Chapter 3 - THE NAME MY HUSBAND REFUSED TO SAY|
The stranger's final words followed us long after the police arrived.
“Ask your husband what happened to the first woman who tried to save a Coretti.”
I repeated them silently while sitting inside the bridal suite.
My dress smelled of spilled champagne.
My fingertips throbbed beneath their medical tape.
Somewhere downstairs, frightened guests were being interviewed by police officers.
The magnificent wedding I'd worked forty nights to save had become a crime scene.
And my husband hadn't looked me in the eye since the gunman spoke.
Dominic stood beside the window, talking quietly on his phone.
“Use the original security footage.”
“No edited copies.”
“I want every camera from the loading dock to the ballroom.”
He listened.
“And nobody leaves until they've been identified.”
Then he ended the call.
I watched his reflection in the glass.
Even from across the room, I could see how tightly he was holding himself together.
“Dominic?”
He turned.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Did the glass cut you?”
“No.”
“Clara, please.”
His voice softened.
“Tell me if something happened.”
I looked down at my bandages.
Something had happened.
For six months, I'd lived inside his home like an expensive object nobody knew where to place.
I'd eaten alone.
Slept alone.
And learned to recognize his footsteps in the hallway without ever expecting them to stop outside my bedroom.
Then, within an hour, he'd defended me in front of two hundred people.
He'd held my hand.
He'd called me his wife as if the word meant something.
But he was still withholding the one answer I needed.
“Who was the woman?”
His expression closed.
“What woman?”
“The one the gunman mentioned.”
He looked toward the door.
“That's not something you need to worry about.”
I stood.
The movement sent pain shooting through my fingertips.
“Please don't do that.”
His eyes returned to mine.
“Do what?”
“Decide what I'm allowed to know.”
A muscle moved along his jaw.
“Clara, this is complicated.”
“So is being married to a man whose family treats me like furniture.”
He flinched.
I hadn't intended to hurt him.
But once the words began, I couldn't stop them.
“I understand why we married.”
“My father's debts were dangerous.”
“My brother needed surgery.”
“You helped us.”
“I've never forgotten that.”
My throat tightened.
“But I have spent six months trying to prove I'm worth more than the arrangement that brought me here.”
Dominic remained silent.
“And today, when a man tried to murder your sister, I noticed him because nobody wanted me anywhere near the celebration.”
I laughed once, without humor.
“If Beatrice had allowed me to sit at the head table, perhaps I wouldn't have seen him.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
“That thought has occurred to me.”
“Then tell me the truth.”
He approached slowly.
For a moment, I thought he might finally answer.
Instead, he reached for my injured hand.
“Who bandaged these?”
“I did.”
“Why didn't you ask someone to help?”
“Because I didn't want anyone to know.”
“Why?”
I looked away.
“Because every kind thing I've done in this house has eventually been turned into something embarrassing.”
His breathing changed.
“Clara.”
“I didn't want Isabella to think I was trying to buy her affection.”
Dominic stared at me.
“You worked forty nights on that gown.”
I nodded.
“You ruined your hands.”
“They'll heal.”
“And you never told me.”
I forced a small smile.
“You were busy.”
He looked as though I'd struck him.
Then he gently turned my palm upward.
The bandages were stained with tiny spots of blood.
“I'm sorry.”
Two simple words.
But they came from a man whose apologies were apparently rarer than diamonds.
I wanted to believe them.
I wanted to fall against his chest and pretend our marriage had suddenly changed.
Instead, I asked again.
“Who was she?”
Dominic lowered his eyes.
“My mother.”
The room seemed to shrink.
I'd seen portraits of Elena Coretti throughout the mansion.
Beautiful dark hair.
Warm brown eyes.
A delicate pearl necklace in almost every photograph.
But nobody spoke about her.
Whenever I'd asked, the servants changed the subject.
Dominic looked toward the window.
“She died twenty-two years ago.”
“How?”
He hesitated.
“In a fire.”
I remembered something.
The gunman's silver watch.
The way Beatrice had reacted when he mentioned the first woman.
And the strange fact that Elena's portrait had been removed from the main staircase shortly after my wedding.
“Was it an accident?”
Dominic didn't answer.
A knock interrupted us.
Marco entered with Isabella and Adrian.
Isabella was still wearing her wedding gown.
Her mascara had smudged beneath her eyes, but she looked determined.
“Dominic, I need to tell you something.”
He immediately straightened.
