Chapter 13 - ANTONIO’S LAST SECRET
Lorenzo did not move.
That was harder than violence.
The wooden block sat between them.
Noah’s.
Sarah had bought the set for his second birthday.
Lorenzo knew because he had seen them scattered across the nursery floor after returning.
Elias had been inside the estate again.
Or someone loyal to him had.
“What person?” Lorenzo asked.
Elias smiled.
“Ask Gabriel.”
“Answer.”
“I just did.”
Lorenzo stood.
The other families watched.
If he attacked Elias here, the old rules would fracture.
That was exactly what Elias wanted.
Lorenzo saw it now.
He picked up the wooden block instead.
Then walked out.
Elias called after him.
“Your father never trusted machines.”
Lorenzo stopped.
“He trusted memory.”
Lorenzo turned.
Elias smiled.
“One living memory.”
Then Lorenzo left.
Gabriel was waiting at the estate when he returned.
Lorenzo threw Noah’s block onto the table.
Gabriel stared.
“He said the Black Bell is a person.”
Gabriel’s face changed.
That was enough.
“Who?”
Gabriel sat.
“I hoped Antonio was lying.”
“Who?”
Margaret entered behind Lorenzo.
She saw Gabriel’s expression.
“No.”
Lorenzo turned.
“You know too.”
Margaret whispered, “Not the name.”
Gabriel rubbed one hand over his face.
“Antonio kept recordings, yes.”
“The chapel room.”
“Yes.”
“But recordings can be stolen. Burned. Changed.”
Lorenzo waited.
“So Antonio also chose someone.”
“A witness?”
“More than that.”
Gabriel looked at him.
“Someone who sat in rooms nobody noticed.”
A servant.
Driver.
Housekeeper.
Priest.
Cook.
Children were not the only invisible people inside powerful homes.
Antonio chose one person and spent decades feeding that person every important secret.
Names.
Relationships.
Old betrayals.
Not written.
Memorized.
The human Black Bell.
“Who?” Lorenzo asked again.
Gabriel shook his head.
“Antonio never told me.”
“Elias knows.”
“Maybe.”
“Why Noah’s block?”
Sarah entered.
She had heard enough.
Her face hardened.
“He wants us looking at Noah.”
Lorenzo turned.
“What?”
“Elias wants fear.”
She picked up the block.
“He could have left anything.”
She looked at Gabriel.
“He chose our son’s toy.”
Margaret understood.
“He wants Lorenzo thinking the Black Bell is connected to Noah.”
Sarah nodded.
“Maybe it is. Maybe not.”
Lorenzo stared at the block.
Three years ago, he would have accepted the most terrifying interpretation because fear of losing family made him reckless.
Now he forced the question wider.
Who around Noah had access?
House staff.
Margaret.
Adrian.
Security.
Sarah.
Older family friends.
Then Noah came into the room holding his stuffed bear.
He looked at the adults.
“Why everybody mad?”
Sarah immediately knelt.
“We’re not mad at you.”
Noah looked at the block.
“That’s mine.”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Thomas took it.”
Silence.
Lorenzo crouched.
“When?”
Noah shrugged.
“Before.”
Sarah sat beside him.
“Thomas Creed?”
Noah nodded.
“The wolf man?”
Another nod.
Lorenzo kept his voice soft.
“What did he do with it?”
“He said Grandpa Antonio liked letters.”
Everyone froze.
Noah had never met Antonio.
He died before Noah was born.
“What else did he say?”
Noah frowned.
“He asked where Nana Rose lives.”
Sarah looked confused.
“Nana Rose?”
Noah nodded.
Margaret dropped into a chair.
Lorenzo turned.
“Who is Rose?”
Margaret whispered:
“Rose Bellamy.”
Gabriel closed his eyes.
Sarah looked between them.
“Who?”
Margaret spoke.
“She was your father’s housekeeper.”
Lorenzo remembered.
Rose.
Small woman.
Soft voice.
Always carrying peppermint candies.
She served Antonio for thirty-six years.
She left the family after his death.
Lorenzo never asked where she went.
Servants retired.
People moved.
Life continued.
Except perhaps Rose had never merely served the table.
She had listened.
“Where is she?” Lorenzo asked.
Margaret looked at Noah.
“How does he know her?”
Sarah answered.
“Because she comes to the park.”
Lorenzo stared.
“What?”
“An older woman. She feeds birds near Noah’s playground.”
“You know her?”
“No. Noah calls her Nana Rose because she told him that’s her name.”
Margaret stood.
“She approached him?”
Sarah nodded slowly.
“Months ago.”
Lorenzo felt the room darken.
Rose had been near Noah before his return.
Thomas—Elias—had asked about her.
The hidden human archive of Antonio DeLuca might have spent months quietly sitting beside Lorenzo’s son.
Not because Noah was the Black Bell.
Because children could approach people adults never noticed.
“Where does she live?” Lorenzo asked.
Sarah gave the neighborhood.
Gabriel shook his head.
“That’s where Antonio’s first house was.”
Lorenzo remembered a narrow street near the old Italian district.
He left immediately.
Rose’s apartment was on the third floor.
Door unlocked.
Inside smelled of peppermint.
No sign of struggle.
No blood.
A kettle still warm.
A small chair near the window.
On the table was a photograph of Antonio DeLuca.
Beside it—
Noah.
Taken in the park.
Lorenzo turned it over.
One sentence in an old woman’s handwriting:
HE HAS YOUR EYES, NOT HIS GRANDFATHER’S.
A sound came from the bedroom.
Lorenzo moved.
Rose Bellamy sat in a chair.
Alive.
Eighty-three.
Small.
Calm.
A revolver rested on the table beside her.
She looked at Lorenzo.
“You took long enough.”
Lorenzo stared.
“You know who I am.”
“Since you were born.”
“The Black Bell.”
Rose smiled.
“That silly name.”
“Are you?”
She looked toward the window.
“I was.”
“Was?”
“Antonio made a mistake.”
“What?”
“He assumed memory could belong to one person.”
Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed.
Rose tapped her temple.
“I’m old.”
May you like
Then she smiled.
“So I taught someone else.”
