Chapter 2 - THE BROTHER WHO WAS NEVER BURIED|
For eighteen years, Gabriel Romano had believed his younger brother was dead.
Now, standing beneath the glittering chandeliers of his own dining room, he was staring at a photograph that suggested his entire family had been living inside a lie.
The silence was so complete that I could hear the grandfather clock ticking in the hallway.
Gabriel held the photograph in one hand and his mother's letter in the other.
Across the table, Isabella Varela stood frozen in her emerald evening gown.
Twenty-six wealthy guests watched her with expressions that had changed from polite curiosity to open suspicion.
But Gabriel didn't seem to notice them anymore.
He was looking at his father.
"Tell me his name," he said.
Vincent Romano's lower lip trembled.
Gabriel knelt beside his wheelchair and gently took his father's hand.
"Dad, please."
The elderly man closed his eyes.
For a moment, I thought the strain might be too much for him.
Then he whispered a name.
"Daniel."
Gabriel's face crumpled.
He lowered his head.
And for the first time since I'd started working at the mansion, I saw the most feared man in New York's criminal underworld cry.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just two tears sliding down the face of a man who had spent half his life pretending nothing could hurt him.
"Daniel," he repeated.
His brother's name sounded almost unfamiliar coming from his mouth.
"He was twenty when the accident happened."
Vincent nodded.
Gabriel looked toward the photograph again.
"He's alive?"
Another nod.
"And you've known?"
Vincent began shaking his head desperately.
I understood what he was trying to say before Gabriel did.
"Mr. Romano," I said softly, "I don't think your father knew where Daniel was."
Gabriel looked at me.
Vincent squeezed my hand in agreement.
"He knew something was wrong," I continued, "but someone was keeping information from him."
Isabella gave an impatient laugh.
"This is becoming absolutely ridiculous."
Every head turned toward her.
She lifted her chin.
"You're all behaving as though a photograph proves anything."
Gabriel rose slowly.
"Then explain the payments."
"What payments?"
"The ones you've been making to whoever has my brother."
Isabella crossed her arms.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
Gabriel held up the photograph.
"Your handwriting is on the back."
"Anyone could have written that."
"Then you won't mind telling me why a photograph of my supposedly dead brother was hidden inside paperwork you wanted my father to sign."
For the first time, Isabella had no immediate answer.
Her eyes darted toward Anthony.
Gabriel noticed.
"Anthony, nobody leaves until the police arrive."
A murmur spread through the dining room.
One of the guests, a silver-haired banker named Richard Holloway, stood abruptly.
"Gabriel, surely there's no need to involve the authorities."
Gabriel turned toward him.
"Sit down, Richard."
"I'm merely suggesting that family matters should remain private."
"My brother has been missing for eighteen years."
Richard's expression tightened.
"And if someone helped conceal that fact, privacy is the least of their concerns."
Richard sat.
I looked toward the dessert cart.
The silver tray still rested crookedly where I'd lifted it.
Something about its position bothered me.
Earlier, Isabella had insisted that the cart remain against the wall.
She'd personally instructed two servers not to touch it.
At the time, I'd assumed she was concerned about presentation.
Now I wondered whether the envelope had been hidden there deliberately, ready to be destroyed after dinner.
Vincent tugged at my sleeve again.
"Claire."
I bent closer.
"Yes, Mr. Vincent?"
"Drawer."
I frowned.
"Which drawer?"
He looked toward the doorway.
"Room."
His breathing grew heavier.
"Blue."
I remembered a small blue cabinet in his bedroom.
Isabella had ordered it removed two days earlier, claiming the wood was damaged.
I'd seen two maintenance workers carry it toward the east storage wing.
"Do you mean your blue cabinet?"
Vincent nodded so urgently that I became frightened.
"What's inside it?"
He tried to speak.
His mouth moved without producing a sound.
Then his eyes widened as he looked over my shoulder.
I turned.
Isabella was watching us.
"What is he telling you?" she demanded.
I straightened.
"He's tired, ma'am."
"Then take him upstairs."
Gabriel stepped between us.
"My father isn't going anywhere until he's ready."
"Darling, this evening has clearly distressed him."
"You seem more distressed than he does."
Her cheeks flushed.
"How dare you speak to me like that?"
Gabriel looked at her engagement ring.
A spectacular emerald-cut diamond that had reportedly cost more than most Americans earned in a lifetime.
"I think we're well past worrying about manners."
He held out his hand.
"Give me your phone."
Isabella stared.
"Absolutely not."
"Then keep it."
Gabriel turned toward Anthony.
"Preserve the house security recordings, phone logs, and all documents relating to my father's care."
Anthony nodded.
"And contact Detective Evelyn Brooks."
Isabella suddenly looked frightened.
Not offended.
Not embarrassed.
Frightened.
I noticed because she'd never looked that way before.
Even when Gabriel questioned her about the soup, she'd behaved as though she could control the outcome.
Now she was calculating something.
I could almost see it happening behind her eyes.
Her gaze traveled from Anthony to the kitchen doors.
Then to the photograph in Gabriel's hand.
Finally, it settled on Vincent.
"You ungrateful old man," she whispered.
