Chapter 5 - The House My Mother Built
Adrian watched the video twice.
Michael watched it three times.
I didn’t need to watch it again.
Vivian owned those shoes.
Red patent leather.
Thin black heel.
A tiny gold V above the arch.
She had worn them into my home while carrying a bottle of wine as though she were arriving for dinner.
Now they were in my father’s burning library.
“Call her,” I said.
Adrian looked at me.
“What?”
“Call Vivian.”
“She won’t answer.”
“Try.”
He dialed.
Speaker on.
One ring.
Two.
She answered on the third.
“Adrian.”
Her voice was calm.
Too calm.
“Where are you?”
“Why?”
“Answer me.”
She laughed softly.
“You always did confuse commands with conversation.”
Michael leaned toward the phone.
“Vivian.”
Silence.
Then:
“Michael?”
His face changed.
“Where are you?”
“You shouldn’t be with her.”
“Elena?”
“Yes.”
“I told her to stay away from Gabriel.”
“You didn’t tell her Gabriel isn’t Gabriel.”
Another pause.
“I was trying to keep her alive.”
I grabbed the phone.
“Are you at my father’s house?”
Vivian went silent.
I felt Adrian watching me.
“Answer me.”
“Yes.”
My blood went cold.
“What did you do to him?”
“Nothing.”
“I saw you.”
“You saw my shoes.”
“Don’t play games.”
“Elena, listen to me. Your father is alive.”
“Then put him on the phone.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s gone.”
My stomach tightened.
Adrian mouthed, stay calm.
I ignored him.
“Gone where?”
“He escaped through the old tunnel.”
I stared.
“What tunnel?”
Michael muttered, “Of course the DeLucas have a tunnel.”
“Not helping.”
Vivian continued.
“I came here because Salvatore asked me to.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No. I expect you to check the safe behind Maria’s portrait.”
My mother’s portrait.
The one hanging in the library since her death.
Adrian’s gaze sharpened.
“What’s in the safe?”
Vivian heard him.
“If Salvatore made it out, nothing. If he didn’t, Elena needs what’s inside.”
“Who attacked him?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were standing there.”
“I arrived during the attack.”
“That video showed you walking past him.”
“To get a fire extinguisher.”
Michael took the phone.
“Vivian, who knew you were going there?”
“No one.”
“Adrian?”
“No.”
“Your security?”
“No.”
“Then how did the attackers know?”
Her voice became quiet.
“Probably the same way someone knew where Elena was.”
My skin prickled.
There was a leak.
One that seemed to know everyone’s location.
Adrian ended the call.
I stared at him.
“Why did you do that?”
“Because we’re assuming the phone is compromised.”
He removed the SIM card and snapped it.
“Vivian said Dad escaped through a tunnel.”
“Do you know one?”
“No.”
Michael nodded thoughtfully.
“I do.”
Both of us looked at him.
He shrugged.
“Gabriel told me.”
“You really enjoy revealing these details one disaster at a time.”
“I’m trying not to overwhelm the pregnant woman who has been poisoned and shot at.”
“You’re failing.”
Adrian almost smiled.
Almost.
Dr. Shaw insisted on checking my blood pressure before we left.
Elevated.
Unsurprising.
She refused to leave me without medical supplies and made me swear to call if I experienced regular contractions, bleeding, fluid loss, dizziness, or decreased fetal movement.
Then she looked at Adrian.
“If anyone gives her so much as an aspirin without my approval, I’ll personally testify at their murder trial.”
I liked Dr. Shaw more every minute.
We left through the service entrance.
Michael drove.
Adrian sat beside him.
I stayed in the back.
No one liked that arrangement.
Which made it ideal.
The DeLuca estate sat thirty miles west of the city behind stone walls and ancient oak trees.
I had grown up there.
My mother designed half the gardens.
My father expanded the house after she died until the place became less home than fortress.
As we approached, smoke appeared over the trees.
My chest tightened.
Fire trucks blocked the main drive.
Police vehicles lined the road.
Michael slowed.
“We can’t go in that way.”
Adrian pointed toward a narrow lane.
“Take the next left.”
“You know the estate?”
“I married into the family.”
“You barely visited.”
“I studied every exit before my wedding.”
Of course he did.
We parked half a mile away near an abandoned stable.
From there we walked through the woods.
I was seven months pregnant, wearing expensive boots never intended for snow.
Adrian kept trying to help.
I kept refusing.
Finally, after I nearly slipped for the third time, he caught my elbow.
“Stop.”
“Let go.”
“No.”
“I can walk.”
“You can also fall.”
Michael continued ahead, wisely pretending not to hear.
I looked at Adrian’s hand on my arm.
“Is this how you protected me? Secret blood tests? Fake affairs? Poisoned vitamins?”
His face tightened.
“I failed you.”
The answer stole some of my anger.
Not enough.
But some.
“Yes.”
“I know.”
“Why bring Vivian into our home tonight?”
He released me.
For several steps, he said nothing.
Then:
“Because someone inside my organization believed you had found Verona.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“I needed them to think I was cutting you loose.”
“So you humiliated me to protect me?”
“I expected anger. A public fight. You leaving for a hotel or your father’s.”
