Chapter 5 - THE MAN ROMAN TRUSTED MOST
"Marco didn't make my sister disappear."
Roman's voice was cold.
Allison Reed didn't flinch.
"Then ask him where she went."
I watched my husband's face.
Marco Velez had worked for the Bellandi family longer than I'd known Roman.
He'd arranged our wedding security.
Driven me to appointments.
Sat outside restaurants while Roman and I ate dinner in silence.
On my birthday, he always remembered to bring white roses from the florist near our house.
I'd thought it was kindness.
Now I wondered whether those flowers had been a message.
Roman studied the photograph.
"How old was Marco when this was taken?"
"Twenty-six."
"And the girl?"
"Six."
"Who raised her?"
Allison's gaze moved toward me.
"Your mother's friend."
"My mother had many friends."
"This woman lived in eastern Pennsylvania. She had been a foster parent before."
"Her name?"
Allison took a slow breath.
"Margaret Doyle."
I repeated it quietly.
The name meant nothing to me.
But Roman reacted.
"Margaret Doyle worked for my father."
"She worked in his household," Allison corrected. "She left after your mother's death."
Roman looked down.
"My father told me she'd stolen money."
"Your father told people whatever kept them from asking questions."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Roman rose.
"We're leaving."
"Roman," I said.
"Now."
Outside, the morning air felt sharp against my face.
He walked toward the sedan, stopping only when I refused to follow.
"Don't do this," I said.
"Do what?"
"Disappear behind orders every time something frightens you."
Roman turned.
"I trusted that man with my life."
"I know."
"Marco stood beside me when my father died. He carried me out of a burning warehouse ten years ago. He protected you."
"Then maybe he has an explanation."
Roman looked away.
"And maybe he's been lying to me since I was nineteen."
I reached for his hand.
This time, he was the one who seemed surprised.
"Don't become your father trying to understand him."
Roman stared at our joined hands.
Then he nodded.
Back at the mansion, Marco was waiting in the library.
Roman placed the photograph on the desk.
Marco looked at it.
For one terrible second, the room seemed to lose all sound.
"Where did you get that?" Marco asked.
Roman didn't answer.
"Where is Elena?"
Marco lowered his eyes.
"I don't know."
Roman stepped closer.
"Wrong answer."
"It's the truth."
"Then tell me what happened fifteen years ago."
Marco looked at me.
"Claire shouldn't hear this."
My anger flared.
"I'm tired of men deciding what I shouldn't hear."
He studied me.
Then he pulled out a chair.
"Sit down."
I remained standing.
Marco rubbed his forehead.
"Your father ordered me to find the girl when she was six."
Roman gripped the back of a chair.
"Why?"
"He'd learned she was alive."
"Did he know she was his daughter?"
"Yes."
"Then why send you?"
"Because he believed someone was using her to gain control of the family."
Roman's expression tightened.
"Who?"
Marco hesitated.
"Your uncle."
Roman froze.
"Salvatore?"
Marco nodded.
Salvatore Bellandi was Roman's father's younger brother.
A respectable-looking man who chaired two charitable foundations and attended Sunday Mass without fail.
He'd been at our wedding.
He'd kissed my cheek and told me Roman needed a gentle woman.
I remembered how his hand had tightened around my shoulder.
"Salvatore wanted control of the estate," Marco continued. "Your father believed he intended to use Elena's existence to challenge the inheritance."
Roman shook his head.
"Elena was a child."
"That didn't matter to Salvatore."
"What did you do?"
"I found Margaret Doyle. She refused to tell me where Elena was living."
"And?"
"I walked away."
Allison's warning echoed in my head.
Don't let Marco take the girl.
"Why did my mother think you were dangerous?" I asked.
Marco stared at me.
"Because I told Mary Hayes I'd return."
Roman moved closer.
"Did you?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because your mother found me first."
The room went quiet.
"My mother was alive then," Roman whispered.
Marco nodded.
"She knew your father wanted Elena brought home. But she didn't trust what would happen after."
Roman looked devastated.
"She never told me."
"She wanted you away from it."
"And you helped her?"
"Yes."
"Then why did the girl disappear?"
Marco's jaw tightened.
"Because someone followed Margaret to the house in Pennsylvania. She fled with Elena. We lost them."
"Who followed them?"
"Salvatore's people."
Roman turned toward the window.
For thirty years, he'd hated the memory of his father.
Now he was learning that the cruelty he'd inherited was even larger than he'd imagined.
"What about the convoy?" I asked.
Marco looked at me.
"What about it?"
"The device beneath the SUV."
His expression changed.
"I didn't put it there."
"I didn't ask whether you did."
Roman looked sharply at him.
Marco exhaled.
"I know who had access to the garage yesterday."
"Who?"
"Your uncle's driver."
Roman stared.
"Salvatore's driver was here?"
"He delivered a package from the foundation."
"What package?"
"A wooden presentation box. Your father's old watch."
Roman's face darkened.
"My father had no watch left to give me."
Marco said nothing.
Roman crossed to the shelf behind his desk.
There sat an unfamiliar walnut box.
He opened it.
Inside was a heavy gold pocket watch.
Its cover bore the Bellandi family crest.
Roman lifted it carefully.
A small folded card lay beneath.
He read it once.
Then handed it to me.
For the next generation.
No signature.
Only the initials S.B.
Salvatore Bellandi.
A chill moved through me.
"Roman, when did your uncle find out I was pregnant?"
Marco shook his head.
"He shouldn't know."
I looked toward the bracelet still lying on the desk.
Then I remembered something.
Three weeks earlier, Salvatore had visited unexpectedly.
I'd been wearing a loose cardigan.
He'd offered me a glass of wine.
When I refused, he'd smiled.
You young women are so careful these days.
My stomach tightened.
"I think he knows."
Roman looked at me.
"Why?"
I explained.
His expression became frighteningly still.
Marco's phone vibrated against the desk.
He glanced at the screen.
Then slowly turned it toward Roman.
It was a security photograph taken twenty minutes earlier.
Salvatore Bellandi was entering a private medical building in Newark.
Beside him walked a woman in a cream-colored coat.
Her face was turned toward the camera.
She had Roman's dark eyes.
And around her wrist was a tiny silver bracelet.
The same bracelet Roman had kept in his mother's wooden box.
Marco whispered, "That's impossible."
Roman stared at the image.
"Who is she?"
Marco swallowed.
"I don't know her name."
May you like
He looked at me.
"But she's the woman who delivered the package to your father's house the night before your wedding."
