Chapter 4 - THE ROOM BEHIND THE LIBRARY|
By the time we reached the Coretti mansion, police cars had already surrounded the front gates.
Their lights flashed against the old stone walls.
I sat beside Dominic in the back of his armored SUV, gripping my injured hands together.
Neither of us had spoken during the drive.
Every few minutes, he glanced toward me.
I could feel the questions he wasn't asking.
Had my father betrayed us?
Had I known more than I'd admitted?
Was I a threat to his family?
The possibility hurt more than I wanted to acknowledge.
When the SUV stopped, Dominic finally spoke.
“Clara, look at me.”
I turned.
“Whatever your father has done, you are not responsible for it.”
I wanted to believe him.
But he'd once married me because of my father's mistakes.
I knew better than most people how easily one person's sins could become another person's sentence.
We entered through the side door.
Mrs. Alvarez, the longtime housekeeper, was waiting in the foyer.
Her face was pale.
“Mr. Coretti, I'm so sorry.”
Dominic looked around.
“Where is he?”
“In the west wing.”
“Is he armed?”
“I don't know.”
She swallowed.
“He asked for Mrs. Coretti.”
I froze.
“For me?”
Mrs. Alvarez nodded.
“He said he had something that belonged to her grandmother.”
Dominic turned toward Marco.
“Secure every exit.”
Then he looked at me.
“You're staying here.”
“No.”
“Clara.”
“My father came looking for me.”
“That doesn't make him safe.”
“I know.”
I looked toward the dark hallway.
“But I need to hear what he has to say.”
Dominic studied my face.
Then he nodded once.
“Beside me.”
We found my father standing inside Dominic's private library.
He looked older than I remembered.
His gray suit was wrinkled.
His hair hung damp against his forehead.
And his right hand was shaking so badly that he could barely hold the small wooden box pressed against his chest.
“Clara.”
His voice broke.
I stopped several feet away.
“Dad.”
He took a step toward me.
Dominic moved immediately.
“Stay where you are.”
My father froze.
His eyes shifted toward Dominic.
“I didn't come to hurt anyone.”
“Then explain why you met the gunman at my sister's wedding.”
The box slipped slightly in my father's hands.
“I didn't know he was going to shoot.”
Dominic's expression hardened.
“That isn't an answer.”
My father looked at me desperately.
“Clara, I need you to understand.”
I felt something inside me grow cold.
“You told me I still owed money.”
He blinked.
“You told me Dominic could take everything away if I didn't help you.”
“Sweetheart—”
“You asked me to steal from my husband.”
My voice cracked.
“And today, a man you met tried to kill Isabella.”
My father looked toward the floor.
“I know.”
The admission made me step backward.
Dominic's hand moved to my shoulder.
“Start talking, Bennett.”
My father lowered himself into a leather chair.
“I thought they only wanted information.”
“Who?”
He swallowed.
“Beatrice.”
The silence felt physical.
I stared at him.
“Aunt Beatrice?”
My father nodded.
“She contacted me three months ago.”
“She knew about my old debts.”
“She knew I had started gambling again.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
The promises.
The apologies.
The rehabilitation program he'd sworn he was attending.
All of it had been another lie.
“She offered to pay what I owed,” he continued.
“In exchange, I was supposed to convince Clara to get documents from Dominic's study.”
Dominic's expression didn't change.
“What documents?”
My father looked at the wooden box.
“Anything connected to Elena Coretti.”
Mrs. Alvarez gasped.
I turned toward her.
She covered her mouth.
Dominic noticed.
“Rosa?”
The housekeeper stared at my father.
“You should never have brought that here.”
My father looked terrified.
“I didn't have a choice.”
He opened the box.
Inside lay an old silver sewing thimble.
A yellowed photograph.
And a folded piece of paper.
My breath caught.
The thimble belonged to my grandmother.
I'd watched her use it thousands of times when I was a little girl.
She kept it in a velvet pouch beside her favorite sewing scissors.
After she died, it disappeared.
I'd always assumed it had been lost during the move.
“Where did you get that?”
My father looked at me.
“Your grandmother left it with me.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because she made me promise.”
I reached for it.
Dominic gently stopped me.
“Let Marco check the box first.”
For a moment, my father looked offended.
Then he remembered where he was.
Marco examined the contents and stepped back.
“Clear.”
I lifted the thimble.
Its familiar weight brought tears to my eyes.
My grandmother, Margaret Bennett, had been the only person in my childhood who never made love feel conditional.
She taught me how to repair torn dresses.
How to hide stitches inside delicate fabric.
How to remain patient when something beautiful seemed impossible to restore.
And she always said the same thing.
“Nothing made with love is ever truly wasted.”
I turned the thimble between my fingers.
A tiny letter had been engraved inside.
E.
I frowned.
“That's strange.”
Dominic leaned closer.
“What?”
“Grandma's name was Margaret.”
“Why would her thimble have the letter E?”
Mrs. Alvarez made a small sound.
