrian noticed all three reactions.
“What does my housekeeper's father have to do with my mother?”
Nobody answered.
I felt my face growing hot.
“My father repairs antique music mechanisms,” I explained. “He used to work for wealthy families around Philadelphia.”
Samuel suddenly spoke.
“Daniel Mitchell repaired Maria's music box.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“He replaced the original mechanism fifteen years ago.”
Adrian looked at the box in my hands.
Then at me.
“Your father worked for my mother?”
Samuel nodded.
“He was the last craftsman she trusted.”
Bianca set down her glass.
“We are not turning this engagement dinner into an investigation of servants.”
Adrian turned.
“Bianca, you ordered Clara to destroy the one object my mother sent here.”
“I didn't know what was inside!”
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Adrian's eyes narrowed.
“Inside?”
Bianca went silent.
Charles stood.
“Adrian, my daughter has had a stressful evening.”
“Then explain why she knew there was something inside.”
Charles's expression hardened.
“You need to remember who helped hold your empire together after your father's death.”
Adrian didn't move.
“I remember everything.”
He took the music box from my hands.
Underneath the little compartment, something rattled.
Not the melody.
Something loose.
He turned the box over.
A narrow strip of velvet had separated from the wooden base.
Beneath it lay a tiny brass winding key.
The missing key.
Adrian held it up.
“Bianca said this broke years ago.”
Samuel shook his head.
“No, sir. That's the original.”
Adrian inserted it into a small opening beneath the box.
Turned once.
Twice.
Then the third time.
A quiet metallic click sounded.
The photograph beneath the lid lifted slightly.
Inside was another picture.
Older.
Its edges were yellowed.
Maria Castellano stood beside a younger Charles Sterling.
Between them stood my father.
Daniel Mitchell.
And on the back, written in careful blue handwriting, were six words.
DANIEL KNOWS WHO SIGNED THE ORDER.
Adrian looked at me.
“What order?”
Before I could answer, Margaret Hale began crying.
“The order that made everyone believe Maria Castellano was dead.”
Then she pointed at Charles.
“But he wasn't the one who signed it.”
Charles's face turned white.
May you like
Margaret whispered:
“ADRIAN, THE SIGNATURE BELONGED TO SOMEONE YOU LOVED MORE THAN ANYONE.”
