Chapter 2 - THE SEVENTH CANDLE
“Answer me, Raymond.”
Alessandro Romano's voice was so quiet that I could hear the grandfather clock ticking across the dining room.
His uncle stood near the doorway, one hand resting against the polished wooden frame.
“Not here, Alessandro.”
“You had thirty-eight people watching my grandfather apologize for having a birthday. I think we're past worrying about appearances.”
Raymond glanced at the guests.
“Some family matters should remain private.”
“Then you should have kept your hands off his belongings.”
Victoria reached for Alessandro's arm.
“Darling, please. This is our engagement dinner.”
He stepped away.
“Grandpa's birthday came first.”
Nobody moved.
I stood beside Frank Romano, still holding the little paper plate beneath his chocolate cake.
His hands were trembling.
For eleven months, I'd watched that old man welcome everyone who entered the mansion.
He remembered birthdays.
Asked about sick relatives.
Saved cookies for the gardeners.
And every Sunday, whether anyone joined him or not, he sat beside the kitchen window with two cups of coffee.
One for himself.
One for the wife he'd buried four years earlier.
Now, surrounded by people wearing jewelry worth more than my annual salary, he looked utterly alone.
Alessandro noticed.
“Sophie, would you help Grandpa sit down?”
“Of course.”
I pulled out his chair.
But before Frank sat, Raymond spoke.
“Alessandro, your grandfather has been remembering certain events incorrectly.”
Frank flinched.
I'd seen that reaction before.
Whenever Raymond entered his bedroom, Frank became quieter.
Sometimes he stopped speaking altogether.
Alessandro's expression hardened.
“Then explain what actually happened.”
Raymond adjusted his cuff.
“The fire was investigated thirty-one years ago. Faulty electrical wiring. The insurance company settled. Your grandfather knows this.”
Frank shook his head.
“The investigators never saw the real basement inventory.”
Raymond stopped adjusting his cuff.
“What inventory?”
“The one Eleanor made.”
Eleanor Romano.
Frank's late wife.
Alessandro's grandmother.
The woman whose photograph had disappeared from Frank's bedroom.
Raymond gave a strained smile.
“Dad, Eleanor kept lists of everything. Flour, sugar, cleaning supplies. That doesn't mean—”
“She counted the boxes.”
The old man's voice was firmer now.
“Every Thursday night. She counted them because she knew they didn't belong to us.”
Alessandro turned toward his uncle.
“What boxes?”
Raymond looked at Victoria.
It lasted barely a second.
But I saw it.
And Alessandro did too.
“Everyone except family and essential staff should leave,” Alessandro said.
Guests began collecting their coats.
Victoria protested.
“You cannot dismiss our guests in the middle of dinner!”
“I just did.”
Within minutes, the dining room had emptied.
Only Alessandro, Frank, Raymond, Victoria, and I remained.
I started toward the kitchen.
“Sophie.”
Alessandro stopped me.
“Stay.”
Victoria's mouth tightened.
“She has no place in this conversation.”
“She was the only person willing to defend my grandfather tonight. She stays.”
I looked down.
Nobody had defended me like that in years.
Raymond pulled out a chair.
“Fine. You want the truth? Your grandfather's memory isn't what it used to be.”
Frank stared at him.
“I'm old, Raymond. I'm not stupid.”
The words landed harder than a shout.
Raymond looked away.
Alessandro crouched beside Frank.
“Grandpa, tell me about the boxes.”
Frank swallowed.
“Your father brought them.”
The room went silent.
Alessandro's parents had died when he was nine.
He rarely discussed them.
His father's name was Michael Romano.
And until that moment, I'd assumed Michael had nothing to do with the bakery fire.
Alessandro's voice changed.
“My father?”
Frank nodded.
“He came in through the back entrance after midnight. He was frightened.”
“What was inside?”
“I never opened them.”
“Why?”
“Because your grandmother told me not to.”
Raymond suddenly stood.
“That's enough.”
Alessandro looked at him.
“Sit down.”
“Your grandfather is confusing two different events.”
“Then you can explain them both.”
Raymond remained standing.
Frank reached beneath the little cake.
“There's something Eleanor wanted Alessandro to have.”
I watched him lift the paper plate.
Beneath it lay a small envelope.
Yellowed.
Carefully folded.
My stomach tightened.