We both looked at her.
Tears were running down her cheeks.
“Because it wasn't Margaret's thimble.”
My heart pounded.
“What do you mean?”
The housekeeper stepped forward.
“It belonged to Elena Coretti.”
Dominic went still.
“My mother?”
Mrs. Alvarez nodded.
“Your mother gave it to Margaret twenty-two years ago.”
I stared at the little silver object.
“My grandmother knew your mother?”
Mrs. Alvarez looked toward the library doors.
“More than that.”
“She worked for her.”
The room fell silent.
Dominic's voice was barely audible.
“Why wasn't I told?”
Mrs. Alvarez lowered her head.
“Because your aunt threatened everyone who knew.”
Dominic took a slow breath.
“What did she threaten?”
“Our families.”
“Our homes.”
“And the children.”
I looked at my father.
He was crying silently.
The anger inside me hadn't disappeared, but something worse had replaced it.
Fear.
“What happened at Bellhaven?”
Mrs. Alvarez glanced at the photograph.
“Elena discovered something she wasn't supposed to find.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“What?”
“Records.”
“Payments.”
“Names.”
“She knew someone inside the family had been stealing money and arranging attacks against people who refused to cooperate.”
Dominic's eyes narrowed.
“My father suspected that.”
Mrs. Alvarez shook her head.
“Your father was one of the people she was trying to protect.”
I stared at her.
“Protect from whom?”
She answered without hesitation.
“Beatrice.”
The name hung in the air.
Mrs. Alvarez continued.
“Your aunt controlled many of the family's financial records.”
“She used suppliers, charities, and property accounts to move money.”
“Elena found proof.”
“She planned to show everything to your father.”
“But before she could, Bellhaven caught fire.”
Dominic looked as if he'd stopped breathing.
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
“Because the evidence disappeared.”
Mrs. Alvarez wiped her face.
“And because the only witness left alive was a seamstress named Margaret Bennett.”
I pressed the thimble against my chest.
My grandmother.
The woman who taught me to sew.
The woman who made me believe small acts of kindness mattered.
She hadn't simply known Dominic's mother.
She had survived the same conspiracy.
“Where are the records now?” Dominic asked.
Mrs. Alvarez looked at the paper inside the wooden box.
“Margaret hid them.”
My father unfolded the yellowed note.
His hands shook as he handed it to me.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
My grandmother's careful cursive.
My dearest Clara,
If this has reached you, the past has found its way back to the people I tried to protect.
Trust what your hands have taught you.
The truth isn't always hidden in locked drawers.
Sometimes it is sewn into the things people consider worthless.
Remember the promise of ten thousand pearls.
My vision blurred.
Ten thousand pearls.
The exact number I'd stitched onto Isabella's wedding gown.
Dominic stared at the note.
“Clara?”
I could barely speak.
“My grandmother used to tell me a story.”
He waited.
“About a woman who hid something precious inside a wedding dress.”
Mrs. Alvarez gripped the back of a chair.
“What wedding dress?”
I looked at her.
“The one I repaired.”
The housekeeper's face went white.
“Dear God.”
Dominic caught her arm.
“Rosa?”
She looked toward the hallway as if afraid someone might be listening.
“The gown Isabella wore today wasn't purchased from a bridal salon.”
Dominic frowned.
“Then where did it come from?”
“It was Elena's.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Your mother's wedding gown?”
Mrs. Alvarez nodded.
“Beatrice ordered it destroyed three weeks ago.”
My breath caught.
Three weeks.
The same week the gown had mysteriously been torn apart.
The same week Isabella had begged for help.
The same week I'd quietly begun repairing it.
“Clara,” Dominic said slowly.
“Did you find anything inside the dress?”
I remembered a strange seam beneath the skirt.
A section of silk that had been reinforced with an older material.
I'd assumed it was part of the original construction.
Then I remembered something else.
A tiny square of fabric stitched beneath the left side of the bodice.
I'd left it untouched because the thread was unusually strong.
“I might have.”
Dominic looked toward Marco.
“Bring the gown here.”
But before Marco could move, Mrs. Alvarez's phone rang.
She answered.
Her face changed.
“What do you mean she's gone?”
Dominic took the phone.
“Who?”
A guard spoke rapidly.
Dominic's expression turned murderous.
He ended the call.
“Isabella has disappeared from the hotel.”
I grabbed his arm.
“What?”
He looked at Marco.
“Her security detail found her bridal suite empty.”
“Her phone is still there.”
“And the dress is gone with her.”
My knees nearly gave out.
Then Dominic's phone vibrated.
A photograph appeared.
Isabella sat inside a dark vehicle.
Her eyes were frightened.
Her pearl-covered wedding gown was spread across her knees.
Underneath the photograph was a message.
BRING CLARA TO BELLHAVEN BEFORE MIDNIGHT.
May you like
OR THE BRIDE NEVER COMES HOME.
And for the first time since I'd married Dominic, I watched the most feared man in New York look genuinely afraid.
