Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN WHO WANTED HIS SON GONE
“Victoria... how long have you been making my son believe he has to give up his mother—and his home—just to keep me happy?”
Alessandro Caruso's question hung over the dining room.
Thirty-four guests sat motionless beneath the chandeliers.
Victoria Whitmore stood beside her chair, her red evening gown catching the light. For once, the woman who always knew exactly what to say appeared to have lost her words.
Then she looked directly at me.
“This is what you wanted, isn't it, Hannah?”
I felt every face turn.
“What?”
“To humiliate me in front of Alessandro. To make yourself look like the only person who cares about Benjamin.”
Alessandro stepped between us.
“Don't involve Hannah.”
Victoria laughed bitterly.
“Of course. The maid can do no wrong tonight.”
Benjamin pressed closer to his father.
“Daddy, please don't fight.”
That stopped Alessandro.
He looked down at his son's frightened face, then at the blood drying on his white shirt.
“Buddy, look at me.”
Benjamin raised his eyes.
“You haven't done anything wrong. And nobody is sending you away.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Alessandro turned toward the house manager, Mrs. Romano.
“Please take our guests into the sitting room. Dinner is over.”
Victoria stiffened.
“You cannot dismiss everyone because of a misunderstanding.”
“Watch me.”
The guests began rising.
Some avoided Victoria's eyes. Others whispered behind their hands.
Margaret Collins, the residential placement coordinator, remained standing near the end of the table.
“Mr. Caruso,” she said quietly, “I think we need to discuss the arrangements Miss Whitmore made.”
Victoria immediately shook her head.
“Margaret, this is a private family matter.”
“Then why did you invite me here?”
Margaret's question was so simple that Victoria had no answer.
Alessandro looked at the woman.
“What arrangements?”
Margaret opened the leather portfolio she'd brought to dinner.
“Miss Whitmore contacted our program three weeks ago. She explained that Benjamin was struggling after losing his mother and that you had agreed residential placement might help.”
“I never agreed to anything.”
Margaret's expression tightened.
“Then I owe you an apology. I should have insisted on speaking with you directly.”
She removed a printed orientation schedule.
“An initial visit was arranged for Monday. Your son was supposed to stay for two weeks before a final enrollment decision.”
Benjamin started shaking.
“Monday?”
I crouched beside his chair.
“Sweetheart, you're staying home.”
But he kept staring at the schedule.
“That's when Victoria said my things were leaving.”
Alessandro's jaw tightened.
“What things?”
Benjamin looked up.
“My clothes. My books. Mr. Buttons.”
Alessandro frowned.
“Your stuffed rabbit?”
Benjamin nodded.
“She said I could take one toy.”
For a moment, something terrible passed across Alessandro's face.
Not rage.
Recognition.
He was beginning to understand how much had happened inside his own home without his knowledge.
Victoria lowered herself into her chair.
“I thought a short stay would help Benjamin develop independence. You were always telling me how busy you were, Alessandro.”
“I told you I was busy. I didn't tell you to send my son away.”
“You trusted me to handle the household.”
“I trusted you to care about the people living in it.”
Victoria's eyes filled.
“I have spent two years trying to find my place in a house where another woman is still treated like she's alive.”
Nobody spoke.
She looked toward the staircase.
“Her photographs are everywhere. Her paintings are everywhere. Even the flowers in your bedroom are the same kind she loved.”
Alessandro's expression softened slightly.
“Victoria—”
“I know you loved Eleanor. I never asked you to forget her. But I thought there would eventually be room for me.”
That was the first thing she'd said all evening that sounded genuinely painful.
And for a moment, I almost understood.
Almost.
Then Benjamin whispered, “I moved Mommy's flowers.”
Alessandro looked down.
“What?”
“Last week. Victoria said they made her sad. I put them in the closet.”
Victoria closed her eyes.
Alessandro knelt.
“Buddy, why didn't you tell me?”
Benjamin stared at the floor.
“Because you were happy.”
His father went still.
“You said you were happy again.”
A tear slipped down my cheek.
Benjamin continued in a small voice.
“I didn't want to ruin it.”
Alessandro pulled his son close.
“Oh, Benjamin.”
Dr. Harris arrived twenty minutes later.
