Chapter 2
Gabriele took Theo home that night.
Not to the Venturi family estate.
To his townhouse in Beacon Hill.
Cordelia had keys to the estate.
Malcolm had staff there.
Gabriele wanted neither near his son.
Theo fell asleep in Gabriele’s bed with one fist still wrapped around the sleeve of his shirt.
At two in the morning, Gabriele sat in the kitchen with Evan Russo and his attorney, Claire Bennett.
“How often has Cordelia been alone with him?”
Evan looked uncomfortable.
“More than you probably realize.”
Gabriele’s attention shifted.
“Explain.”
When Gabriele traveled, Theo usually remained at the family estate with his nanny, Madison Cole.
But Cordelia came and went freely.
Malcolm did too.
“They’re family,” Evan said.
“That isn’t an explanation.”
“It’s how the house has always operated.”
That was the problem.
Gabriele had inherited a system where relatives did not need invitations.
No one questioned senior family members.
No employee wanted to tell Cordelia Venturi she could not enter a room.
Claire asked, “Where’s the nanny?”
“Her mother had surgery in Worcester. She’s been gone four days.”
Gabriele remembered approving the leave.
He had assumed the household would cover the gap.
Cordelia apparently had.
Claire looked through her notes.
“What else has Theo said?”
“Only that Cordelia told him I ordered the punishment.”
“Don’t keep questioning him tonight.”
“I know.”
Claire studied him.
“Do you?”
Gabriele stared back.
She did not flinch.
“The worst thing you can do now is turn a three-year-old into an investigator because you’re angry.”
He looked toward the hallway.
She was right.
The next morning Theo woke hungry.
Gabriele made eggs badly.
Theo ate half and asked whether they were going home.
“This is home too.”
“To Grandma House?”
That was what he called the Venturi estate because Cordelia was always there.
“Not today.”
Theo pushed a piece of toast around his plate.
“Aunt Cordelia gets mad when Mommy picture comes down.”
Gabriele stopped.
“What picture?”
“The one by my bed.”
Laura’s photograph.
Gabriele kept one on Theo’s nightstand.
“Who takes it down?”
Theo shrugged.
“Sometimes.”
“Cordelia?”
Another shrug.
Then Theo said something stranger.
“Uncle Malcolm says Mommy made you weak.”
Gabriele felt the old anger return.
He controlled it.
“When did he say that?”
Theo pointed vaguely toward the ceiling.
“Nighttime.”
Claire’s warning came back to him.
No interrogation.
So Gabriele changed the subject.
But after breakfast he called Evan.
“Pull entry logs for every night I traveled over the last six months.”
“You think Malcolm’s been coming in after hours?”
“I think my son hears things nobody thought mattered because he’s three.”
By noon, Evan had the first answer.
May you like
Malcolm had entered the estate eleven times after 11:00 p.m.
On nine of those nights, Gabriele had been out of Boston.
