Chapter 4 - THE WATCH WITH ROMAN’S NAME
Roman did not move.
For several seconds, Amelia thought he had stopped breathing.
Then he took the watch from her hand.
Very carefully.
“Say that again.”
Walter looked miserable.
“I said the baby everyone called Roman DeLuca.”
Roman’s eyes hardened.
“That isn’t an answer.”
Walter nodded.
“You’re right.”
He glanced at Eleanor.
She lowered herself into a chair.
Roman noticed.
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“How long?”
“Thirty years.”
The words were almost too large for the room.
Roman stared at his mother.
“You suspected for thirty years that Victor DeLuca might not be my father?”
Eleanor cried silently.
“I knew Victor raised you.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“No.”
Roman’s voice grew quieter.
Amelia had seen enough that night to understand what that meant.
He was furious.
“Then answer me.”
Eleanor looked at him.
“I believed Gabriel might be your biological father.”
Roman laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
Henry stepped closer.
“Roman—”
“Don’t.”
Henry stopped.
Roman looked at the engraving again.
FOR MY SON, R.
Amelia understood his anger.
The man he had mourned for eleven years.
The family name.
The stories.
The expectations.
Everything had just shifted beneath him.
“Why didn’t Victor tell me?”
Eleanor wiped her face.
“Because he loved you.”
“That answer insults both of us.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Love doesn’t require thirty years of deception.”
“No.”
Eleanor looked at him steadily.
“Fear does.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed.
“Fear of what?”
Walter stood and crossed to an old wooden dresser.
He opened the bottom drawer.
From beneath folded sweaters, he removed a small metal box.
Amelia had seen it dozens of times.
Walter kept stamps inside.
Or so she thought.
He opened it.
Inside lay a black-and-white photograph.
A hospital employee badge.
And a rosary wrapped around a folded piece of cloth.
Walter handed the badge to Roman.
CLAIRE DONNELLY — REGISTERED NURSE
Amelia touched the photograph.
Claire was perhaps twenty-six.
Dark hair.
Strong eyes.
A smile that looked familiar.
Amelia’s breath caught.
She had seen that smile in her own mirror.
Walter handed her the rosary.
“She wore it every day.”
Amelia closed her fingers around it.
The metal was warm from Walter’s hand.
“Why do you have this?”
“Margaret gave it to me the day she brought you home.”
Roman turned to Walter.
“You were twelve.”
“Yes.”
“And she trusted you with all this?”
“No.”
Walter looked at Amelia.
“She trusted me with Amelia.”
That landed differently.
Margaret had not merely inherited a baby.
She had chosen one.
Protected one.
Loved one.
Amelia sat beside Walter.
For the first time since entering the house, she touched his arm.
He covered her hand.
Roman watched them.
Something in his expression softened.
Then Henry ruined the quiet.
“The engraving matters.”
Roman looked at him.
“Obviously.”
“No. The date matters.”
He pointed.
“The watch was engraved the day after the births.”
“So?”
“Gabriel couldn’t have had it engraved then.”
Roman frowned.
“Why not?”
“Because he was already missing.”
Silence.
Amelia looked down.
The engraving had been added after Gabriel disappeared.
“Then someone else did it.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Henry looked at Eleanor.
“Victor.”
Roman’s gaze followed.
Eleanor nodded.
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“My father engraved another man’s watch for me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He wanted you to find it someday.”
“Then why hide it in Claire’s coat?”
Eleanor shook her head.
“I didn’t.”
Walter answered.
“Margaret did.”
Amelia looked at him.
“Did Margaret know Roman?”
“No.”
“Then why keep something meant for him?”
Walter hesitated.
“Because she didn’t trust Eleanor.”
Eleanor looked wounded.
Walter continued.
“She didn’t trust Henry either.”
Henry almost smiled.
“That was sensible.”
“And she absolutely didn’t trust Victor.”
Roman turned.
“My father saved Amelia.”
Walter shook his head.
“Maybe.”
Roman became still.
“What does that mean?”
Walter reached into the metal box again.
This time he removed a torn page from an old appointment calendar.
Three names were written beside the date of Amelia’s birth:
CLAIRE — 2:10 A.M.
DIANE — 2:52 A.M.
ELEANOR — 4:05 A.M.
Roman stared.
“My mother gave birth that night?”
Eleanor closed her eyes.
Amelia looked at her stomach instinctively.
“What?”
Roman spoke first.
“You told me I was born at St. Catherine’s.”
“I was.”
“You told me labor started after midnight.”
“Yes.”
“Then who are Claire’s and Diane’s babies?”
No one answered.
