Chapter 7
Lucia Romano had been dead for twelve years.
Officially.
Cancer.
Private funeral.
Closed family service.
Dominic had spoken at it.
Now she stood in the parking-garage video.
Alive.
Watching Isabelle.
I looked at Victor.
“You knew.”
He did not answer.
Dominic did.
“Yes.”
Victor flinched.
Dominic’s voice stayed quiet.
“You knew my mother was alive.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Twelve years.”
Sophie stared at Victor.
“You lie a lot.”
Victor looked down.
“Yes.”
Children made moral accounting efficient.
Dominic looked at the screen.
“Why?”
Victor exhaled.
“Lucia found Antonio’s surveillance network before Matteo.”
“My mother.”
“Yes.”
“She threatened to expose him.”
“Yes.”
“So Dad…”
“No.”
Victor shook his head.
“She faked her own death.”
“Why?”
“To disappear from Antonio.”
“Did he know?”
“Eventually.”
“Did I?”
“No.”
“Did Matteo?”
“Yes.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
“Of course.”
Everything important had happened around him.
Never with him.
I understood that feeling more than I wanted.
“Where is she now?” Dominic asked.
Victor shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
“Bad answer.”
“I mean it.”
“When did you last see her?”
“The night Isabelle died.”
Silence.
“You saw my mother that night.”
“Yes.”
“Did she follow Isabelle?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“No.”
“She looked at me.”
“That’s all.”
Dominic laughed bitterly.
“That’s enough.”
Marco traced the second vehicle.
Plate registered to a shell company.
Romano Strategic Services.
Old corporate entity dissolved eight years ago.
Authorized user on archived records:
Lucia Romano.
Dominic stared.
“My mother owned the car.”
“Yes.”
“Then she was there intentionally.”
Probably.
We needed facts.
Good.
Police reopened the Isabelle case that night.
Not publicly.
Not yet.
Victor was detained for obstruction and assaulting me.
He gave a full preliminary statement.
His attorney arrived.
No red tie.
Good.
Sophie and Lucy were taken upstairs with a trauma specialist.
They chose to go.
Sophie made Dominic promise not to disappear.
He did.
Lucy made me promise to keep playing piano tomorrow.
I did.
Then I finally let Dr. Hayes treat my hands properly.
Multiple superficial cuts.
No tendon damage.
One finger needed two stitches.
Face scratches cleaned.
Swelling.
Nothing permanent.
Good.
Dominic sat outside the medical room.
When I came out, he looked at the bandages.
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do it.”
“I hired him.”
“You trusted him.”
“Yes.”
“Different.”
“Still.”
I understood.
He benefited from Victor’s loyalty.
Did not cause his choices.
Both could matter.
Marco entered.
“Sir.”
“What?”
“We found an address linked to Lucia’s shell company.”
“Where?”
“Rhode Island.”
“Current?”
“Utility active.”
Dominic stood.
“Go.”
Police insisted they go first.
Good.
We followed later.
Not the girls.
Absolutely not.
They stayed with Clara and therapist at the estate.
I considered staying.
Sophie had asked about piano.
Then Dominic said:
“You don’t have to come.”
That made me decide.
“I want to.”
He nodded.
Choice.
Good.
The Rhode Island house was small.
Ocean town.
Blue siding.
Nothing like Romano wealth.
Police entered.
No one inside.
But recently lived in.
Fresh coffee.
Warm radiator.
A piano.
On top:
Two photographs.
Sophie and Lucy.
Recent.
My skin crawled.
Lucia had been watching them.
Another photograph.
Isabelle.
Taken weeks before murder.
Another.
Dominic.
Airport.
Matteo.
Alley.
Victor.
Garage.
A surveillance wall hidden behind a cabinet.
Dominic stared.
“My mother kept watching everyone.”
“Yes.”
On desk:
One recorder.
Label:
FOR DOMINIC.
He pressed play.
Lucia’s voice.
Older.
Steady.
“My son.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
“If you are hearing this, Victor finally failed to keep the garage hidden.”
Victor was supposed to keep it hidden.
Not expose.
Lucia continued:
“Do not mistake him for the murderer.”
Good.
“Victor is guilty of cowardice.”
“He is guilty of choosing secrecy.”
“He is not guilty of killing Isabelle.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“Matteo is not either.”
Silence.
I looked at him.
He did not move.
Lucia continued:
“I was there because Isabelle called me.”
Dominic’s eyes opened.
“What?”
“She found me three weeks earlier.”
“How?”
“She followed foundation payments.”
Same thread.
“Isabelle knew I was alive.”
His face broke.
His wife had known his mother was alive.
And said nothing.
Again.
Lucia continued:
“She planned to tell you.”
“She wanted proof first.”
That hurt slightly less.
Maybe.
“She asked me to meet her in the parking garage.”
“Matteo came because I asked him.”
“Victor came because Matteo did.”
“So everyone was there.”
Yes.
“What happened?”
Lucia’s voice softened.
“Isabelle told us Antonio’s network had not died with him.”
“Someone new controlled it.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“Who?”
Lucia paused.
“She had a name.”
“Evelyn Shaw.”
Silence.
I did not know it.
Dominic did.
His face went pale.
“My lawyer.”
His family attorney.
Still current.
Marco stared.
“Evelyn Shaw manages Romano trusts.”
“Yes.”
Dominic looked sick.
Lucia continued:
“Isabelle believed Evelyn diverted foundation money to pay the surveillance network.”
