Chapter 3
I asked Ivy one question.
“What happens when I'm gone?”
She looked at Vanessa first.
That broke something inside me.
A child should look toward the person who makes her safe.
Not the person who decides whether she's allowed to answer.
I crouched.
“Mia.”
I almost called her the wrong name.
My head wasn't working.
“Ivy.”
She touched my cheek.
“What happens when Daddy leaves?”
Vanessa sighed.
“She gets dramatic.”
I looked at her.
“Quiet.”
Her eyes widened.
Nobody told Vanessa Moretti to be quiet in her own dining room.
Apparently she'd forgotten why.
Ivy whispered:
“Mommy says no bother Daddy.”
“Why?”
“Daddy busy.”
“What if you're scared?”
My daughter's eyes filled.
Vanessa immediately spoke.
“She's never scared.”
I ignored her.
“Ivy?”
She looked at me.
“Mommy says I can cry.”
Pause.
“But Daddy won't come.”
I stood slowly.
Vanessa laughed.
“That's parenting now?”
“What?”
“Making children think the world stops when they're uncomfortable?”
I stared at her.
“You told my daughter I wouldn't come.”
“You don't.”
That hurt because sometimes it was true.
Council.
Meetings.
The docks.
Night drives.
I had spent years convincing myself absence and neglect were different if the reason was important enough.
Vanessa saw that thought land.
She smiled.
“There.”
She stepped closer.
“That's what you don't like.”
“What?”
“I'm telling the truth.”
I looked at Florence.
My mother shook her head.
“No.”
Vanessa turned.
Florence continued.
“You told them he didn't want to come.”
Silence.
I looked at her.
“What?”
Florence's voice trembled.
“Last week Owen was sick.”
My son's face changed.
I remembered.
Vanessa had told me it was a mild stomach bug.
“He called for you.”
I looked at Vanessa.
She shrugged.
“He had a fever.”
Florence shook her head.
“He was crying.”
“He survived.”
My jaw tightened.
Vanessa smiled.
“What? You want me to summon the Mafia boss every time a toddler has a fever?”
I stepped closer.
“You told him I didn't want to come.”
“He needed to stop screaming.”
“So you lied.”
“I solved the problem.”
There it was.
Always.
Pain was a problem.
Hunger was a tool.
Fear was leverage.
Children were things to manage.
I opened the black folder again.
There were more pages.
Ivy — CRIES FOR FATHER. IGNORE.
Owen — RESPONDS TO FOOD.
Florence — BREAK WITH HUNGER.
I couldn't breathe for a second.
My own family reduced to methods.
I turned another page.
BLUE KEY.
PANTRY WALL.
SECOND LOCK.
FLORENCE KNOWS.
I looked toward my mother.
“What is behind the pantry wall?”
Florence sat down slowly.
My father had built this house before I was born.
It had hidden rooms.
Service passages.
Old safe corridors.
I knew most of them.
Apparently not all.
“He called it the winter room.”
“What is it?”
“A passage.”
Vanessa laughed.
Finally.
We both looked at her.
She shrugged.
“There. Mystery solved.”
I stared.
“Why do you want it?”
“To clean the house.”
“No.”
“Your father built useless tunnels everywhere.”
“Why?”
She crossed her arms.
“Because I run this place and I'd like to know what is inside it.”
I looked at the black folder.
My schedule.
My mother's hunger.
My children.
The tunnel.
No.
This was not curiosity.
Then Owen spoke.
“Mommy said men come.”
Vanessa froze.
I looked at my son.
“What men?”
He pointed toward the pantry.
“The quiet men.”
Vanessa's voice sharpened.
“Owen.”
My son immediately shut his mouth.
I turned toward her.
“What quiet men?”
“Imaginary friends.”
Florence laughed once.
Weakly.
“They wear suits.”
Vanessa stared at her.
Florence continued.
“Two nights ago.”
My hands went cold.
“I heard voices behind the pantry wall.”
Vanessa stepped forward.
“The old woman is confused.”
Florence looked at me.
“They were asking when council starts.”
Vanessa's face changed.
Just enough.
I opened the folder again.
Near the back was one line I hadn't noticed.
SUNDAY — 8:30.
EAST SIDE READY.
Lorenzo away.
I looked at the clock.
8:12.
May you like
Eighteen minutes.
Whatever Vanessa had planned for my house was supposed to begin before dessert.
