Chapter 4 - The Photograph Across the Street.
Vincent read the message three times.
Each time, his expression became quieter.
Isabella was beginning to understand that silence was the most dangerous version of his anger.
Dominic took the phone without touching anything else on the screen.
"Don't answer it," he said.
"I wasn't planning to."
"Good."
Isabella looked at Vincent.
"Someone followed me before I ever came here."
"Yes."
"Which means Vivian didn't just recognize the necklace tonight."
"Probably not."
Isabella gave him a hard look.
"There is that word again."
Vincent accepted the criticism.
"Then let me say it differently."
He pointed to the photograph.
"Someone knew who you were before tonight."
"Someone knew where you lived."
"And someone cared enough about that locket to warn you after seeing it in public."
Dominic zoomed in on the photograph.
"The angle is from the parking garage across the street."
Isabella nodded.
"Third level, maybe."
Dominic looked at her.
"How do you know?"
"I live there."
"You notice things."
"Being ignored for a living gives you time to look around."
The sentence silenced all three of them.
Vincent handed her phone back.
"You're not going home tonight."
Isabella laughed once.
"You don't get to decide that."
"You're right."
"Good."
"But if you go home, someone who has already photographed your building will know exactly where to find you."
Isabella folded her arms.
"And staying in a mansion connected to a twenty-eight-year cover-up is safer?"
Vincent looked toward the chapel door.
"Tonight, yes."
She hated that he had a point.
"I want my own room."
"Of course."
"No guards inside it."
"Obviously."
"And nobody goes through my purse."
"Agreed."
Dominic almost smiled.
"Anything else?"
Isabella looked at the old men and women in the portraits outside the chapel.
"Yes."
"I want breakfast before anyone tells me another family secret."
Vincent gave the smallest nod.
"That may be the most reasonable demand anyone has made in this house all night."
Mrs. Alvarez prepared a guest room in the west wing.
It had pale walls, a fireplace, and a window overlooking the snow-covered garden.
Isabella stood at the doorway and stared at the king-sized bed.
"This is bigger than my apartment."
Mrs. Alvarez smiled sadly.
"Most rooms in this house are bigger than they need to be."
She set folded pajamas and toiletries on a chair.
"These are new."
Isabella looked at her.
"You don't have to keep apologizing for Vivian."
Mrs. Alvarez lowered her eyes.
"I'm apologizing for myself."
"Why?"
"I saw the way she spoke to you before the ballroom incident."
"I should have stepped in earlier."
Isabella considered that.
"Would she have listened?"
"No."
"Would you have lost your job?"
Mrs. Alvarez hesitated.
"Possibly."
"Then don't turn fear into guilt just because the night ended differently than you expected."
The older woman looked surprised.
"Your mother teach you that?"
"She taught me not to confuse bravery with having no bills to pay."
Mrs. Alvarez smiled.
"I think I would have liked her."
"Most people did."
After Mrs. Alvarez left, Isabella locked the door and sat on the edge of the bed.
For the first time since the gala began, she was alone.
She removed the locket.
The silver was warm from her skin.
Teresa had given it to her in a hospital room two years earlier.
Her mother had been thin then, but her voice had still carried the same quiet certainty Isabella remembered from childhood.
"This belonged to my mother," Teresa had said.
Isabella had laughed softly.
"You told me Grandma died before I was born."
Teresa had looked away.
"I told you many things because I wanted you safe."
At the time, Isabella thought illness was making her mother sentimental.
Now she understood the confession had been literal.
Teresa had lied because she believed truth carried danger.
Isabella turned the locket over.
The engraved M and olive branch looked obvious now.
How had she never asked what they meant?
Because the symbol had always belonged to her mother.
Children rarely question the objects that exist before they do.
She opened the locket.
Inside was a tiny photograph of Teresa holding Isabella as a baby.
On the opposite side was a faded scrap of blue fabric.
Isabella had always assumed it came from a favorite dress.
Now she thought of the ribbon tied around Lucia's hidden key and the scarf in Teresa's room.
Blue had been more than a color in this family.
It had become a breadcrumb.
Her phone vibrated again.
This time the unknown number was calling.
Isabella stared at it.
Dominic had told her not to answer.
She answered.
"Hello?"
Silence.
Then a man's voice.
"You look like her."
Isabella's entire body went still.
"Who is this?"
"More than Vincent knows."
"If you know something about my mother, say it."
The man breathed slowly into the phone.
"Ask him about April twenty-third."
"What happened April twenty-third?"
"The day Teresa disappeared."
"Who are you?"
"Someone who learned too late that loyalty can be another word for cowardice."
The line went dead.
Isabella immediately called Vincent.
He answered before the first ring finished.
"What happened?"
"Someone called me."
Silence.
"You answered."
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
"He said I look like my mother."
Vincent was at her door less than a minute later.
Dominic arrived seconds behind him with a laptop.
Isabella repeated the call word for word.
Dominic checked the number.
"Spoofed."
"Can you trace it?"
"Not from the display."
Vincent stood near the fireplace.
"April twenty-third."
Dominic nodded.
"That's the date in the old family file."
"What happened that day besides Teresa leaving?"
Dominic rubbed a hand over his face.
"There was a board meeting at Moretti Imports."
"I was a kid," Vincent said.
"I remember my father coming home late."
Dominic looked at him.
"Antonio removed two executives that night."
"Who?"
"Frank Bell and Samuel Pierce."
"Why?"
"He said they had stolen from the company."
Isabella leaned forward.
"Were they connected to Marco?"
"Bell was his supervisor."
"And Pierce?"
