Chapter 4
The north fitting room had no handle.
Only a brass keyhole hidden beneath old molding.
Victoria inserted Daniel’s key.
One turn.
A click.
Marcus swore behind her.
Helena whispered:
“Don’t.”
Victoria opened the door.
Cold air.
Dark room.
Then a sound.
Breathing.
“Clara?”
A woman answered weakly.
“Mrs. Bellacorte?”
Noah’s mother sat against the wall.
Not bound.
The door had been enough.
A blanket around her shoulders.
Empty water glass beside her.
One shoe missing.
Her face looked exhausted.
Victoria crossed the room.
“How long?”
Clara swallowed.
“Since last night.”
Helena spoke from the doorway.
“She had water.”
Victoria turned.
Clara whispered:
“Once.”
Helena rolled her eyes.
“Oh, please. You weren’t dying.”
Clara flinched.
“There.”
Helena pointed.
“That performance is exactly why she’s a seamstress.”
Victoria looked at Clara.
“What happened?”
Clara’s eyes moved toward Marcus.
He smiled.
Warning.
Victoria stepped between them.
“He cannot touch you.”
Marcus laughed.
“She works for us.”
“No.”
Victoria looked back.
“She works here.”
That distinction mattered.
Clara reached into her cardigan.
Pulled out another old brass key.
Noah had been right.
“I found this inside Daniel’s anniversary jacket.”
Marcus lunged.
Two bodyguards caught him.
Clara continued.
“I was repairing the lining.”
“What does it open?”
“I don’t know.”
Helena snapped:
“She stole it.”
Clara shook her head.
“I brought it to Mrs. Helena.”
Victoria turned.
Helena’s face hardened.
“And?”
Clara whispered:
“She told me I had never seen it.”
Victoria looked at Helena.
Then Marcus.
Clara continued.
“Last night Mr. Marcus moved Daniel’s portrait.”
Marcus stopped struggling.
There it was.
“What did he take?”
Clara looked at the black ledger in Victoria’s hand.
“That.”
Helena laughed.
“Then how is it still behind the portrait?”
Clara stared.
“Because he put it back.”
“Why?”
Clara’s breathing changed.
“He copied names.”
Marcus shouted:
“Liar.”
Clara recoiled.
Victoria did not.
“Which names?”
Clara looked at her.
“The capos who still answer to you.”
Silence.
Victoria opened the ledger again.
Black circles.
Red slashes.
Not debts.
Not payments.
Loyalty.
May you like
Marcus had been cataloging exactly who would resist him.
And the memorial gala had gathered nearly every one of those people under the same roof.
