Chapter 5 - THE ANGEL INSIDE THE MUSIC
Dominic's estate locked down in less than three minutes.
Iron gates sealed.
Exterior lights flooded thirty acres of lawn.
Armed men swept the gardens, greenhouse, guesthouse, garages, wine cellar, and family chapel.
They found no intruder.
What they did find was worse.
The stone angel beside Isabella's fountain had been moved.
Only two inches.
But Dominic knew every inch of that garden.
His mother had designed it before he was born.
Nothing moved.
Not without permission.
Clara arrived at the mansion forty-eight hours later against medical advice.
She still couldn't walk without help.
Dr. Levin had threatened homicide.
Dominic had pointed out that homicide threats were technically his department.
Dr. Levin had not found that amusing.
Now Clara sat in a wheelchair on the terrace, pale beneath an oversized gray sweater Isabella had bought for her.
Her left arm remained in a sling.
Bandages covered her ribs.
The gold ring was still on her finger.
Not because she had accepted the marriage.
She told herself she simply hadn't had the strength to remove it.
Dominic told himself he believed her.
Neither was convincing.
The Rossi garden looked exactly like the fragments in Clara's childhood memory.
White roses.
Stone fountain.
Tall hedges.
And the angel.
She stared at it for a long time.
"I remember chasing butterflies here."
Isabella stood behind her.
"You called them flying flowers."
Clara looked back.
"You really remember me?"
"I remember everything about children who steal six cannoli and blame my dog."
Clara blinked.
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
A faint smile touched Clara's mouth.
Then disappeared.
"My parents were happy here?"
Isabella's expression softened.
"For a while."
Clara wheeled closer to the fountain.
The angel was small, perhaps two feet tall, with folded wings and one hand extended.
Dominic crouched beside it.
"No compartment."
"Maybe we're taking Mom too literally."
Clara closed her eyes.
The music box.
Little angel inside the music.
Her father had been playful.
He liked puzzles.
He once hid her birthday gift by creating a treasure map that sent her through every room in their apartment.
"Where is my music box?" Clara asked.
"In Cleveland," Dominic said.
"Then we need it."
"We can't send anyone into your mother's house blindly."
"Why?"
"Because Costa expects us to."
Clara looked frustrated.
Enzo emerged from the mansion.
"We found the attic box inventory from the Cleveland property manager. Blue music box was logged last year."
"Good."
"Problem is the house was broken into last night."
Clara's face fell.
"Was it taken?"
"No idea. Police found the front door damaged. Nobody's entered since."
"I can tell someone where to look."
Dominic shook his head.
"No."
"Then what?"
"We bring the entire attic here."
Clara stared.
"The entire attic?"
Dominic called Enzo.
"Buy the house."
Clara blinked.
"What?"
"Buy it."
"Dominic, that's my mother's house."
"Then she'll get a very favorable price."
"You cannot solve every problem by purchasing it."
"I haven't found one yet that wasn't improved by having options."
Despite herself, Clara almost smiled.
Enzo sighed.
"I'll call the owner."
Clara frowned.
"My mother owns it."
Enzo looked at Dominic.
Then Clara.
"No."
Clara's smile vanished.
"What?"
Enzo checked the records.
"The property belongs to a holding company."
"What holding company?"
"Bell Star Management."
Clara's heart tightened.
Bell.
The alias.
"Who owns Bell Star?"
Enzo's fingers moved across his tablet.
His face changed.
"That's interesting."
Dominic looked up.
"Who?"
"Technically?"
"Enzo."
"Clara does."
Silence.
Clara stared at him.
"I own what?"
"Bell Star Management. Registered beneficiary: Clara Elizabeth Evans."
"I have six hundred dollars in checking."
"You also own a house in Cleveland."
Enzo kept scrolling.
"And four commercial buildings in Brooklyn."
Clara's mouth opened.
"And..."
Enzo stopped.
Dominic's eyes narrowed.
"What?"
"A warehouse in Red Hook."
Clara shook her head.
"This is ridiculous."
Enzo looked at her.
"That warehouse is valued at fourteen million dollars."
Clara laughed.
It came out almost hysterical.
"Wonderful. I can't afford groceries, but apparently I own Brooklyn."
Dominic didn't laugh.
"Michael built something."
Enzo nodded.
"Bell Star was formed fourteen years ago."
Clara's father had created it months before he died.
"What else?" Dominic asked.
"Accounts are sealed behind a private trust."
"Who administers it?"
Enzo opened another page.
His face became unreadable.
"Salvatore Rossi."
Dominic went still.
Clara felt the entire atmosphere change.
"Your uncle?"
Enzo nodded.
Dominic turned toward the mansion.
"Bring him to me."
Salvatore didn't run.
He walked into Dominic's study and closed the door.
Clara insisted on being present.
Dominic objected.
Clara informed him that if he tried excluding her from another conversation involving her own life, she would personally bleed on his Persian carpet.
Dominic let her stay.
Salvatore looked at Clara.
"You have Michael's eyes."
"So people keep telling me."
He looked older than he had two days earlier.
Dominic placed the Bell Star documents on his desk.
"Explain."
Salvatore read the first page.
Then sighed.
"I wondered when you'd find it."
Dominic's fist tightened.
"You knew Clara owned those properties."
"Yes."
"You managed her trust."
"Yes."
"You said nothing."
"I was under instructions."