“What is it?”
She glanced at me.
“Clara should hear this.”
Dominic's expression tightened.
“Isabella.”
“No.”
His sister stepped closer.
“You don't get to keep deciding what women in this family deserve to know.”
I stared at her.
I'd never heard Isabella speak to him that way.
She reached into the hidden pocket of her wedding gown.
A pocket I had sewn into the lining at her request.
She withdrew a small ivory envelope.
“This was left in my bridal suite.”
Dominic took it.
“Who delivered it?”
“I don't know.”
“It was under my bouquet when I returned after the ceremony.”
Inside was a single photograph.
Dominic studied it.
Then his face went completely white.
I leaned closer.
The picture showed a young woman standing outside a stone house.
She wore a pale dress and held a little boy's hand.
Elena Coretti.
And a young Dominic.
But someone else stood beside them.
A man in a dark suit.
His face had been scratched away.
On the back of the photograph, written in blue ink, were seven words.
SHE KNEW WHAT WAS IN THE BASEMENT.
Dominic gripped the photograph so tightly it bent.
Isabella covered her mouth.
“Is that Mom?”
He nodded.
“What's the basement?”
Dominic stared at the words.
“The old Bellhaven house.”
Adrian stepped forward.
“Your family's former summer property?”
“Yes.”
“I thought it burned down.”
Dominic didn't respond.
I remembered the household staff mentioning Bellhaven once.
A mansion on the Hudson River.
A property abandoned after Elena died.
Nobody was allowed to visit.
And Beatrice personally handled its maintenance contracts.
“Dominic,” I said carefully.
“Did your mother die there?”
He nodded.
“Was your aunt there?”
The silence answered before he did.
“Yes.”
Isabella began shaking.
“Aunt Beatrice told me she was in Manhattan that night.”
Dominic turned toward her.
“Are you sure?”
“She told me herself.”
“Every year.”
Their eyes met.
Something terrible passed between them.
Marco's phone vibrated.
He checked the message.
“Boss, the police found another weapon.”
“Where?”
“Inside a floral delivery crate.”
My stomach dropped.
Marco continued.
“And there's something else.”
He looked directly at me.
“One of the hotel's exterior cameras caught the gunman meeting someone before the reception.”
Dominic extended his hand.
Marco showed him the screen.
I stepped closer.
The footage was grainy.
A man in a catering jacket stood beside a black sedan.
A second figure approached.
They exchanged a small envelope.
Then the second person turned toward the camera.
I stopped breathing.
Because the face on the screen belonged to someone I'd known my entire life.
My father.
Thomas Bennett.
The same man whose gambling debt had forced me to marry Dominic.
The same man who had cried at my wedding and promised he'd never let me down again.
And there he was, standing beside the man who had just tried to murder my sister-in-law.
Dominic slowly turned toward me.
“Clara.”
I couldn't speak.
My father's face remained frozen on the screen.
Then Marco enlarged the image.
Something glittered around my father's wrist.
A silver bracelet.
I recognized it instantly.
My grandmother had given it to him before she died.
There could be no mistake.
It was him.
Dominic's voice became low and careful.
“Did you know your father was here today?”
I shook my head.
“He wasn't invited.”
“Have you spoken to him recently?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“About what?”
“He asked whether you would reconsider the conditions of his debt.”
Dominic went very still.
“What conditions?”
I stared at him.
“The payments.”
“The remaining balance.”
“Dominic, what do you mean?”
He looked at Marco.
Then back at me.
“Clara, your father's debt was settled before our wedding.”
My heart seemed to stop.
“What?”
“I paid the full amount six months ago.”
I gripped the edge of the dresser.
“But he told me I still owed him favors.”
Dominic's eyes darkened.
“What favors?”
I swallowed hard.
“He asked me to photograph documents from your study.”
The room went silent.
Dominic stepped closer.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“He said it was the only way to keep my brother safe.”
“And what did you tell him?”
I looked at my husband through gathering tears.
“I told him I'd rather lose my family than betray the man who saved it.”
For a long moment, Dominic said nothing.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed almost immediately.
“Where?”
He listened.
“Lock down the property.”
Then he ended the call.
“What happened?” I whispered.
He looked at me.
“Your father just entered our mansion.”
My stomach twisted.
“Why?”
Dominic reached for his jacket.
“Because someone gave him the security code.”
May you like
He paused at the doorway.
“And because whatever he came to steal is worth killing for.”
