Chapter 8
Celeste made contact that night.
Not with Roman.
With Nora.
A black envelope appeared beneath Sophie’s door.
No one saw who placed it.
Inside:
A photograph of Isabella.
Nora’s mother.
Alive.
Taken one month earlier.
Nora stopped breathing.
“My mother…”
The woman was older.
Gray-haired.
Standing beside a lake.
On the back:
BRING SOPHIE. COME ALONE. ASK HER WHY SHE LEFT YOU.
Roman stared.
Nora’s hands shook.
“She’s alive.”
“Maybe.”
Nora looked at him sharply.
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Do not turn this into suspicion because you’re afraid I’ll go.”
Roman stopped.
She was right.
Old instinct.
Control through doubt.
He exhaled.
“What do you want?”
“I want to see her.”
“Good.”
“You’re not stopping me?”
“No.”
Nora stared.
“Who are you?”
“Apparently a man being retrained by a three-year-old.”
Despite fear, she almost smiled.
“Do I bring Sophie?”
“No.”
This time Nora agreed immediately.
“Absolutely not.”
They built a counterplan.
Nora went.
Roman stayed physically away.
Michael watched one route.
Nico another.
No police.
No official traps.
Just eyes.
The meeting point was an abandoned lakeside hotel.
Nora entered alone.
Isabella waited in the dining room.
Nora stopped.
The older woman began crying.
“Nora.”
Nora did not move.
“You’re alive.”
“Yes.”
“You left me.”
Isabella closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Celeste found me.”
“Your grandmother.”
“Yes.”
“Daniel?”
Isabella’s face broke.
“You know.”
“Michael told us.”
“You met him?”
“Yes.”
“Then Daniel really—”
“Dead.”
Isabella sat.
Nora stared.
“You disappeared after I was two.”
“Yes.”
“Did Celeste take you?”
“At first.”
“Then?”
“I stayed.”
The answer cut.
Nora’s face hardened.
“You stayed.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Revenge.”
There it was.
Every generation.
Isabella continued:
“I blamed D’Angelo.”
“For Daniel.”
“Yes.”
“Who killed him?”
“Lucian.”
“Not Roman.”
“No.”
“Not Vittorio.”
“No.”
“Then why Roman?”
Isabella looked ashamed.
“Because he had the name.”
Nora laughed bitterly.
“That’s your reason?”
“At twenty-five, yes.”
“And now?”
“No.”
Nora looked toward the window.
“Then why send for Sophie?”
“I didn’t.”
Silence.
“What?”
“I sent the photograph.”
“Not the message.”
Nora stared.
Isabella continued:
“I wanted you to know I was alive.”
“Celeste added the command.”
“Bring Sophie.”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
“Here.”
Nora’s body tensed.
An elderly woman entered.
Eighty-four.
White hair.
Black coat.
No cane.
Celeste.
Roman’s half-sister.
Nora’s great-grandmother.
The geometry of blood was absurd.
Celeste looked at Nora.
“You have Isabella’s anger.”
Nora said:
“You have everybody’s excuses.”
Celeste smiled faintly.
“Good.”
“Why Sophie?”
“To save her.”
Nora laughed.
“Everyone says that right before ruining a child.”
Celeste’s expression changed.
Nora continued:
“Helena saved her by making her poor.”
“You want to save her by stealing her father.”
“Who else?”
“Enough.”
Celeste stared.
“You think Roman is different?”
“I think Sophie gets to decide that.”
Celeste’s smile vanished.
“No child decides what powerful men make them.”
Nora stepped closer.
“Then stop making things for her.”
Silence.
Celeste was not used to the simple answer.
Then footsteps came behind Nora.
Roman.
She spun.
Furious.
“You said—”
“I know.”
Roman stopped at the doorway.
“I broke it.”
Nora stared.
“You followed.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Michael disappeared.”
Celeste’s face changed.
Nora looked.
“What?”
Roman continued:
“Someone took him from the road twenty minutes ago.”
Celeste went pale.
Not acting.
Roman saw it.
“You didn’t.”
“No.”
“Then who?”
May you like
Celeste whispered:
“Lucian.”
