Chapter 5 - The Man Who Was Supposed to Be Dead.
Isabella stared at the phone as if the device itself had betrayed her.
Vincent did not speak for several seconds.
Dominic was the first to move.
He reached for a notepad and wrote one word.
MARCO?
Vincent nodded once.
"Say that again," he told Vivian.
"You heard me."
"I want to hear you say his name."
Vivian's voice tightened.
"My father didn't give me a name."
"Then how do you know he's a Romano?"
"Because he said Isabella's mother wasn't the only one."
Isabella pushed back from the table.
"Put me on."
Vincent looked at her.
"You're already on speaker."
Isabella leaned toward the phone.
"Vivian."
The line went quiet.
"What?"
"If you're using my father to scare me, stop now."
"I'm not trying to scare you."
"You spent last night trying to humiliate me in front of a ballroom."
"That had nothing to do with your father."
"It had everything to do with my necklace."
Vivian did not answer.
Isabella continued.
"You requested me by name."
"You knew who Teresa Romano was."
"Someone photographed me before I came to Belladonna House."
"And now your father suddenly wants a private meeting."
"So either tell the truth or stop calling."
Vivian's voice lost some of its polish.
"You think Vincent will protect you because you're family."
"I don't know Vincent well enough to think anything about him."
That earned the faintest reaction from Vincent.
"But I knew my mother."
"She spent her life looking over her shoulder."
"If your family helped put that fear there, I'm not walking away because you asked nicely."
Vivian laughed once.
"You really are Teresa's daughter."
Isabella's heart skipped.
"You knew her."
"No."
"You just said that like you knew what she was like."
"My father talked about her."
Vincent leaned toward the phone.
"Where is Carlo?"
Vivian hesitated.
"At the DeMarco townhouse."
"Tell him we'll be there at ten."
"He said alone."
"Then he can enjoy breakfast by himself."
Vincent ended the call.
Isabella looked at the clock.
It was seven-fifteen.
"The bank opens at nine."
Vincent nodded.
"We go there first."
"And then Carlo."
"Yes."
Dominic frowned.
"I don't like him choosing the location."
Vincent looked at him.
"Neither do I."
"Then don't go."
"If he knows something about Marco, we go."
Isabella folded the payroll record and placed it carefully inside the folder.
"I'm going too."
Dominic looked at Vincent.
Vincent looked at Isabella.
"I wasn't going to argue."
"Good."
"But you stay beside me."
"Don't ruin the moment."
At eight-thirty, a black sedan left Belladonna House through the east gate.
Snow still covered the grounds, but the city roads had been cleared.
Isabella sat in the back seat beside Vincent.
Dominic rode in front.
A second vehicle followed at a distance.
Isabella noticed it immediately.
"Security?"
"Yes," Vincent said.
"I thought you were trying to make this less dramatic."
"I never said that."
She looked out the window.
Manhattan moved past in gray winter light.
People carried coffee, hailed taxis, and hurried toward office buildings.
The ordinary morning made Isabella's life feel even stranger.
Yesterday she had worried about rent and whether a last-minute catering shift would cover her electric bill.
Today she was carrying two antique keys and a family letter while riding beside a man half the city treated like royalty and the other half treated like a rumor.
"What does everyone think you do?" she asked.
Vincent glanced at her.
"Everyone?"
"The guests last night."
"Some think I run hotels."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
"Some?"
"Shipping."
"And?"
"Real estate."
"And?"
He sighed.
"My family used to make money in ways I have spent fifteen years removing from our books."
Isabella turned toward him.
"That's a careful answer."
"It's the accurate one."
"Were you a criminal?"
Dominic coughed in the front seat.
Vincent almost smiled.
"You don't waste time."
"I don't have much patience today."
He looked out his own window.
"I inherited companies with dirty histories."
"Some people around my father committed crimes."
"Some were never prosecuted."
"I closed businesses I couldn't clean up and sold others."
"Have I broken laws?"
He looked back at her.
"Probably fewer than people assume and more than my attorneys would enjoy hearing me discuss."
Isabella considered the answer.
"At least that sounded honest."
"It was."
Metropolitan Trust occupied a limestone building on Madison Avenue.
The branch manager was waiting when they arrived.