“Why?”
“To protect a larger secret.”
“What secret?”
Lucia said:
“The girls.”
Sophie and Lucy.
My stomach tightened.
“What about them?”
Dominic whispered.
Lucia continued:
“Sophie and Lucy are not Antonio’s grandchildren by blood.”
Silence.
What?
Dominic stared.
“No.”
His daughters.
His face became dangerous.
Not because paternity.
Because implication.
Lucia clarified immediately:
“They are yours.”
Dominic exhaled.
Good.
“Isabelle is their mother.”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“Antonio believed daughters inherited a dormant trust only if both parents were Romano-line descendants.”
Dominic frowned.
“That makes no sense.”
“Because it was not a normal trust.”
Lucia continued:
“Isabelle was a Romano by birth.”
Silence.
Dominic stopped breathing.
His wife.
Born Romano?
Impossible.
“What?”
“Her birth name was Isabelle Romano.”
Different branch.
Distant cousin?
Lucia answered:
“Her father was Antonio’s younger half brother, Gabriel.”
Dominic’s face changed.
He knew Gabriel?
“Gabriel died before I was born.”
“Officially.”
I almost laughed.
Nobody stayed dead.
Lucia continued:
“Gabriel lived until Isabelle was four.”
“Then disappeared.”
“Isabelle was adopted by the Foster family.”
Foster.
My surname.
I froze.
Emily Foster.
No.
Dominic looked at me.
I looked at him.
Lucia continued:
“Her adoptive parents were Thomas and Anne Foster.”
My parents were David and Carol Foster.
Maybe related.
Maybe not.
Then:
“Isabelle had a younger adoptive cousin.”
“Emily.”
My heart stopped.
Dominic turned fully toward me.
Lucia’s recorded voice continued:
“Emily Foster.”
No.
I stared at the recorder.
“She knew me.”
Dominic’s eyes widened.
“You knew Isabelle?”
“No.”
“I was thirteen years younger.”
Lucia continued:
“Emily’s mother Carol was Anne Foster’s sister.”
There.
Family.
Isabelle was my adoptive cousin.
Older.
I barely remembered extended family after moves.
Maybe a girl named Izzy at holidays.
Memory flashed.
A woman at a picnic braiding my hair.
Could be.
Lucia continued:
“Isabelle knew Emily.”
“She asked me to watch over her too.”
My skin crawled.
“No.”
Dominic looked at me.
I shook my head.
No one got to assign that.
Lucia continued:
“Not place her in the house.”
Good.
“At least, that was not my instruction.”
I looked at Dominic.
“How did I get hired?”
Marco checked.
Agency.
Normal?
Maybe.
He searched.
His face changed.
“Referral override.”
“By who?”
He turned screen.
EVELYN SHAW.
Family attorney.
My stomach dropped.
Evelyn placed me in Dominic’s house.
Why?
Lucia continued:
“If Emily is there when you hear this, Evelyn succeeded.”
Silence.
Dominic stared at recorder.
“What does that mean?”
Lucia answered:
“She believes Emily can unlock Isabelle’s final evidence.”
Of course.
“What evidence?”
“A trust box.”
“Where?”
“First National Bank.”
“Key?”
“With Emily.”
I laughed.
“No.”
I had nothing.
Lucia said:
“She has worn it since she was eighteen.”
I touched my neck.
A small silver locket.
My mother gave it to me when I graduated high school.
I wore it every day.
Dominic stared.
“No.”
I opened it.
Inside photo of my parents.
Nothing else.
Marco examined clasp.
Tiny removable pin.
A key.
Of course.
Lucia’s voice continued:
“Emily, if you are listening, I am sorry.”
“I did not put you in this.”
“Isabelle did not want you in danger.”
“Evelyn did.”
Good.
A clear distinction.
“Do not trust Evelyn Shaw.”
Then:
“She killed Isabelle.”
Silence.
Dominic stood.
His lawyer.
His family attorney.
The woman handling his wife’s estate.
The woman who had placed me in the house.
Lucia’s final words:
“And if Evelyn knows you found the memory card, she will come for the girls next.”
Marco’s phone rang.
He answered.
Went white.
“What?”
Dominic asked.
“Estate security.”
“What?”
“Evelyn Shaw arrived ten minutes ago.”
Silence.
“Why?”
“She says she has emergency guardianship papers.”
“For who?”
Marco swallowed.
Lucia agreed to move into federal protective housing. Dominic did not offer the estate. She did not ask. Good. Before leaving the Rhode Island house, she showed us one last drawer. Inside were birthday cards. For Dominic. Twelve years of them. Never sent.
He stared. “Why write them?” “Because I missed you.” “Why not send them?” “Because I was afraid.” He laughed softly. “Of course.” Lucia looked down. “I know.” He opened none. Not then. He put the bundle into his coat. Choice for later.
On the drive back, I asked: “Will you read them?” “I don’t know.” “Good.” He looked at me. “You say that a lot.” “Because not knowing is allowed.” He was quiet. Then: “My family treats uncertainty like an emergency.” “Yes.” “What does your family do?” “Pretends everything is fine until dessert.” He laughed. “Healthier?” “Not remotely.”
That laugh mattered. Because the car was taking us back to daughters who had remembered murder, a mother returned from the dead, a security chief under arrest, and an attorney trying to take custody. If we could still laugh without denying any of that, maybe the house was not finished.
May you like
“Sophie and Lucy.”
And we were two states away.
