Chapter 10 - THE WRONG BROTHER
Salvatore did not sleep.
By dawn, the wooden horse sat on the library table.
He remembered it.
That was the problem.
He remembered his father bringing it home.
He remembered Luca breaking one wheel.
He remembered punching him.
He remembered his mother forcing both boys to apologize.
But the carving said V.C.
And the underground room said V.C., age thirteen.
Memory was becoming hostile territory.
Eleanor sat across from him.
“You were gone six weeks.”
“I was sick.”
“That is what Vittorio said.”
“You knew me then?”
“No. Richard did.”
“Where is Richard?”
“Dead.”
“Are you sure?”
She looked at him.
The question hurt.
Good.
Salvatore had grown tired of graves that answered too conveniently.
Sebastian entered.
He had changed clothes.
No wedding ring.
Clara had kept it.
Or perhaps she had left it somewhere.
Salvatore did not ask.
“She’s sleeping,” Sebastian said.
“Did she ask for you?”
“No.”
The answer cost him.
Salvatore respected that he did not lie.
Sebastian looked at the wooden horse.
“My mother told me about your missing weeks.”
Salvatore turned toward Eleanor.
She looked irritated.
“Now is not the time for secrets.”
Sebastian continued.
“My father had nightmares about a boy named Victor.”
Salvatore stared.
“Victor?”
“Yes.”
“He used to wake up saying, ‘Victor took Gabriel’s place.’”
Eleanor went pale.
“You never told me.”
“You never asked about Dad’s nightmares.”
Another family made of silences.
Salvatore picked up the wooden horse.
V.C.
Victor Caruso.
Not Vincent.
Not Vittorio.
Victor.
Could there have been another son?
Eleanor whispered, “Vittorio had a younger brother.”
Salvatore looked at her.
“Name.”
“Victor.”
His pulse slowed.
“My uncle died before I was born.”
“That’s what Richard said.”
Salvatore laughed.
Of course.
Another dead man.
Another story.
Anthony entered with an old photograph from the chapel.
He placed it beside the wooden horse.
A group of children.
One labeled Gabriel.
One labeled Victor.
One labeled Salvatore.
Three boys.
Salvatore stared.
He had no memory of the photograph.
Victor looked around thirteen.
Gabriel around seven.
Salvatore around thirteen as well.
Impossible ages unless the labels were not birth names.
Eleanor leaned closer.
“These are roles.”
Salvatore looked at her.
“What?”
“Like Grey. Like Keeper.”
She pointed.
“Gabriel may not be a name. Victor may not be a name.”
Sebastian frowned.
“Then what are they?”
“Positions.”
The House renamed children.
Stripped old identities.
Assigned functions.
Gabriel.
Victor.
Keeper.
Heir.
The realization disgusted Salvatore.
“What was I?”
Nobody answered.
Then Anthony noticed writing under the photograph.
Faded.
Latin.
Eleanor translated roughly.
“The spared son becomes Salvatore.”
Salvatore froze.
Salvatore.
Not just his name.
The Saver.
The spared one.
He suddenly understood why his father had chosen that name.
Or why the House had.
He looked at the recording machine.
“You were not born first.”
Gabriel had been.
But perhaps Gabriel was not his biological brother.
Perhaps Gabriel was a role assigned to a child chosen before him.
A child Vittorio treated as first.
A child his mother begged to bring home.
Sebastian whispered, “So Gabriel could be anybody.”
“Yes,” Salvatore said.
“Even someone we know.”
“Yes.”
The door opened.
Clara stood there.
Pale.
Tired.
Strong enough to frighten all of them.
“I remember something.”
Salvatore rose.
“What?”
“The man who came to the kitchen.”
Gabriel.
“He called me Clara.”
“So?”
“Nobody introduced me.”
Sebastian frowned.
“You’re my wife.”
“He didn’t know whose house he was in?”
Clara shook her head.
“That’s not it.”
She looked at Salvatore.
“He called me Clara Lucia.”
Salvatore stopped.
Clara’s middle name was Lucia.
Family knew.
Friends knew.
Not unusual.
Then she continued.
“Mom used to call me that when she was angry.”
Salvatore’s eyes hardened.
Lucia had been dead ten years.
Very few people outside the household heard her use both names.
“What else?”
“He said I had her stubborn mouth.”
Salvatore closed his eyes.
This man had known Lucia personally.
Not through stories.
Sebastian whispered, “Could Gabriel have been close to your mother?”
Salvatore looked at Eleanor.
She hesitated.
Then:
“Lucia disappeared once.”
Salvatore turned.
“What?”
“Before you married.”
“When?”
“Three months before your wedding.”
Salvatore remembered.
Lucia told him she had gone to stay with an aunt.
He had been furious.
She came back different.
More serious.
Less afraid of Vittorio.
He never asked enough.
“Where did she go?” Salvatore asked.
Eleanor looked at the wooden horse.
“To the House.”
Clara stared.
“Why?”
“She was trying to get a child out.”
Salvatore’s chest tightened.
“Which child?”
Eleanor looked at him.
“I don’t know.”
Salvatore almost struck the table.
“Stop saying that.”
“It is the truth.”
Then Clara whispered:
“Maybe Gabriel.”
Everyone looked at her.
She touched her necklace.
“The man said Mom always hated this cross.”
Salvatore understood.
Lucia had known Gabriel.
Possibly rescued him.
Or tried.
Which meant the man who came to Clara’s kitchen might not be hunting her child.
He might believe he was protecting it.
Then a phone rang.
Sebastian’s.
Unknown number.
He answered.
Silence.
Then a male voice.
“Ask Salvatore why Lucia chose me.”
Sebastian looked at Salvatore.
The voice continued.
“And tell Clara I’m sorry about the table.”
Clara went still.
Eleanor whispered, “Gabriel.”
The man laughed softly.
“No.”
Then the line ended.
Sebastian stared at the phone.
Salvatore’s eyes narrowed.
If that was not Gabriel—
Then someone else had been inside the banquet room.
May you like
Someone who knew exactly what Eleanor did.
And someone who believed Lucia had once chosen him over Salvatore.