"He approved outside contracts."
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
"Including DeMarco contracts."
Dominic nodded.
"Yes."
Isabella looked at them.
"Where are those men now?"
Dominic typed quickly.
"Bell died in Florida nine years ago."
"Pierce is alive."
Vincent moved closer.
"Where?"
Dominic stared at the screen.
"Connecticut."
"Call him."
"At one in the morning?"
"If someone can call Isabella at one in the morning, so can we."
Dominic found a number.
The call rang four times.
An older man answered with a suspicious hello.
"Mr. Pierce, my name is Dominic Rizzo."
The line went silent.
Dominic looked at Vincent.
"Mr. Pierce?"
"I know who you are."
"Then you know why I'm calling."
"No."
"Teresa Moretti."
A breath came through the speaker.
Then the line disconnected.
Vincent immediately called back.
No answer.
Dominic tried again.
Straight to voicemail.
"He shut off the phone," Dominic said.
Isabella stood.
"Then we go to him."
Vincent checked the time.
"In the morning."
"You said that about the bank."
"And I'm still saying it."
"Why?"
"Because exhausted people make mistakes."
Isabella stared at him.
"My mother spent twenty-eight years waiting."
"Another six hours won't erase her."
The sentence was firm without being dismissive.
She hated that too.
"Fine."
Dominic closed the laptop.
"I will have two people outside the house overnight."
Isabella pointed toward the door.
"Outside my room?"
"Outside the mansion."
"Good."
Vincent turned to leave.
Isabella stopped him.
"Did you really love her?"
He looked back.
"Who?"
"Vivian."
The question seemed to surprise him more than any accusation had.
He looked toward the dark hall.
"I thought I did."
"That's not an answer."
Vincent gave a tired smile.
"You sound like Teresa."
Isabella's throat tightened.
"Answer anyway."
He leaned against the doorframe.
"Vivian was easy to understand."
"She liked power, expensive rooms, and being admired."
"She never pretended otherwise."
"I respected that honesty."
Isabella raised an eyebrow.
"Until tonight."
"Until tonight I thought the worst thing about her was vanity."
"Now?"
"Now I think vanity may have been the least important thing about her."
He left.
Isabella locked the door again.
She slept for less than three hours.
At six-thirty, someone knocked.
Mrs. Alvarez stood outside with coffee and a garment bag.
"Mr. Moretti asked if you wanted something other than the uniform."
Isabella opened the bag.
Inside were black trousers, a soft cream sweater, and a wool coat.
No designer labels hung from the sleeves.
No attempt had been made to make her look like someone else.
The clothes were simply warm and in her size.
That small consideration affected her more than the guest room had.
"Tell him thank you."
Mrs. Alvarez smiled.
"You can tell him yourself."
Breakfast was waiting in the smaller family dining room.
Vincent sat at one end of the table with coffee and three folders.
Dominic stood near the window speaking quietly on the phone.
Isabella sat across from Vincent.
A plate of eggs, toast, and fruit had been set for her.
"You actually remembered breakfast," she said.
"I have many flaws."
"I'm discovering that."
"But poor hospitality is not one of them."
Dominic ended his call.
"Samuel Pierce is gone."
Vincent set down his coffee.
"Gone where?"
"His neighbor says he left before dawn with two suitcases."
Isabella stopped eating.
"After our call."
"Looks that way."
"Can you find him?"
Dominic nodded.
"Eventually."
Vincent slid one folder toward Isabella.
"We may not need him first."
She opened it.
Inside was a printed photograph from an old employee file.
A young Marco Romano stared back at her.
Isabella had never seen a photograph of her father.
She recognized her own mouth immediately.
Her hand flew to her face.
"That's him?"
Dominic nodded.
"Marco Romano."
Isabella touched the corner of the photograph.
He was smiling.
For twenty-two years, her father had been a sentence in her mother's stories.
Now he had a face.
"Where did you find this?"
"Archived personnel records."
Vincent pushed a second page toward her.
"Look at his emergency contact."
Isabella read the line.
TERESA MORETTI.
Relationship: FIANCEE.
"They were engaged."
Vincent nodded.
"Apparently."
Isabella laughed bitterly.
"How many versions of my mother's life are there?"
"We're going to find the real one."
Dominic placed another document beside the photograph.
"There is something else."
It was Marco's final payroll record.
His last day at Moretti Imports was April twenty-second.
One day before Teresa disappeared.
The termination reason was handwritten.
VOLUNTARY RESIGNATION.
Beneath it was Antonio Moretti's signature.
And beside Antonio's name was the signature of a witness.
CARLO DEMARCO.
Isabella looked up.
"Vivian's father signed this."
Vincent stared at the paper.
"He witnessed Marco leaving the company."
Dominic shook his head.
"Or he witnessed the paperwork that made it look that way."
Vincent's phone rang.
The caller ID showed VIVIAN.
He let it ring once.
Twice.
Then he answered on speaker.
"What?"
Vivian's voice was calm.
Too calm.
"My father wants to meet."
Vincent's expression did not change.
"Why?"
"Because you are digging into things you don't understand."
Isabella felt a chill.
Vincent looked directly at her.
"Then he can explain them."
Vivian paused.
"He will meet you alone."
"No."
"Vincent."
"Isabella comes with me."
Silence.
Then Vivian said something that made Isabella forget the food in front of her.
"That would be a mistake."
Vincent's voice turned colder.
"Why?"
Vivian exhaled.
May you like
"Because my father says Isabella's mother wasn't the only Romano who survived 1998."
THE LOCKET OF BELLADONNA HOUSE