Roman’s eyes moved from Eleanor to Henry.
Then Vanessa.
Vanessa had followed with Anthony but remained near the hallway.
She finally spoke.
“Now you understand why I panicked.”
Roman looked at her.
“No. I understand why everyone lied.”
Vanessa stepped into the bedroom.
“My mother gave birth at 2:52.”
“To whom?”
“A boy.”
“And my mother?”
Vanessa looked at Eleanor.
Eleanor whispered, “A boy.”
Amelia’s pulse accelerated.
“Then Claire?”
Walter swallowed.
“A girl.”
Amelia.
Three births.
Three babies.
One hospital bracelet marked Baby Boy DeLuca — B.
Roman turned to Eleanor.
“Which boy left the hospital with you?”
Eleanor looked at him.
“You.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Her voice broke.
“I don’t know.”
Roman stared at her.
Eleanor began crying.
“I was sedated. There were complications. Victor brought you to me the next afternoon.”
“You never questioned it?”
“He said our baby was healthy.”
“And you believed him.”
“I wanted to.”
Roman looked away.
Amelia saw his control slipping.
Not into violence.
Into grief.
That was worse.
She spoke quietly.
“Roman.”
He glanced at her.
“We don’t know that Gabriel was your father.”
He looked at the watch.
“My name is engraved on his property.”
“By Victor.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“No. But it means Victor wanted you asking questions, not accepting the easiest answer.”
Roman held her gaze.
Slowly, he nodded.
She was right.
That mattered.
Henry looked at Walter.
“What happened after Claire delivered?”
Walter stared at the floor.
“I saw Victor arguing with Gabriel near the service elevators.”
“What did they say?”
“I was twelve.”
“Try.”
Walter shut his eyes.
“Gabriel kept saying, ‘You can’t decide for her.’”
Amelia’s heart pounded.
“For Claire?”
“I assumed.”
“And Victor?”
Walter’s voice became smaller.
“He said, ‘If Salvatore learns there are three babies, one of them won’t leave here.’”
Nobody moved.
Roman looked at Henry.
“My grandfather?”
Henry nodded grimly.
“Salvatore was obsessed with succession.”
Roman understood.
A recognized DeLuca heir.
An illegitimate DeLuca bloodline.
A Caruso child with powerful grandparents.
Three newborns whose identities could change two criminal dynasties.
Vanessa spoke.
“My grandfather Dominic Caruso would never have allowed Diane’s baby to be raised outside his control.”
Roman looked at her.
“And my grandfather?”
“Same disease. Different last name.”
For once, Roman did not argue.
Amelia looked at Walter.
“What happened next?”
“I went downstairs to finish deliveries.”
“When did you see Margaret?”
“Just before sunrise.”
“Carrying me?”
Walter nodded.
“She was terrified.”
“Did she say who gave me to her?”
“Claire.”
Amelia gripped the rosary.
“So Claire was alive after Gabriel disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
Walter’s eyes filled.
“Long enough to say one sentence.”
“What?”
“She told Margaret, ‘Don’t let them call her by the wrong name.’”
Amelia frowned.
“What name?”
“I don’t know.”
Roman looked toward the calendar page.
Three births.
Three babies.
Three families.
Then Noah appeared in the bedroom doorway.
Anthony immediately turned.
“I thought you were sleeping.”
“I couldn’t.”
Roman softened instantly.
“Come here.”
Noah walked to him.
Roman pulled him close.
The boy looked at the watch.
“Is that Grandpa’s?”
Roman hesitated.
“No.”
Noah studied the engraving.
“Then why does it say R?”
Roman’s face tightened.
Before he could answer, Noah reached into his pajama pocket.
“I forgot.”
He handed Amelia a folded paper.
“I found this in Grandma’s piano last week.”
Eleanor looked startled.
“What?”
Noah unfolded it.
Another child’s drawing.
Older than the first.
Three infants in hospital bassinets.
Above them, different symbols had been drawn.
A cross.
A bell.
And a crown.
Underneath, in Claire Donnelly’s handwriting, were three initials:
A.R.
R.D.
M.C.
Amelia stared at hers.
Roman stared at his.
Vanessa went white at the third.
“M.C.”
Roman looked at her.
“Who is M.C.?”
Vanessa whispered, “My brother.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed.
“You don’t have a brother.”
Vanessa looked at him with the same terrible expression Eleanor had worn hours earlier.
“I was told he died the night he was born.”
Noah pointed to the drawing.
“But all three babies are alive.”
Every adult looked down.
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Beneath the bassinets, Claire had written one final line:
THEY CHANGED THE NAMES, NOT THE CHILDREN.