Vincent had called ahead using the Moretti Foundation's account relationship.
The manager was a nervous man named Elliot Graves.
He shook Vincent's hand, then Dominic's.
When he looked at Isabella, he smiled professionally.
"And you are?"
"The person with the key."
His smile faded slightly.
"Of course."
They were taken downstairs to the private vault level.
The walls were cream stone.
The air smelled cool and metallic.
Graves checked the tag tied to Lucia's key.
"Box 317."
He typed into a terminal.
Then his eyebrows lifted.
"Is there a problem?" Vincent asked.
"The box is very old."
"We know."
"It is registered under a dormant family trust."
"Which trust?"
Graves turned the monitor slightly.
LUCIANA MORETTI FAMILY HOLDING TRUST.
Vincent frowned.
"I didn't know that existed."
"It predates your father's consolidated estate plan."
Isabella looked at him.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning my grandmother had assets separate from my grandfather."
Graves stood.
"The key alone won't be enough."
Isabella's stomach dropped.
"What else?"
"A signature authorization."
"From Lucia?"
"No."
Graves looked at the record again.
"From Teresa Moretti or her direct descendant."
The room went silent.
Vincent looked at Isabella.
"You."
Graves blinked.
"I'm sorry?"
Vincent nodded toward her locket.
"She is Teresa's daughter."
The manager's professional calm cracked.
"We would need documentation."
Isabella took out Lucia's letter.
"Would this help?"
"Not legally."
"Then what would?"
Graves explained that a birth certificate, death certificate, and chain of identity would be required.
Isabella had digital copies of her own records, but Teresa's New Mexico records listed her mother as Teresa Romano.
No Moretti connection appeared anywhere.
Vincent leaned back in his chair.
"Who last accessed the box?"
Graves hesitated.
"That information is confidential."
Vincent stared at him.
"The person whose authorization controls the box is standing in front of you."
"Not yet, legally."
Isabella touched Vincent's arm.
"Don't bully him."
Vincent looked at her hand, then at her face.
"I'm not."
Graves looked unconvinced.
Isabella turned to the manager.
"Can you tell us whether anyone accessed it recently without giving a name?"
Graves thought for a moment.
"I can tell you the box has not been opened in fourteen years."
Vincent frowned.
"Fourteen years?"
"Yes."
"Who accessed it then?"
Graves shook his head.
"That I cannot disclose without authorization."
Isabella looked at the date on his screen.
Fourteen years earlier was 2012.
Lucia Moretti died in 2012.
"My grandmother," Isabella said.
Vincent nodded slowly.
"Probably."
Graves printed a list of documents Isabella would need to establish her claim.
They left the vault without opening Box 317.
Isabella was furious.
"We finally have the key, and paperwork stops us."
Vincent pressed the elevator button.
"Paperwork is the only thing in this story behaving normally."
Dominic's phone rang.
He answered as they stepped into the elevator.
"Rizzo."
He listened.
"You're certain?"
Vincent looked at him.
Dominic's face became grim.
"Send it to me."
He ended the call.
"Cole's daughter found the digital file."
Isabella turned.
"Teresa's file?"
"Yes."
"What's in it?"
"She hasn't opened the documents."
"Then how does she know?"
"The folder name."
Dominic showed them his phone.
The message contained a screenshot of an old directory.
CASE 98-0417 ROMANO/MORETTI.
Below it were six scanned files.
One filename stood out.
M_ROMANO_PHOTO_2003.
Isabella felt her knees weaken.
"Marco."
Vincent stared at the date.
2003 was five years after Marco supposedly died.
"If that's him," he said, "then Vivian wasn't lying."
The elevator doors opened.
Dominic's security driver was waiting outside.
They got into the sedan.
"We can go to Cole's office now," Dominic said.
Vincent shook his head.
"Carlo first."
Isabella looked at him.
"Why?"
"Because if Carlo knows Marco survived, I want to hear what story he gives us before we see the evidence."
The DeMarco townhouse stood on a quiet Upper East Side block behind black iron gates.
It was smaller than Belladonna House but somehow felt more guarded.
A houseman opened the door.
Vivian was waiting in the front salon.
She wore a cream suit instead of an evening gown.
Her hair was pulled back.
Without the diamonds and ballroom lighting, she looked more tired than glamorous.
