Chapter 2 - The Bracelet Under Vivien’s Sleeve
“She slapped Beatrice.”
Dominic stared at Nora.
For several seconds, the storm outside filled the silence.
“That explains why you hit her,” he said.
“It explains why I stood up.”
Nora turned from the broken window.
“What happened after that explains everything else.”
Dominic’s expression hardened.
He had learned years ago that people revealed themselves most clearly when they were frightened. Nora was not frightened now.
That disturbed him more than the blood.
“Start at the beginning.”
Nora looked toward the hallway.
“Bring Beatrice in first.”
“This isn’t a negotiation.”
“No.”
Her gaze held his.
“It’s your housekeeper’s dignity.”
That stopped him.
Dominic opened the doors himself.
Beatrice stood halfway down the corridor, clutching a dish towel between trembling hands. A red mark crossed one cheek.
His jaw tightened.
“Come here.”
She entered carefully.
When she saw Nora, something complicated passed through her face.
Fear.
Gratitude.
And recognition.
Dominic noticed all three.
“Tell me what happened.”
Beatrice swallowed.
“Miss Vivien came through the front entrance shortly after four. Frankie tried to stop her.”
“Then why was he unconscious?”
“She didn’t strike him.”
Dominic went still.
“Who did?”
Beatrice looked at Nora.
Nora sighed.
“Frankie.”
Dominic frowned.
“That makes no sense.”
“He tried to pull me away after Vivien slapped Beatrice.”
“You knocked out my guard?”
“He grabbed me from behind.”
Nora rubbed one bruised wrist.
“He won’t do that again.”
For the first time, Dominic almost laughed.
He did not.
Beatrice continued.
“Miss Vivien said she wanted five minutes alone with Miss Nora. She said Mr. Gallo had promised.”
“I promised no such thing.”
“I know.”
Beatrice’s voice became quieter.
“She said Miss Nora was living in a house that should have been hers.”
Nora picked up the iron poker and placed it beside the fireplace.
“She also said you would eventually remember what kind of woman belonged beside you.”
Dominic’s face darkened.
“That sounds like Vivien.”
“That wasn’t what started the fight.”
Nora looked at Beatrice.
Beatrice lowered her eyes.
“Miss Vivien asked me to leave. I told her I would not.”
“And then?”
“She slapped me.”
Dominic’s entire body changed.
It was subtle.
His shoulders relaxed.
His voice became softer.
Anyone who knew him understood those were bad signs.
“Where is Vivien now?”
Nora stepped between him and the door.
“Don’t.”
His eyes dropped to her.
“Move.”
“You already put her in a basement.”
“She hit Beatrice.”
“And I broke her nose.”
“That wasn’t permission to hit Beatrice.”
“No.”
Nora’s voice sharpened.
“But if you go downstairs angry, Arthur Marchetti gets a dead daughter and we get a war.”
The room went silent.
Dominic hated that she was right.
He hated even more that she understood the calculation immediately.
“You’ve thought about syndicate retaliation before?”
Nora said nothing.
There it was again.
That other woman behind the woman he knew.
Dominic crossed to her slowly.
“How?”
Nora’s mouth tightened.
“Because Vivien wasn’t the first person Arthur Marchetti sent into my life.”
Beatrice suddenly dropped the dish towel.
Dominic looked at her.
She had gone pale.
“You know something.”
“No, sir.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Bea.”
Her eyes filled.
Nora reached for her hand.
“Don’t force her.”
That single sentence changed Dominic’s suspicion.
He had assumed Nora was hiding something from everyone.
Now he realized Beatrice might have been helping her hide it.
“Leave us.”
Beatrice hesitated.
Nora squeezed her hand.
“It’s all right.”
When the door closed, Dominic turned.
“How long has she known?”
“Known what?”
“Whatever you’re hiding.”
Nora stared at the fireplace.
“Pieces.”
“How long?”
“Six months.”
Dominic felt something unpleasant open beneath his ribs.
They had been together eleven months.
“You told my housekeeper something you wouldn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t tell her.”
“Then how did she know?”
“She found something.”
Nora walked toward a small writing desk that had somehow survived the fight.
She opened the lowest drawer.
From beneath a stack of restoration invoices, she removed a cream envelope.
Dominic recognized his own stationery.
The envelope was addressed to Nora.
No stamp.
No return address.
“She found this under my pillow.”
Dominic took it.
Inside was a single photograph.
The image was old.
Perhaps twenty years.
Five people stood outside a brick building.
Arthur Marchetti was younger, heavier, smiling with one arm around another man Dominic did not recognize.
Beside them stood two women.
And in front stood a girl of perhaps fourteen.
Brown hair.
Thin shoulders.
Eyes that looked directly into the camera without smiling.
Dominic’s fingers tightened.
“Nora.”
“Yes.”
“You knew Arthur when you were fourteen?”
“I knew what he did.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
She stepped away.
Dominic turned the photograph over.
Three words had been written in black ink.
STILL PRETENDING, ELEANOR?
Dominic looked up.
“Who is Eleanor?”
Nora’s face lost what little color remained.
Before she could answer, footsteps sounded outside.
Leo entered without knocking.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“Vivien wants medical attention.”
“She’ll get it.”
“That’s not why I came.”
Leo held something small in his palm.
A bracelet.
Thin silver links.
A tiny blue enamel bird hung from the clasp.
“We found this caught inside her coat.”
Nora stopped breathing.
Dominic noticed instantly.
“You recognize it?”
“No.”
Leo looked between them.
“She says it belongs to Nora.”
Nora’s answer came too quickly.
“She’s lying.”
Dominic lifted the bracelet.
There was engraving on the inside.
Not a name.
A date.
June 14, 2002.
Nora turned away.
Dominic caught her arm.
“Whose bracelet?”
“Let go.”
“Whose?”
“Dominic.”
“Tell me.”
For the first time since he entered the room, fear broke through Nora’s control.
Not fear of him.
Fear of the bracelet.
She pulled free and crossed to the window.
Leo quietly left.
Dominic waited.
Finally, Nora spoke.
“My sister wore that bracelet the night she disappeared.”
Dominic felt the room tilt.
“You never told me you had a sister.”
“I don’t.”
He frowned.
“You just said—”
“She disappeared twenty-four years ago.”
Nora looked at him.
“And three days later, everyone was told she had never existed.”
Dominic stared at the bracelet.
“Who told them?”
Nora’s eyes settled on the old photograph in his hand.
“Arthur Marchetti.”
A terrible understanding began forming.
Dominic looked again at the teenage girl in the photograph.
At Nora.
At the words written on the back.
STILL PRETENDING, ELEANOR?
“What was your sister’s name?”
Nora hesitated.
Then her voice dropped almost to a whisper.
“Eleanor.”
Dominic looked from the photograph to Nora.
“But the note calls you Eleanor.”
Nora closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, the woman Dominic knew seemed farther away than ever.
May you like
“That’s because Nora isn’t my name.”
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