I'd seen that envelope earlier.
Frank had taken it from inside his old brown coat while I helped him dress.
He'd insisted on carrying it himself.
“Grandpa,” Alessandro whispered, “what is that?”
Frank handed it to him.
“Your grandmother wrote this after the fire.”
Raymond moved forward.
“Dad, give me that.”
Alessandro stepped between them.
“Don't touch him.”
Raymond stopped.
Alessandro opened the envelope.
Inside was a faded photograph.
A younger Frank stood outside the original Romano bakery.
Eleanor stood beside him.
Six men smiled behind the counter.
And near the far edge of the picture stood a younger Raymond.
His arm rested around another man's shoulders.
Alessandro examined the photograph.
“Who is this?”
Frank leaned forward.
“That's Daniel Whitmore.”
Victoria went white.
I looked at her.
Whitmore.
Her surname.
Alessandro slowly raised his eyes.
“Your father?”
Victoria swallowed.
“Yes.”
Nobody spoke.
Finally Alessandro asked, “Why have you never told me your father knew my family?”
Victoria folded her arms.
“Because it wasn't important.”
Frank shook his head.
“He used to come every Thursday.”
Raymond snapped, “Dad.”
Frank ignored him.
“He always went downstairs with Raymond.”
Alessandro turned back to the photograph.
“Victoria, your father told me he met Raymond through real estate.”
“He did.”
“When?”
She hesitated.
“Years ago.”
Alessandro studied her.
“Before the fire?”
Victoria didn't answer.
That silence frightened me more than anything she'd said all evening.
Then Frank reached for the cake.
“The candles,” he whispered.
I looked down.
Seven small candles.
I'd assumed they represented Alessandro's childhood birthdays.
But Frank carefully removed the candle nearest the edge.
He turned it upside down.
Something tiny was wrapped around its base.
A narrow strip of paper.
Alessandro took it.
On the paper were six names.
The same six men Frank had invited.
Beneath them was a seventh name.
Daniel Whitmore.
Victoria covered her mouth.
Alessandro stared at the list.
“Grandpa, what is this?”
“The men who were there.”
“At the bakery?”
Frank nodded.
“The night it burned.”
Alessandro looked toward Victoria.
“Your father was there?”
Her eyes filled.
“Alessandro, please understand. My father was trying to protect our families.”
“From what?”
Raymond stepped forward.
“Michael made mistakes.”
Frank slammed his palm against the table.
It startled everyone.
“Don't you dare blame my dead son!”
Raymond froze.
I'd never heard Frank raise his voice.
Not once.
The old man's entire body shook.
“Michael tried to stop it.”
Alessandro crouched beside him.
“Stop what?”
Frank looked at Raymond.
Then at Victoria.
“The men moving those boxes.”
Raymond's face turned gray.
Alessandro unfolded the paper completely.
There was writing on the reverse side.
Small.
Faded.
But legible.
He read it aloud.
“Seven witnesses. Six can still speak. One must never be trusted.”
Nobody breathed.
Then Frank pointed toward Daniel Whitmore's name.
“Your grandmother wrote that before she died.”
Alessandro looked at Victoria.
“Why would Grandma say your father couldn't be trusted?”
Victoria began crying.
“My father wasn't the man everyone thought he was.”
Raymond stepped toward her.
“Victoria, don't.”
She shook her head.
“No. He deserves to know something.”
Alessandro waited.
Victoria wiped her cheeks.
“My father didn't just know about the fire.”
Her voice cracked.
“He owned the company that insured everything inside that basement.”
Alessandro stared at her.
“And?”
She looked at the photograph.
“Three weeks ago, someone reopened the claim.”
Raymond closed his eyes.
Alessandro asked, “Who?”
Victoria whispered, “A federal investigator.”
Then Frank reached into his coat again.
He removed an old brass key.
Its teeth were worn.
A small red thread was tied around the handle.
He pressed it into Alessandro's palm.
“Eleanor told me to give you this when Raymond started asking about the witnesses.”
Alessandro stared at it.
“What does it open?”
Frank's eyes filled.
“Not the bakery.”
He swallowed.
“The place your father hid what he saved from the fire.”
Raymond suddenly looked terrified.
“Dad, where did you get that key?”
Frank looked directly at his son.
May you like
And said five words that made him take a step backward.
“Michael left it for Alessandro.”
