Chapter 3 - WHAT ANTHONY WANTED
Roman did not ask the question gently.
“Why?”
Lena looked at Sophie.
Roman understood.
“Caleb.”
This time Lena did not object when Caleb crossed the room.
He knelt instead of reaching for Sophie.
“There’s hot chocolate upstairs.”
Sophie looked suspicious.
“Marshmallows?”
“Too many.”
Sophie turned to Lena.
“Mommy comes?”
Lena touched her cheek.
“In a minute.”
Sophie pointed at Roman.
“Daddy too?”
Roman could not speak for a second.
Lena answered for him.
“Yes.”
Sophie studied Roman.
Then she took Caleb’s hand.
“Three marshmallows.”
Caleb nodded solemnly.
“Exactly three.”
When they disappeared upstairs, Lena’s shoulders dropped.
Roman noticed how carefully she lowered herself into a chair.
“You need a doctor.”
“I’ve had doctors.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.”
“I know.”
Roman stayed several feet away.
“Why did Anthony take you?”
Lena rubbed the mark left by an IV on her wrist.
“Because I found him.”
Three years earlier, Lena had been organizing old D’Angelo Foundation archives before a renovation.
She found expense ledgers for buildings supposedly sold decades earlier.
One was Hawthorne.
Another was a small farmhouse in Pennsylvania.
Every payment was authorized through shell charities Anthony had created before his reported death.
“I thought it was old fraud,” Lena said.
“So I followed the invoices.”
“You went alone?”
“I didn’t know I was looking for a dead man.”
Roman’s mouth tightened.
Lena had driven to Hawthorne carrying six-month-old Sophie.
The building appeared abandoned.
Then she saw a light.
Inside, Anthony D’Angelo was sitting at a table drinking coffee.
Twenty-six years older than the man Roman remembered.
But unmistakable.
“He knew who I was before I spoke.”
Lena looked at Roman.
“He knew Sophie too.”
Roman felt sick.
“What did he say?”
“He said you were living a life built on a stolen name.”
Eleanor whispered, “Anthony always knew exactly where to cut.”
Lena continued.
“He showed me the original birth certificate. He showed me photographs of Marianne. Gabriel. You.”
Roman stared at the Saint Christopher medal.
“And then?”
“I tried to leave.”
“He stopped you.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He told me if I walked out, he would tell everyone who you really were.”
Roman almost laughed.
“That was enough?”
“No.”
Lena’s eyes hardened.
“He said the people who followed the old D’Angelo succession rules would remove you if they learned Eleanor’s biological son had died.”
Tessa frowned.
“Remove?”
Eleanor answered.
“Roman controlled businesses Anthony’s old partners believed belonged only to Anthony’s legitimate family line.”
Roman looked at her.
“I am Anthony’s son?”
Eleanor hesitated.
“As far as I know.”
Roman heard the qualification.
“As far as you know.”
“Marianne told him you were his.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No.”
Roman looked back at Lena.
“So Anthony threatened my position.”
“He threatened your life.”
The room fell quiet.
Lena reached into the pocket of her hospital gown and removed a folded child’s drawing.
Crayon covered the page.
A house.
Four people.
A gray-haired man standing apart.
And a black car.
Sophie had drawn a red X over the man.
Roman stared at it.
“She made this?”
“Six months ago.”
Lena touched the black car.
“Anthony used to come in one like that.”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“Used to?”
Eleanor answered.
“He stopped coming fourteen months ago.”
Roman turned.
“Why?”
“Because I took control of Hawthorne.”
“How?”
“I paid the people he was paying more.”
Tessa gave a humorless smile.
“And then threatened anyone who wouldn’t cooperate?”
Eleanor looked at the red marks still faintly visible around Tessa’s wrist.
“Yes.”
At least she did not pretend otherwise.
Roman said, “You rescued them from Anthony and then kept them prisoner.”
Eleanor flinched.
“I moved Lena twice. Every time she attempted to contact you, someone from Anthony’s network appeared within hours.”
“You could have told me.”
“And risked him learning you knew he was alive?”
“I would have handled it.”
“That is exactly what Anthony wanted you to believe.”
Roman took one step toward her.
“I spent three years mourning my wife and child.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
His voice remained low.
“That is something you watched.”
Eleanor’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
It was the first time she looked old to him.
Not powerful.
Not elegant.
Just old.
Lena said, “There’s more.”
Roman turned immediately.
She placed her hand over her stomach.
Not because she was pregnant now.
Because she remembered being so.
Roman understood before she spoke.
His face changed.
“No.”
Lena closed her eyes.
“When Anthony took us, I was eight weeks pregnant.”
The floor might as well have disappeared.
Roman backed into the edge of a table.
“You never told me.”
“I found out two days before Hawthorne.”
“Lena…”
“I was going to tell you Christmas morning.”
Her voice broke.
Roman looked toward the stairwell where Sophie had disappeared.
“Where is the baby?”
Nobody answered.
Roman’s gaze snapped to Eleanor.
“Where is my child?”
Eleanor’s lips parted.
Lena spoke first.
“A boy.”
Roman forgot how to breathe.
Lena was crying now.
“His name is Nicholas.”
Roman moved toward her instinctively.
Then stopped himself.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
The word nearly dropped him.
Roman pressed a fist against his mouth.
A son.
Almost three years old.
A child who had never heard his father say his name.
“Where?”
Lena looked at Eleanor.
Roman followed her gaze.
Eleanor whispered, “Not Hawthorne.”
“Where?”
“I moved him after Anthony tried to take him.”
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
Roman’s face became terrifyingly calm.
“Where is my son?”
Eleanor shook her head.
“I can’t tell you until I know Anthony isn’t watching.”
Roman slammed his palm against the metal cabinet.
Tessa jumped.
Lena did not.
She had expected worse.
Roman immediately regretted it.
He lowered his hand.
“Sorry.”
Lena stared at him.
Then, unexpectedly, she said, “Thank you.”
For stopping.
For remembering Sophie was upstairs.
For not becoming the monster fear had taught her to expect.
Tessa quietly walked to a rack of belongings recovered from Lena’s room.
“Is this yours?”
She held up an old wool coat.
Lena nodded.
Tessa examined a torn seam.
Something stiff was inside.
She opened it carefully.
A yellow train ticket fell out.
Pennsylvania.
Dated eleven months earlier.
Eleanor’s face changed.
Roman noticed.
“Where does that go?”
Tessa read the destination.
“Bryn Mawr.”
Lena stared.
“I never went there.”
Roman looked at Eleanor.
“Who wore the coat?”
Eleanor said nothing.
Roman grabbed the ticket.
On the back was a child’s shaky blue crayon mark.
A letter N.
Roman’s pulse surged.
“My son had this.”
Eleanor finally spoke.
“Yes.”
Roman stepped closer.
“You said you moved him.”
“I did.”
“To Pennsylvania?”
“No.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed.
“Then why is Nicholas’s mark on a ticket to Bryn Mawr?”
Eleanor looked toward the dark hallway.
“Because I wasn’t the one who bought it.”
Silence.
Roman’s fingers tightened around the ticket.
May you like
Eleanor’s voice dropped.
“Anthony was.”
