Chapter 8 - The Brother Who Wanted Me Dead|
I didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Isabella's pendant lying inside the wooden box.
A woman's necklace.
A dead woman's warning.
And a message meant for me.
Vincent insisted that I move into the protected suite beside the secure room.
I refused at first.
Not because I thought the mansion was safe.
Because I was afraid that if I allowed everyone to make my decisions again, I would disappear into somebody else's life the way I had disappeared into my father's.
Vincent understood.
He showed me the room, explained its emergency exits, and handed me control of the locks.
Then he typed.
You decide where you sleep. I only want you to have a safe option.
I stared at him.
"You really mean that?"
He nodded.
I looked at the bed.
Then at him.
"Can you stay until I fall asleep?"
His expression softened.
Of course.
He sat in the armchair beside the window while I curled beneath the blanket.
I watched the city lights reflected in the glass.
"Vincent?"
He looked toward me.
I held up my phone.
Were you ever happy before all this?
He read the question.
For a long moment, he didn't type.
Then he answered.
When my mother was alive.
My throat tightened.
He continued.
She taught me to cook. She made terrible jokes. She used to dance with me in the kitchen.
I smiled sadly.
"Did you dance?"
He nodded.
Then typed.
Badly.
I laughed.
His smile widened.
It was the first peaceful moment we'd shared since the device came out.
The following morning, Gabriel brought news.
Thomas Whitaker was alive.
He had been living under his own name in a small town in Vermont for fourteen years.
He had agreed to speak with investigators.
But he had one condition.
Vincent had to be present.
I didn't like it.
Neither did Gabriel.
But Vincent insisted.
We traveled to Vermont two days later after authorities coordinated a safe meeting.
Whitaker lived in a modest farmhouse surrounded by maple trees.
He was seventy-three, thin, and walked with a cane.
When Vincent entered the room, the old man began crying.
"Isabella's boy."
Vincent stopped.
Whitaker approached slowly.
"You look so much like her."
Vincent typed.
Why did you leave?
Whitaker read the screen.
Then he lowered himself into a chair.
"Because Carlo threatened my family."
I felt my stomach tighten.
Whitaker continued.
"Your mother discovered that Carlo was stealing from the family trust. She had evidence of fraud, illegal loans, and payments to people associated with your father's criminal business."
Vincent's expression hardened.
"She wanted to expose him?"
Whitaker nodded.
"More than that. She wanted to remove you from the family organization entirely."
He looked at me.
"Isabella believed Vincent deserved a normal life."
I watched my husband.
He had spent years being described as Chicago's most feared Mafia boss.
But his mother had wanted him to grow up far away from that world.
Whitaker continued.
"She arranged to move to Vermont. I prepared the documents. She was supposed to leave Chicago that night."
"What happened?" I asked.
He took a trembling breath.
"Carlo found out."
The room went silent.
"He called me after the crash. He said Isabella was dead and that if I ever challenged his guardianship, my family would suffer."
Vincent typed.
Was Lorenzo involved?
Whitaker closed his eyes.
"I didn't know at the time."
"Do you know now?"
Whitaker reached into a drawer and removed a sealed envelope.
"Isabella mailed this to me the morning she died. It arrived two days after the funeral."
Inside was a handwritten letter.
Vincent read it while I watched his face.
His eyes widened.
Then he handed it to me.
Thomas,
Carlo knows I am leaving. Lorenzo overheard us arguing about the trust. I no longer feel safe in the house.
If anything happens, please protect Vincent from them.
There is another set of records in the place where Vincent and I used to hide his birthday presents.
He will remember.
Isabella.
I looked at Vincent.
"Where did she hide your birthday presents?"
He stared at the letter.
Then something changed in his expression.
He typed two words.
The piano.
I frowned.
"The piano?"
He nodded.
Mother's music room. There was a compartment beneath the bench.
Gabriel immediately contacted the estate's security team.
Within an hour, they had examined the old piano bench.
The compartment was still there.
But it was empty.
My heart sank.
Then Gabriel called again.
"Boss, someone's been inside the music room."
Vincent typed rapidly.
Who?
Gabriel hesitated.
"The security footage shows Lorenzo entering two nights before the wedding."
I froze.
Before our wedding?
Lorenzo had been searching for Isabella's hidden records before I arrived.
Then something clicked.
The black case my father had mentioned.
The one Lorenzo wanted me to find.
Perhaps he'd expected Vincent to show me a private part of the mansion.
Perhaps he wanted me to become the person who unknowingly led him to the evidence.
But there was a problem.
Lorenzo had already searched the compartment.
Whatever he wanted wasn't there.
I looked at Vincent.
"Your mother said you would remember."
He nodded.
"What if the piano bench wasn't the hiding place?"
He frowned.
"What if the hiding place was something only you understood?"
Vincent's eyes widened.
Then he typed.
Her song.
"What song?"
He looked at me.
The lullaby she played whenever I was afraid.
My heart began pounding.
I leaned closer.
"Do you remember it?"
Vincent shut his eyes.
His fingers moved slowly against the table.
As though pressing invisible piano keys.
He couldn't hear the melody anymore.
But his hands remembered.
May you like
And when he opened his eyes, he typed a sentence that changed everything.
The notes weren't random. She taught me a pattern.
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