“You told me to leave.”
“Yes.”
“You thought that would protect me?”
“I intended to have security follow you.”
“Without telling me.”
“Yes.”
“Do you hear yourself?”
“I knew you would refuse if I told you.”
“That is not a defense.”
“I know.”
At least he kept saying that.
“Did Vivian know?”
“That I planned to make you leave? Yes. That I would say what I said? No.”
“So her moving into my living room?”
“Her idea.”
That tracked.
“I hate both of you.”
“Fair.”
It was possibly the most human answer Adrian had given me all night.
We reached the rear stone wall.
Michael found an old iron gate buried beneath ivy.
The lock had been cut recently.
“Someone came through here,” he whispered.
We entered.
The estate grounds were chaos near the main house.
Fire crews worked on the damaged east wing.
The library windows were black.
Security guards spoke to police.
No one watched the old garden entrance.
We moved toward the greenhouse.
“Tunnel access is below,” Michael said.
“You know that too?”
“Gabriel was very informative.”
Inside the greenhouse, winter had killed most of the plants.
Michael moved an old shelving unit.
Behind it was a narrow staircase.
I stared.
“I played here as a child.”
“Apparently your family preferred hiding architecture from children,” he said.
Adrian led the way down.
At the bottom was a brick corridor.
Cold.
Damp.
Old.
The tunnel divided twice.
Michael chose left.
“How do you know?”
“Gabriel.”
“Of course.”
After several minutes, we reached a steel door.
Unlocked.
Beyond it was the basement of my childhood home.
Smoke lingered in the air.
The electricity was off.
We used phone lights.
My mother’s desk remained in the library above us.
But first, the safe.
We climbed the servant stairs.
The house sounded wrong.
No staff.
No voices.
Only distant water and cracking wood.
The library doors were scorched.
Inside, everything smelled burned.
My mother’s portrait still hung above the fireplace.
Half the frame was blackened.
I crossed toward it.
Adrian caught my arm.
“Wait.”
He inspected the floor.
Then the wall.
No trap.
We removed the portrait.
A safe was built behind it.
Digital keypad.
I stared.
“What code?”
Michael looked around.
Adrian answered.
“Her birthday.”
I turned.
“How would you know?”
“Your father uses Maria’s birthday for everything he thinks matters.”
The code worked.
Inside were three envelopes.
A pistol.
Two passports.
And a small cassette tape.
One envelope had my name.
ELENA.
I opened it.
The handwriting was my father’s.
Daughter,
If you are reading this, our family has failed to protect you from a war that began before your marriage.
Your mother discovered that the Romano and DeLuca organizations were being manipulated by a third group.
They financed conflicts, bought officials, moved money through both families, then made us blame each other for the consequences.
Maria called them The Circle.
Adrian stepped closer.
I continued reading.
She believed Daniel Mercer had infiltrated them.
She was wrong.
Daniel Mercer founded them.
Michael stopped breathing.
“No.”
I looked at him.
His face had drained of color.
His father.
The missing federal prosecutor.
Founder of the network responsible for my mother’s death.
I kept reading.
Vivian and Michael do not know the truth.
Neither does Adrian.
The original ledger proves everything.
Maria hid it the night before she died.
Only you know where.
I closed my eyes.
Only me.
A childhood memory surfaced.
My mother sitting at her desk.
Me complaining about the squeaky floorboard beneath her chair.
Her laughing.
“Some noisy things keep the quiet secrets safe.”
I opened my eyes.
“My bedroom.”
We hurried upstairs.
The room hadn’t been mine in years, but my father never changed it.
The wallpaper.
The shelves.
The old canopy bed.
And beside the window, empty space where my mother’s desk once stood.
I knelt carefully.
Adrian protested.
I ignored him.
Third floorboard from the wall.
It squeaked.
Michael found a metal poker and lifted it.
Below was darkness.
Then a cloth bundle.
My hands trembled as I removed it.
Inside was an old leather ledger.
Handwritten names.
Dates.
Transfers.
Initials.
Photographs tucked between pages.
Michael turned one.
His father.
Daniel Mercer.
Standing beside Vittorio Romano.
And my father.
A fourth man stood with them.
Someone I recognized.
I stared at the photograph.
“That’s impossible.”
Adrian took it.
His expression transformed.
Because the fourth man had attended our wedding.
Had held me after my mother’s funeral.
Had served as Adrian’s most trusted adviser for more than twenty years.
His uncle, Carlo Romano.
The man Adrian had left in charge of the entire Romano organization while he came after me tonight.
Adrian reached for his phone.
I grabbed his wrist.
“Don’t.”
He looked at me.
“If Carlo is The Circle—”
“Then calling your people tells him we found the ledger.”
Michael looked toward the door.
“We need to leave.”
A floorboard creaked in the hallway.
We froze.
A shadow moved beneath the bedroom door.
Then Carlo Romano’s voice came from the other side.
“You should have listened to your mother, Elena.”
The door opened.
Carlo stood there holding a gun.
And beside him was my father.
Hands bound.
Blood on his face.
Still alive.
May you like
Carlo smiled.
“Now give me the ledger.”