Her eyes went immediately to Isabella.
"I told you not to bring her."
Vincent removed his coat.
"You stopped giving me instructions last night."
Vivian's face hardened.
"My father won't like this."
"He invited me."
A door opened at the far end of the room.
Carlo DeMarco entered slowly with a cane.
He was seventy-one, silver-haired, and perfectly dressed in a dark three-piece suit.
He looked at Vincent first.
Then Dominic.
Then Isabella.
His face changed when he saw the locket.
Unlike Vivian, he did not bother hiding recognition.
"Teresa's daughter," he said.
Isabella stood.
"You knew my mother."
Carlo leaned on his cane.
"I knew everyone in those days."
"Did you know my father too?"
Carlo's expression remained unreadable.
"Marco was an accountant."
"Was?"
"He left."
"Your daughter says he survived 1998."
Vivian looked sharply at Carlo.
"I said you told me another Romano survived."
Carlo sighed.
"You always did talk before thinking."
Vivian's face flushed.
Vincent stepped forward.
"Is Marco Romano alive?"
Carlo looked toward the fireplace.
"I don't know."
Isabella laughed bitterly.
"Everyone loves that answer."
Carlo looked at her again.
"You have your mother's impatience."
"And you keep talking like you knew her well."
"I knew her well enough to know she made dangerous choices."
"Like finding your financial records?"
For the first time, Carlo's eyes sharpened.
"Who told you that?"
Vincent smiled without warmth.
"Interesting."
Carlo looked at him.
"What?"
"You didn't deny it."
Carlo moved toward an armchair.
"Sit down, Vincent."
"I'm fine standing."
"You came here for answers."
"Yes."
"Then stop performing for the girl."
Isabella stepped between them.
"The girl has a name."
Carlo studied her.
"Isabella."
"Good."
"Now tell Isabella why your signature appears on Marco Romano's last payroll record."
Carlo's fingers tightened around the cane.
"Because Antonio asked me to witness his resignation."
"Did Marco resign?"
"Technically."
"What does technically mean?"
Carlo looked at Vincent.
"It means your father wanted him gone."
"Why?"
"Because Marco had copied internal records."
Isabella felt heat rise in her chest.
"The records that showed money going to your companies."
Carlo did not answer.
Vincent stepped closer.
"What happened on April twenty-third?"
Carlo's gaze shifted.
That was answer enough.
"You remember," Vincent said.
Carlo sighed.
"Your father met Teresa in his office."
"I was there."
Isabella's pulse jumped.
"What did he do?"
"He offered her a choice."
"What choice?"
Carlo looked at Isabella.
"Leave New York and never use the Moretti name again."
"Or?"
Carlo's silence chilled the room.
Vincent's voice lowered.
"Or what?"
"Or Antonio would turn Marco over to people who wanted the stolen records back."
Isabella's face went pale.
"So she left to protect him."
Carlo nodded.
"That's what Antonio believed."
"And Marco?"
"Marco was supposed to follow."
"Did he?"
Carlo looked away.
Isabella stepped forward.
"Did he?"
"No."
"Why?"
Carlo's voice became quieter.
"Because Marco made a second copy of the records."
Vincent stared at him.
"Where?"
"Nobody knew."
"What happened to him?"
Carlo rubbed his thumb across the silver head of his cane.
"He disappeared."
"Stop using that word," Isabella snapped.
"People don't vanish."
"Someone helps them leave or someone makes sure they cannot come back."
Carlo looked at her with something almost like admiration.
"You really are her daughter."
"Where is my father?"
Carlo gave a long breath.
"The last time I saw Marco Romano was in 2003."
Isabella's eyes filled instantly.
Vincent went still.
Vivian stared at her father.
"You never told me that."
Carlo ignored her.
Isabella could barely form the words.
"Where?"
"Montreal."
"Why were you there?"
"Business."
"Did you speak to him?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
Carlo hesitated.
"He asked if Teresa was alive."
Isabella's breath broke.
"He didn't know?"
"No."
"You knew she was alive."
Carlo said nothing.
Isabella understood.
"You knew."
Vincent's voice turned hard.
"Answer her."
Carlo looked at Isabella.
"I suspected."
"Did you tell him?"
"No."
