Chapter 3
My father died when I was nineteen.
Heart attack.
That was the family story.
I had repeated it so often the words stopped feeling like information.
Now Dominic looked terrified because my mother had connected his death to Isabella.
I leaned back.
“Explain.”
He said nothing.
Isabella whispered, “Your mother said there was more.”
I turned.
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
My confusion must have shown.
“She contacted me before she died?”
“No.”
Isabella shook her head. “She left instructions with someone.”
“Who?”
“A woman named Teresa Cole.”
I knew the name.
My mother’s oldest housekeeper.
Retired after Rosa’s funeral.
Dominic laughed.
“So now servants are rebuilding history?”
I looked at him.
“You seem very worried about people talking.”
His smile disappeared.
Isabella continued.
Teresa found her two months earlier and gave her the photograph. The memory card had already been hidden inside it.
“She said Rosa wanted Lucia brought to you only when I was ready.”
I looked at Lucia.
Three years old.
Carrying a photograph containing the truth inside a backpack.
My mother had apparently trusted a toddler’s belongings more than my inner circle.
That realization hurt.
“Why come now?”
Isabella looked at Dominic.
“He found us.”
Dominic’s face tightened.
She continued.
“Two weeks ago, men started watching Lucia’s preschool.”
I stood.
Every bodyguard in the room shifted.
Dominic laughed nervously.
“You have no proof they were mine.”
Isabella looked at him.
“One called you.”
Silence.
She had seen the number.
Recognized it from years before.
That was why she ran.
Not away from me.
Toward me.
Dominic noticed what I had understood.
“She didn’t come here for you.”
I turned.
He smiled cruelly.
“She came because she ran out of places to hide.”
Isabella flinched.
Lucia frowned at him.
“You’re mean.”
A few guards looked away.
Dominic stared at the child.
Then laughed.
“That little thing is supposed to be Caruso blood?”
I moved before I knew I had.
One step.
Enough.
Dominic stopped smiling.
“Say it again.”
He looked at me.
For years men had feared my anger.
Dominic had never needed to.
Until now.
He lowered his eyes.
Good.
I sat again.
“What does Isabella have to do with my father?”
Dominic said nothing.
Then Teresa Cole walked into the café.
One of my guards had found her outside.
She carried an old Caruso jewelry box.
Dominic saw it.
His face went white.
Teresa placed it in front of me.
“Your mother told me not to open this unless Isabella came back alive.”
I looked at Dominic.
May you like
Whatever was inside, he already knew.
And he wanted me afraid enough not to open it.