"From whom?"
"Michael."
Clara leaned forward.
"My father trusted you?"
Salvatore looked at her.
"More than he should've."
Dominic stared.
"Then why were Costa's payments in your name?"
Salvatore closed his eyes.
"Because Michael put them there."
Clara froze.
Dominic's voice dropped.
"What?"
"He used my identity to move Costa's money."
"Why?"
"To make Costa believe I was corrupt."
Dominic walked closer.
"You let my father die believing you betrayed him?"
"No."
Salvatore's voice cracked.
"Michael was supposed to tell him."
Silence.
"Tell him what?" Clara asked.
Salvatore looked at her.
"Your father had infiltrated Costa's operation."
Clara's hands tightened around the wheelchair arms.
"He was laundering Costa's payments through accounts in my name," Salvatore continued, "so he could map every transaction without exposing himself."
Dominic stared.
"Carlo discovered the transfers before Michael could explain."
"And then my father died."
"Yes."
"Convenient."
Salvatore's face twisted.
"You think I haven't lived with that?"
Dominic slammed both palms onto the desk.
"I spent fourteen years thinking my father died surrounded by traitors!"
"He did!"
The room froze.
Salvatore immediately regretted the words.
Dominic straightened.
"Who?"
Salvatore said nothing.
Clara whispered, "You know."
"I know what Michael suspected."
"Say it."
Salvatore looked toward Isabella's portrait.
Then at Dominic.
"Your father had another adviser."
Dominic's expression hardened.
"Who?"
"Father Thomas."
Clara blinked.
"The priest?"
Salvatore nodded.
"The same priest who put this ring on Clara?"
Dominic's voice turned cold.
"Thomas wasn't always a priest."
Salvatore sat.
"Before the collar, Thomas Marchetti handled disputes for your father. Money. Negotiations. Information."
Dominic remembered Father Thomas being at every Christmas.
Every funeral.
Every family baptism.
The man had heard Dominic's confession after Carlo's death.
"He betrayed my father?"
"I don't know."
"Then what do you know?"
"Michael found an offshore account receiving payments from Costa."
Dominic waited.
"Account holder was T.M."
Thomas Marchetti.
Clara felt sick.
"Where is Father Thomas now?"
Nobody answered.
Dominic reached for his phone.
The chapel guard picked up.
"Boss?"
"Put Father Thomas on."
A pause.
"Sir, he left thirty minutes ago."
Dominic's eyes hardened.
"Where?"
"Said he had a hospital emergency."
Dominic looked at Clara.
Father Thomas knew about Ellen.
He knew about the ledger.
He knew Clara was alive.
And he had disappeared.
The blue music box arrived that evening.
Dominic's men retrieved it from Cleveland using a security escort.
Clara held it with trembling hands.
The paint was faded.
Silver stars had chipped away.
She ran her thumb across the lid.
"My dad fixed this three times."
Dominic sat opposite her.
"Open it."
Inside was a tiny ballerina.
Clara wound the key.
Nothing happened.
"It's been broken for years."
Dominic examined the base.
"Maybe not."
He noticed four screws.
Three were brass.
One was steel.
Clara stared.
"That wasn't there before."
Enzo handed Dominic a screwdriver.
Dominic removed the mismatched screw.
The bottom panel came loose.
Inside was a tiny silver object wrapped in wax paper.
Clara's breath caught.
An angel.
No larger than a quarter.
She lifted it carefully.
The wings separated.
Inside was a miniature key.
Enzo whispered, "Safe-deposit key?"
Dominic examined the number engraved on it.
"No bank marking."
Clara turned it over.
One side held three letters.
B.S.M.
Bell Star Management.
The mansion went silent.
Enzo immediately searched Bell Star's properties.
"Red Hook warehouse has a private basement vault."
Dominic looked at Clara.
"That's where Michael hid it."
But Clara saw something else inside the music box.
A folded photograph.
She pulled it out.
Carlo Rossi stood beside Michael Evans.
Behind them were Salvatore and Father Thomas.
All four men were smiling.
On the back Michael had written:
IF I FAIL, TRUST THE ONE WHO LOST THE MOST.
Clara showed Dominic.
His face changed.
"Who lost the most?"
Clara whispered.
"Maybe your mother."
Isabella had lost Carlo.
Dominic shook his head.
"Maybe Salvatore."
He lost his brother's trust.
Clara stared at the photograph.
Then something hit her.
"No."
"What?"
"My father."
She pointed at Michael.
"He wrote it."
Dominic frowned.
Clara's heart raced.
"If he failed, trust the one who lost the most."
She turned the photograph toward the light.
Michael's finger pointed toward someone barely visible at the edge of the frame.
A woman.
Young.
Dark-haired.
Ellen.
Clara whispered, "My mother lost my father."
Dominic nodded slowly.
"And then spent fourteen years running."
Clara closed her eyes.
"She knows who betrayed them."
At that moment Enzo's phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
Then looked at Dominic.
"We found Ellen."
Clara grabbed the wheelchair arms.
"Where?"
"Security camera picked her up at Grand Central."
Clara's eyes widened.
"She's in New York?"
Enzo swallowed.
"She's not alone."
He turned the phone around.
The image showed Ellen walking through the station.
Raymond Bellandi held her arm.
May you like
And ten feet behind them walked a man wearing a priest's collar.
Father Thomas.