The room seemed to disappear around her.
Her mother had spent years believing Marco was dead.
Marco had spent years believing Teresa was dead.
And Carlo DeMarco had stood between them with the truth.
Isabella's voice shook.
"Why?"
Carlo looked older than he had when he entered.
"Because by 2003, too many people had built lives on the original lie."
"That is not an answer."
"It is the only one I have."
Isabella took a step back.
Vincent moved beside her without touching her.
She appreciated that.
"Is Marco alive now?" Vincent asked.
Carlo looked at the fire.
"I don't know."
"Where did he go after Montreal?"
"He gave me an address."
Isabella looked up.
"What address?"
Carlo's eyes moved to her locket.
"I burned it."
Vivian suddenly stood.
"No, you didn't."
Everyone turned toward her.
Carlo's face changed.
"Vivian."
She looked pale but determined.
"You kept everything."
"Be quiet."
"You kept the ledger."
"Vivian."
"You kept the photograph."
Carlo's voice sharpened.
"Enough."
Vivian looked at Isabella.
"He kept Marco's address too."
Carlo slammed the base of his cane against the floor.
"Stop talking."
The sound echoed through the salon.
Vivian flinched but did not sit down.
For the first time, Isabella saw a different relationship between father and daughter.
Vivian's arrogance had not disappeared.
But neither had her fear of him.
"Where is it?" Vincent asked.
Vivian looked at Carlo.
Then she looked at Vincent.
"In the blue safe behind his study bookshelves."
Carlo's face went gray.
"You ungrateful child."
Vivian laughed without humor.
"You brought Teresa's daughter into my engagement and expected me not to notice?"
Isabella stared at her.
"You brought me into the engagement."
Vivian turned toward her.
"Because I needed to know if the locket was real."
The admission landed like a door slamming.
Vincent's voice became very quiet.
"So you did know."
Vivian looked at him.
"I knew enough."
"Why did you want the locket?"
"Because my father has spent twenty-eight years terrified of what Teresa hid."
Carlo pointed toward her.
"You have no idea what you're saying."
"I know exactly what I'm saying."
Vivian's eyes filled, though she refused to let the tears fall.
"You told me if that locket ever returned to Belladonna House, everything would change."
Isabella touched the pendant.
"What's inside it?"
Vivian stared at the necklace.
"I don't know."
Carlo closed his eyes.
That reaction told Isabella more than words could.
She unclasped the locket and held it in her palm.
"You do."
Carlo opened his eyes.
"Teresa never told me."
"But you know there's something."
He looked toward Vincent.
"If you are smart, you will stop this now."
Vincent's expression was cold.
"That warning is twenty-eight years late."
Carlo sat down slowly.
"Then go to the safe."
Vivian stared at him.
"You're just giving up?"
"No."
He looked at Isabella.
"I'm letting her find out what her mother chose to protect."
The study was on the second floor.
Dominic found the hidden wall safe exactly where Vivian said it would be.
Carlo refused to give the combination.
Vivian did.
041498.
The date of the $2.4 million transfer.
The safe opened.
Inside were property deeds, cash envelopes, old photographs, and a narrow red notebook.
Dominic found a yellowed index card behind the notebook.
He handed it to Isabella.
One address was written in faded black ink.
M. ROMANO.
147 ST. DENIS ROAD.
MONTREAL, QUEBEC.
Below it was a second handwritten note.
FORWARDING CONTACT: ELIAS VALE, PORTLAND, MAINE.
Isabella stared at the name.
"Who is Elias Vale?"
Carlo answered from the doorway.
No one had heard him climb the stairs.
"The last man I know who spoke to your father."
Isabella turned.
"Is he alive?"
Carlo nodded.
"Yes."
"Then I'm going to Maine."
Vincent looked at Dominic.
Dominic was already searching the name.
His phone loaded a public record.
ELIAS VALE, AGE 74.
Retired marine mechanic.
Camden, Maine.
Isabella felt hope for the first time since entering Belladonna House.
It lasted five seconds.
Then Dominic opened another result.
A local news notice had been posted that morning.
ELIAS VALE REPORTED MISSING BY NEIGHBOR.
The date was today.
May you like
Someone had reached the next witness before they did.
THE LOCKET OF BELLADONNA HOUSE