Gabriel heard her.
"What did you say?"
Isabella immediately smiled.
"Nothing, darling."
Gabriel took one step toward her.
"He's eighty-one years old."
"I know how old he is."
"He welcomed you into this family."
"And I've spent two years taking care of him."
I felt something hot rise in my chest.
Taking care of him?
I'd watched her cancel his physical therapy because she considered the sessions inconvenient.
I'd watched her replace his favorite meals with bland food he struggled to swallow.
I'd watched her tell visitors he was sleeping when he was sitting awake upstairs, waiting for someone to come.
And I'd watched her move his chair farther from the family table, one dinner at a time.
Before I could stop myself, I spoke.
"No, ma'am."
Isabella turned.
"What?"
My pulse thundered.
"You haven't been taking care of him."
The room fell silent again.
Isabella's eyes narrowed.
"Excuse me?"
I looked at Gabriel.
Then at Vincent.
I remembered my mother's medication bills.
My overdue rent.
The warning Isabella had given me that morning.
But I also remembered Vincent saving half his birthday cake for me because he'd noticed I'd missed lunch.
He had treated me with more kindness than anyone in that mansion.
And he was sitting beside me, frightened of a woman who claimed to love his family.
"You told the staff not to help him at dinner," I said.
Isabella laughed sharply.
"Gabriel, are you really going to listen to a maid?"
"You told us to stop answering when he rang his bell."
"That's a lie."
"You moved his father's photographs out of his bedroom because you said they made the house look old."
I swallowed.
"And you told me I'd lose my job if I told Mr. Romano."
Gabriel's eyes became dangerously still.
He turned toward Isabella.
"Did you threaten her?"
Isabella opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Finally, Gabriel spoke.
"Anthony, escort Miss Varela to the library."
"You cannot possibly be serious."
"She can wait there for Detective Brooks."
Isabella's expression hardened.
"You're making a mistake."
Gabriel didn't answer.
She leaned closer to him.
"You have no idea what your father has done."
Vincent made a strangled sound.
I immediately crouched beside him.
"Mr. Vincent?"
His face had gone pale.
His hand pressed against his chest.
Gabriel turned.
"Dad?"
Vincent tried to breathe.
The sound that came from his throat terrified me.
"Call an ambulance!" I shouted.
Gabriel was already reaching for his phone.
I loosened Vincent's collar and spoke to him gently.
"Stay with me, sir."
His eyes searched mine.
"Blue," he whispered.
"I remember."
He squeezed my fingers.
"Before midnight."
My stomach tightened.
"What happens before midnight?"
But Vincent couldn't answer.
His eyes rolled backward.
Gabriel caught his father before he slipped from the chair.
"Dad!"
The next few minutes dissolved into chaos.
Guests pushed back their chairs.
Someone began crying.
Mrs. Ellis, our housekeeper, hurried in carrying the emergency medical kit.
Gabriel stayed beside his father, holding his hand and repeating his name.
I monitored Vincent's breathing while we followed the emergency dispatcher's instructions.
Isabella stood near the library doorway, watching.
Not once did she ask whether Vincent would survive.
Instead, I saw her quietly reach into her purse.
Her thumb moved across her phone screen.
Then she pressed the device to her ear.
I couldn't hear everything.
But I heard enough.
"The old man talked," she whispered.
She turned toward the wall.
"No, Gabriel doesn't know the location yet."
A pause.
Then her voice dropped.
"Move Daniel tonight."
My blood went cold.
I stepped backward.
My heel struck the leg of a chair.
Isabella turned.
Our eyes met.
And she knew I'd heard her.
She lowered the phone.
"Claire."
I didn't move.
She smiled slowly.
"You really should have minded your own business."
Before I could answer, Anthony appeared behind her.
"Miss Varela, this way."
She slipped the phone into her purse.
But as she walked past me, she leaned close enough for only me to hear.
"Your mother still lives on Maple Street, doesn't she?"
I stopped breathing.
Isabella continued toward the library as though she'd said nothing unusual.
Outside, ambulance sirens were approaching.
Gabriel was bent over his father.
And I stood in the middle of the dining room, suddenly understanding that Isabella's threats no longer concerned my job.
They concerned my family.
I hurried after Anthony.
"Please," I said, "I need to speak to Mr. Romano."
"He's with his father."
"This is important."
Anthony studied my face.
"What happened?"
I looked toward the library.
Then lowered my voice.
"Isabella just called someone."
His expression changed.
"What did she say?"
"She told them to move Daniel tonight."
Anthony reached for his radio.
But before he could speak, a sharp crash came from the library.
We ran toward the doorway.
The French window stood open.
A crystal vase lay shattered across the floor.
And Isabella Varela was gone.
On the desk beside the window was a single piece of paper.
Anthony picked it up.
I watched his expression darken as he read.
Then he handed it to me.
Only one sentence had been written across the page.
"IF GABRIEL WANTS HIS BROTHER ALIVE, HE'LL LET ME FINISH WHAT I STARTED."
May you like
And beneath it, in smaller handwriting, were three words that made my knees weaken.
"CLAIRE KNOWS WHY."
