Chapter 2
Matteo Romano had been dead for nine years.
At least that was what every public record said.
Car wreck outside Milan.
Closed coffin.
Family statement.
Dominic had inherited his brother’s voting shares.
Victor had stood beside him at the funeral.
Now Victor sat in Dominic’s music room and admitted Matteo had been alive the entire time.
Dominic looked at him.
“Where is he?”
Victor stared at the floor.
“I don’t know.”
“Wrong.”
“I mean it.”
“When did you last see him?”
“Eight months ago.”
“Where?”
“Boston.”
“Why?”
“He wanted files.”
“What files?”
“Foundation accounts.”
Isabelle’s charity.
Again.
Dominic’s eyes hardened.
“Why was my wife investigating my brother without telling me?”
Victor swallowed.
“Because she thought you would stop her.”
“Would I?”
“Yes.”
Dominic stared.
Then nodded once.
At least honest.
Sophie sat beside me.
Her small fingers clenched my sleeve.
Lucy had climbed onto the other side of the piano bench.
Both girls watched Victor like he might move suddenly.
I hated that.
Dominic noticed too.
“Marco.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take Victor to the east study.”
Victor looked up.
“You’re treating me like a prisoner.”
“No.”
Dominic’s voice stayed calm.
“I’m treating you like a man my daughters fear.”
That ended the argument.
Marco escorted him out.
Dominic crouched in front of Sophie.
“You did good.”
She shook her head.
“I didn’t.”
“You spoke.”
Her eyes filled.
“I should’ve told you before.”
“No.”
Immediate.
“That was not your job.”
Good.
Lucy whispered:
“Mommy told us hide.”
Dominic froze.
“What?”
Sophie looked at her sister.
Then at her father.
“The night before.”
“What did Mommy say?”
Sophie swallowed.
“If something scary happens, hide what you remember.”
Silence.
Dominic’s face changed.
“She told you that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She said some grown-ups lie.”
My chest tightened.
Isabelle knew danger was coming.
Not necessarily murder.
Something.
Dominic sat on the floor.
His suit did not matter.
“What else did she say?”
Sophie’s voice shook.
“Trust Daddy.”
His eyes closed.
Then:
“Trust Emily.”
Everyone froze.
Me too.
“What?”
I whispered.
Sophie looked at me.
“Mommy said if Emily ever comes, sing.”
My throat closed.
I had never met Isabelle as an adult.
At least I didn’t think I had.
Dominic stared.
“She knew Emily.”
“I don’t know.”
Sophie continued:
“She said Emily would know the blue song.”
“What blue song?”
I asked.
Lucy hummed.
The melody I had been playing.
Twinkle Twinkle?
No.
The notes shifted.
Not nursery song.
An old waltz my mother taught me.
My hands stopped above the keys.
I knew it.
Not because of the girls.
Because my mother used to call it the blue song.
Dominic looked at me.
“You know it.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“My mother.”
“Name?”
“Carol Foster.”
His face changed.
“Foster.”
“Yes.”
“Isabelle’s adoptive family was Foster.”
I stared.
“What?”
He stood.
“She was born Isabelle Hale.”
Hale.
Victor Hale?
No.
Dominic looked toward the east study.
“Her adoptive parents were Anne and Thomas Foster.”
I went cold.
“My mother’s sister was Anne.”
Silence.
Dominic stared.
“You’re related.”
“Adoptive cousins.”
Maybe.
I remembered an older girl at family gatherings.
Izzy.
She played piano.
I had been eight.
She braided my hair.
Then my family moved.
Contact faded.
“Isabelle was Izzy.”
My voice barely worked.
Dominic’s face softened.
“You knew her.”
“As a child.”
Sophie started crying.
“Mommy knew you.”
I looked at her.
“Yes.”
Maybe she had remembered me.
Maybe she had chosen me long before I arrived.
But I had not come by choice?
My agency placed me.
We needed that record.
Dominic called household office.
My employment file arrived electronically.
Referral source:
Shaw & Hale Legal Services.
Dominic’s family law firm.
Evelyn Shaw.
Victor’s sister? No.
Different Hale? We needed avoid too many. Victor Hale shares surname maybe family. Could be no relation? Better.
Evelyn Shaw had signed placement override.
Dominic frowned.
“She’s my estate attorney.”
I stared.
“Why would your attorney hire a housemaid?”
“Exactly.”
Then Marco returned.
“Sir.”
“What?”
“We pulled full dash video.”
“More?”
“Yes.”
“Play.”
The footage after Victor blocked camera resumed.
Audio.
Isabelle shouting.
Matteo:
“Listen to me.”
Isabelle:
“You stole from children.”
Matteo:
“I moved money to witnesses.”
“That is still stealing.”
“Yes.”
“Dominic deserves truth.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad’s network still watches him.”
“Dad is dead.”
Silence.
There.
Antonio was dead.
Confirmed.
Matteo:
“Networks survive.”
Then Isabelle:
“Evelyn controls it.”
Dominic froze.
His attorney.
Victor whispered from doorway—Marco had brought him back under guard.
“She was wrong.”
Dominic looked at him.
“Stay quiet.”
Video:
Isabelle:
“I have the ledger.”
Matteo:
“Where?”
“I’m not telling you.”
Then car door.
Footsteps.
Another voice.
Female.
Lucia Romano? Dominic’s dead mother? We had seen her in frame.
Voice:
“Isabelle.”
Dominic covered his mouth.
His mother.
Alive.
Video Isabelle gasped:
“Oh my God.”
