Chapter 3 - THE SILVER WOLF
Margaret denied it.
Not angrily.
Too quickly.
“No man like that has ever been in my house.”
Lorenzo almost admired the lie.
Almost.
Noah hid against Sarah.
Lorenzo immediately stepped back.
He would not turn his son into an interrogation room.
“Enough.”
Sarah looked at him.
“But he remembers—”
“He’s three.”
Lorenzo’s voice softened.
“He remembers what he remembers. We don’t put words around it for him.”
Sarah nodded slowly.
The restraint surprised Margaret.
Before his disappearance, Lorenzo had been a man who answered uncertainty by pressing until something broke.
Three years underground had changed the shape of his anger.
Not reduced it.
Sharpened it.
Lorenzo turned toward Adrian.
“The wolf.”
Adrian stared at him.
“What about it?”
“Your family uses one.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
Sarah looked toward Adrian.
“What?”
Lorenzo removed the torn photograph from his pocket.
He unfolded the half showing the figure behind the car.
The silver pin was small.
Distinctive.
A wolf’s head.
Adrian’s eyes dropped toward it.
That was enough.
Sarah saw.
“You know it.”
Adrian said nothing.
“Adrian.”
“My father wore one.”
Sarah stared.
“Your father?”
“Vale men used the wolf before I was born.”
Lorenzo stepped closer.
“Your father was at my car the night I vanished.”
Adrian looked at him.
“No.”
“Look again.”
“My father died two years ago.”
“That does not answer me.”
Adrian’s voice hardened.
“My father hated you. If he had taken you, he would have killed you.”
Lorenzo nodded.
“Maybe he wanted something first.”
The Black Bell.
Margaret moved toward the table.
Her hand trembled as she poured water.
Sarah watched her.
“Aunt Margaret.”
Margaret froze.
“You knew the Vale symbol.”
“I know every family’s symbols.”
“You knew Adrian’s father.”
“Everyone knew Victor Vale.”
Lorenzo looked at Adrian.
“Victor.”
Adrian’s father had controlled gambling houses and freight routes west of the city.
He and Lorenzo had hated each other openly.
But open hatred was rarely the dangerous kind.
Lorenzo never considered Victor subtle enough to orchestrate his disappearance.
That might have been a mistake.
“What did your father want from me?” Lorenzo asked.
Adrian laughed.
“You think I inherited his diary?”
“No.”
Lorenzo stepped closer.
“I think you inherited his enemies.”
Adrian’s face hardened.
Sarah moved between them.
“Stop.”
Both men looked at her.
She was still wearing the bridal gown.
That detail suddenly felt obscene.
A woman dressed to marry one man while standing between him and the husband she had mourned.
“I need answers.”
She looked at Lorenzo.
“But not like this.”
Then Adrian.
“And not another lie.”
Adrian’s eyes softened toward her.
Lorenzo saw it.
That hurt more than he expected.
He had prepared himself to find Sarah remarried.
He had not prepared himself to see another man genuinely care whether she was afraid.
Sarah looked at Margaret.
“You told me Victor Vale died before Adrian ever approached us.”
“He did.”
“Did you know Adrian before then?”
Margaret did not answer.
Sarah’s voice changed.
“You arranged this.”
Adrian turned toward Margaret.
“Don’t.”
Too late.
Sarah looked at him.
“You knew?”
Adrian ran one hand across his face.
“The first meeting was arranged.”
“The first?”
“Yes.”
“The charity dinner?”
“Yes.”
Sarah laughed once.
Broken.
“You told me you had no idea who I was.”
“I knew who you were.”
Noah looked up at her.
Sarah immediately controlled herself.
Adrian continued.
“I did not know you.”
“That makes it better?”
“No.”
Lorenzo remained silent.
This was Sarah’s betrayal to confront.
Not his to steal.
Adrian looked at her.
“Margaret wanted an alliance.”
“With the Vales.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Margaret answered.
“Because Lorenzo was gone.”
Lorenzo’s gaze cut toward her.
“And the DeLuca family needed stability.”
“Say the rest.”
Margaret looked at him.
“The Vales were becoming too strong.”
“So you married my widow into them.”
“She was not your widow when I introduced them.”
Silence.
Margaret realized her mistake.
Sarah whispered:
“What did you just say?”
Margaret’s face emptied.
Lorenzo’s voice became almost gentle.
“Go ahead, Aunt.”
Sarah stared at Margaret.
“You said I wasn’t his widow.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
The truth had finally cornered her.
Not because Lorenzo threatened her.
Because she had spoken too much.
“When you introduced me to Adrian,” Sarah said, “you knew Lorenzo was alive.”
Margaret opened her eyes.
“Yes.”
Noah played with the edge of Sarah’s dress.
Nobody moved.
Sarah’s voice dropped.
“How long?”
May you like
Margaret looked at Lorenzo.
“All three years.”
