Chapter 6
Eleanor had the old carriage house searched.
Twelve jackets.
Twelve Bellini pins.
Twelve black-ribbon glasses packed in straw.
And one wooden chair.
Not ordinary.
Old.
Dark walnut.
Bellini crest carved into the back.
Henry stared at it.
“That was Matteo’s father’s council chair.”
Eleanor looked at Adrian.
He had never seen it.
Most people under forty hadn’t.
“Where was it stored?”
Henry answered:
“North warehouse.”
Eleanor turned toward Thomas.
“Who has access?”
“Four senior men.”
“Names.”
He gave them.
Three were on the lawn.
One was not.
Vincent Bellini.
Matteo’s cousin.
Sixty-four.
Capo for thirty-five years.
Eleanor’s face became unreadable.
Vincent had held Adrian at his baptism.
Stood beside Eleanor at Matteo’s funeral.
Called her sister.
He had not attended the engagement reception.
Claimed illness.
Serena noticed the name.
Too quickly.
Eleanor looked at her.
“You know.”
Serena smiled.
“Know what?”
“Vincent.”
“Everyone knows Vincent.”
“Not like that.”
Serena’s expression hardened.
Grant stepped in.
“You’re desperate for another enemy because embarrassing yourself wasn’t enough?”
Eleanor ignored him.
She called Vincent.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then Adrian’s phone rang.
Everyone looked at him.
He checked the screen.
Went pale.
Eleanor saw.
“Vincent.”
Adrian nodded.
“Answer.”
He did.
Speaker.
Vincent’s voice came through.
“Is your mother there?”
Eleanor said:
“Yes.”
Silence.
Then:
“Good.”
No illness.
No weakness.
Calm.
Prepared.
Eleanor’s expression cooled.
“Why is the old council chair in my carriage house?”
Vincent paused.
“So you found it.”
Adrian whispered:
“Vincent…”
Vincent ignored him.
“Eleanor, this could have been dignified.”
Serena smiled.
That confirmed everything.
Eleanor saw.
“So Serena answers to you.”
Serena snapped:
“I answer to nobody.”
Vincent laughed through the phone.
Softly.
“Still emotional, Serena?”
Her face hardened.
Interesting.
Not equals.
Vincent saw her as another piece.
Eleanor asked:
“What happens at midnight?”
Vincent answered:
“A family decides whether it wants to keep pretending.”
“Pretending what?”
“That Matteo’s widow became Matteo.”
Grant smiled.
Adrian’s face changed.
Eleanor remained still.
Vincent continued.
“You were useful after he died.”
There it was.
Not respect.
Utility.
“You stabilized the house.”
“You stopped the bleeding.”
“You raised the boy.”
Eleanor’s eyes moved toward Adrian.
Vincent said:
“Now stop confusing stewardship with ownership.”
Serena looked delighted.
Grant nodded.
Adrian did not.
Eleanor’s voice dropped.
“Matteo left no instruction that I surrender anything to you.”
Vincent laughed.
“Matteo is dead.”
Serena smiled at Eleanor.
Grant did too.
Three people using the same wound.
Vincent continued:
“And Adrian is thirty.”
“He is.”
“Then let him become a man.”
Eleanor looked at her son.
Adrian looked away.
Vincent’s voice sharpened.
“Or are you planning to keep him beneath your heel until he’s fifty?”
Serena whispered:
“Exactly.”
Eleanor noticed.
Same language Serena had been feeding Adrian.
Not original.
Borrowed.
Vincent had given it to her.
“Why the public humiliation?”
Eleanor asked.
Vincent said nothing.
She answered herself.
“Because if Adrian simply challenged me, men would question him.”
Silence.
“If I looked ridiculous first…”
Henry closed his eyes.
Eleanor continued.
“…then his challenge looks necessary.”
Vincent finally said:
“You always were intelligent.”
“Why the fake uniforms?”
Another pause.
“That isn’t for the handover.”
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed.
Grant looked toward Serena.
Serena looked toward Grant.
Neither knew.
Eleanor caught it.
“Interesting.”
Vincent’s voice returned.
“Midnight, Eleanor.”
Then the line ended.
Grant immediately said:
“He’s bluffing.”
Eleanor looked at him.
“You didn’t know about the jackets.”
No answer.
“Neither did Serena.”
Serena snapped:
“Stop acting clever.”
Eleanor almost smiled.
“You thought tonight ended with Adrian in the chair.”
Serena stared.
Eleanor continued.
“But Vincent planned something after that.”
Grant's face tightened.
Adrian looked from Serena to the old chair.
May you like
For the first time, he understood he might not be the beneficiary.
Only the excuse.