He examined Benjamin in the small downstairs study while I sat beside the boy and Alessandro stood nearby.
The physician cleaned several scratches and inspected his shoulder.
“Nothing appears broken,” he explained. “But there's bruising around the joint. I'd like an X-ray tomorrow morning to be certain.”
Benjamin winced as the doctor applied a dressing.
“You were lucky, young man.”
“I broke Mommy's picture.”
“The picture can be repaired,” Alessandro said.
Benjamin hesitated.
“Not if it's gone.”
Alessandro looked at him.
“What do you mean?”
“The big painting. The family one.”
“It's upstairs.”
Benjamin shook his head.
“No, Daddy.”
Alessandro turned toward me.
“Hannah, would you check the art room?”
I hurried upstairs.
The door stood open.
Inside, the room looked strangely empty.
The easel remained by the window.
Eleanor's wooden chair stood beside the paint cabinet.
But the walls were bare.
Cardboard boxes lined one side of the room.
I found the broken frame where Benjamin had fallen.
The gold-colored molding had been wrapped in packing paper.
But the painting itself was missing.
I searched every box.
The sailboat.
The yellow bicycle.
The sleeping puppy.
Even Benjamin's finger paintings from kindergarten.
Everything was there except the portrait of Eleanor, Alessandro, and their son.
Mrs. Romano appeared in the doorway.
“Looking for something?”
“The family portrait.”
Her face changed.
“That was taken downstairs this morning.”
“By whom?”
“Two men from the restoration company. Miss Whitmore said the painting needed professional cleaning.”
A terrible suspicion formed.
“Did they leave a receipt?”
Mrs. Romano nodded toward a clipboard on the cabinet.
I found the receipt immediately.
Three framed artworks collected.
But only two were listed for restoration.
The third carried a handwritten instruction.
Separate handling. Private delivery.
Below it was an address in Manhattan.
And beside the address, a delivery date.
Saturday.
Victoria's wedding day.
I carried the receipt downstairs.
Alessandro was helping Benjamin into a clean sweater.
When he saw my expression, he stopped.
“Hannah?”
“The painting isn't upstairs.”
Victoria, who had remained near the doorway, immediately spoke.
“I told you. It's being restored.”
I handed Alessandro the receipt.
He studied it.
“Private delivery?”
Victoria approached.
“It was supposed to be a wedding surprise.”
“Where was it being delivered?”
She hesitated.
“To my apartment.”
Alessandro looked up.
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to preserve it until after the wedding.”
“Then why did you tell Benjamin it was going in the trash?”
Victoria looked away.
“I said something careless. I was frustrated.”
Alessandro folded the receipt.
“Where is the painting now?”
“At the restoration company, I assume.”
“Then we'll collect it tomorrow.”
Victoria's face lost color.
“You can't.”
The room went quiet.
Alessandro stared at her.
“Why not?”
“Because... it's no longer there.”
“Where is it?”
Victoria pressed her lips together.
Then she looked toward her brother, Julian, who had remained near the study doorway.
He appeared equally uncomfortable.
“Julian,” she whispered, “tell him.”
Julian Whitmore slowly removed his glasses.
“Alessandro, there's something you need to understand about that painting.”
Alessandro said nothing.
Julian glanced at Benjamin.
“It wasn't sent out for cleaning.”
“Then where was it sent?”
Julian swallowed.
“To an auction broker.”
Benjamin made a small sound.
Alessandro's voice became dangerously quiet.
“You tried to sell my son's last family portrait?”
Julian shook his head.
“You don't understand. Victoria told me you'd already approved the transaction.”
“Transaction?”
Julian opened his phone and turned the screen toward Alessandro.
A photograph of Eleanor's painting filled the display.
Beneath it was a description.
Eleanor Caruso. Untitled Family Portrait. Private Collection.
And underneath that was a number.
Estimated value: $1.8 million.
Alessandro stared at it.
But Julian wasn't finished.
“The buyer has already paid a deposit.”
“How much?”
“Four hundred thousand dollars.”
Victoria covered her face.
Alessandro slowly lifted his eyes.
“Victoria... where is that money?”
She didn't answer.
Julian looked at his sister.
May you like
Then he said the words that changed everything.
“Tell him what you used it for, Victoria. Before he discovers what you signed in Benjamin's name.”