Lucia:
“We don’t have time.”
“Get the girls out.”
“What?”
“Tonight.”
Matteo:
“Mom.”
“Not here.”
Dominic’s face went white.
Sophie whispered:
“Grandma.”
She remembered voice.
Lucia continued:
“Evelyn knows you found the ledger.”
“Then we go to police.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because the police contact is hers.”
Silence.
A corrupt investigator.
Then:
“Use the bank.”
“What bank?”
“First National.”
“Box 417.”
My fingers tightened.
A bank box.
Evidence.
Lucia:
“The key is with the Foster girl.”
Silence.
Everyone looked at me.
I stared.
“What Foster girl?”
Video Isabelle:
“Emily?”
My heart stopped.
Lucia:
“Yes.”
“She doesn’t know.”
“Keep it that way unless you have no choice.”
I touched the locket under my uniform.
My mother had given it at eighteen.
Did it contain a key?
Maybe.
Dominic looked at me.
“You have something.”
“I don’t know.”
I opened locket.
Photo.
Tiny clasp.
Marco examined.
A removable pin.
Key.
Silence.
Victor closed his eyes.
“You knew.”
Dominic snapped.
“Did you?”
Victor said:
“No.”
Then video continued.
Lucia:
“Get Sophie and Lucy home.”
“I’ll meet you at the bank.”
Isabelle:
“I’m telling Dominic.”
Lucia:
“After we secure proof.”
“I won’t let Antonio’s ghosts take another child.”
Then video ended as Isabelle drove away.
Everyone sat frozen.
Dominic stared at me.
“So Isabelle planned to use your key.”
“Yes.”
“Did she contact you?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
I thought.
A blocked call fourteen months ago.
One voicemail I deleted because it was silent.
Maybe.
“I got a call.”
“When?”
“The night she died.”
His eyes sharpened.
“From who?”
“Unknown.”
“Voicemail?”
“Silent.”
Marco requested phone backup.
Cloud archive restored deleted voicemail.
We played.
Static.
Then Isabelle’s whisper.
“Emily?”
My throat closed.
“I need you to remember the blue song.”
Then footsteps.
A man’s voice.
Daniel?
Unknown.
Isabelle:
“No.”
Gunshot?
No.
A door slam.
Voicemail cut.
Dominic stared.
“She called you before she died.”
“Yes.”
“I never knew.”
“Neither did I.”
Good.
No blame.
Marco traced call location historical metadata.
First National Bank.
Box 417.
The key was in my locket.
Dominic looked at me.
“You do not have to open it.”
Important.
I thought of Isabelle.
Sophie.
Lucy.
My bleeding hands.
Victor’s lies.
“I want to.”
We drove to First National under police supervision.
Not the girls.
They stayed with Clara.
Box 417 required key and secondary code.
My locket key fit.
Code?
Blue song.
Notes converted to numbers on old music scale.
My mother taught it.
Isabelle knew I would know.
We entered.
Box opened.
Inside:
A blue ledger.
A photograph of Lucia Romano alive.
A flash drive.
And one letter addressed to Dominic.
He opened.
My love,
If you are reading this, I failed to tell you myself.
Do not trust the person who says protecting the girls required lying to you.
Trust evidence.
Not family.
Not loyalty.
Not fear.
Isabelle.
Dominic closed his eyes.
Then the bank alarm sounded.
Not general.
Vault breach.
Marco drew his weapon.
Security shouted.
Someone had entered through service corridor.
One figure.
Black coat.
Gray hair.
Dominic froze.
“Mom?”
Lucia Romano stood at the far end of the vault.
Before we left for the bank, Dominic asked Clara to bring the girls dinner upstairs. Sophie refused. “I want to stay with Emily.” Dominic looked at me. I looked at Sophie. “Do you want to stay because you’re scared?” She nodded. “Then stay.” Dominic did not argue. Lucy climbed into the chair beside her and whispered, “I want noodles.” That almost made everyone laugh. Clara promised noodles. Normal things mattered.
While Marco arranged police escort, Dominic stood near the window. I joined him. Not close. Just nearby. “You remember Isabelle now,” he said. “Pieces.” “Does that help?” “No.” He nodded. “Good answer.” I looked at him. “She was older.” “Yes.” “Kind?” “Yes.” “Always?” “No.” That surprised me. “She could be stubborn.” “I’m beginning to notice a family pattern.” His mouth moved. “She once stopped speaking to me for three days because I sold a piano.” I stared. “You sold her piano?” “It was broken.” “She disagreed.” “Obviously.” “What happened?” “I bought it back.” I laughed. “Good.” “She made me apologize to the movers too.” That sounded like the woman in the recordings. Not saint. Person. I needed that.
Then Sophie called from the piano: “Daddy?” He turned immediately. “What?” “Did Mommy love you?” The room stopped. Dominic’s face changed. “Yes.” Sophie nodded. “Even when she lied?” He took a breath. “Yes.” “Can both happen?” “Yes.” Good. Sophie looked at me. “Can Victor care and lie?” I swallowed. “Yes.” “Then how do I know who is good?” No one answered quickly. Finally I said, “Maybe you don’t have to decide what a whole person is today.” She frowned. “What do I decide?” “What they did.” Her small face became serious. “Victor lied.” “Yes.” “He scared me.” “Yes.” “Mommy loved Daddy.” “Yes.” “That’s enough?” “For today.” She nodded. Children deserved smaller questions. The adults had already made everything too big.
May you like
Alive.
And she was holding a gun.
