Chương 4
Lorenzo looked at Isabella’s stomach, then at her face. The question entered his expression without becoming words.
She felt the secret between them sharpen.
“It’s mine,” Elena said quickly.
Lorenzo turned to her.
“A medical photograph,” she continued. “My sister’s.”
“Your sister lives in Naples.”
“She sends things.”
“In your apron pocket?”
Elena lifted her chin. “People send strange things.”
Under any other circumstances, Isabella might have laughed. Elena had always been a bad liar. She became formal and vaguely offended, as if truth were a household rule someone else had broken.
Lorenzo looked at Isabella again.
The front bell rang.
Nobody used the bell. Family walked in; employees entered through the side; people who feared Lorenzo waited in their cars until summoned. Dominic pressed it a second time, holding it long enough to make the sound rude.
Lorenzo picked up his phone. “Go upstairs.”
Isabella did not move.
“Elena,” he said, “take the bag.”
The bell stopped.
A man’s voice came through the door. “Lorenzo?”
Isabella recognized Dominic’s smooth baritone. He had given the toast at her wedding and remembered everyone’s birthday. He sent Elena expensive olive oil each Christmas and called Isabella little sister when Lorenzo was in the room.
Lorenzo stepped toward the foyer.
Isabella caught his sleeve. “If you lie to me again, I will walk out that door even if ten cars are waiting.”
He looked down at her fingers, then at her bare hand.
“I believe you,” he said.
She released him.
Elena picked up the travel bag with both hands. It was heavier than Isabella remembered.
They reached the rear staircase as Lorenzo opened the front door.
Dominic entered laughing about traffic.
His laugh stopped when he saw them.
“Anniversary plans changed?” he asked.
He wore a charcoal overcoat and no tie. Rain had darkened the shoulders of the coat, though Isabella had not noticed rain at the windows. His silver hair was cut close at the sides, and his face possessed the comfortable openness of a favorite uncle. Only his eyes looked busy.
“Elena is moving a bag,” Lorenzo said.
Dominic glanced at Isabella’s dress, then at the luggage. “I can see that.”
“My mother is ill,” Isabella said.
“I’m sorry.” He touched his chest. “Teresa all right?”
“She will be.”
“You need a driver?”
“No.”
“Carlo’s outside. He can take you.”
Elena nearly dropped the bag.
The leather handle struck the banister with a dull knock.
Dominic turned toward her. “You all right?”
“My wrist.”
“Still bothering you?”
Elena stared at him.
Dominic smiled. “You mentioned it last month.”
“I don’t remember.”
“I remember everything people tell me.”
Lorenzo closed the door. “Isabella isn’t leaving tonight.”
Dominic’s smile remained, but his eyes returned to the bag. “Probably wise. It’s becoming an unpleasant evening.”
“What happened at the warehouse?” Lorenzo asked.
“Not here.”
“This is my house.”
“Exactly.”
Dominic looked toward the cameras mounted near the ceiling corners. They covered the entry doors and windows, not the interior rooms. He had chosen their positions years earlier.
Lorenzo gestured toward the library. “We’ll talk there.”
As Dominic passed Isabella, he leaned close enough for her to smell rain and tobacco on his coat.
“Happy anniversary,” he said.
She met his eyes. “You remembered.”
“I remember everything.”
Upstairs, Elena locked the bedroom door and set the travel bag on a bench.
Isabella went straight to the bathroom and was sick.
There was little in her stomach besides tea and half a piece of toast. When the nausea passed, she sat on the closed toilet with her forehead against the cool wall. Elena wet a washcloth and placed it against the back of her neck.
“Does this happen often?” Elena asked.
“Twice this week.”
“You said it was something you ate.”
“I hoped it was.”
Elena crouched in front of her. “Does Mr. DeSantis know?”
“No.”
“He suspects.”
“He suspects everything.”
“That is not the same.”
Isabella wiped her mouth. “Give me the photograph.”
Elena removed it from her apron. The fold had left a pale line along the border, but the image remained intact.
Isabella held it by the edges. At the clinic, she had stared at the white blur until the technician gently explained where to look. The heartbeat had appeared as a tiny rhythm on the screen, impossibly fast.
She had cried in the elevator afterward. Not from happiness exactly. Not from fear exactly. Her emotions had refused to separate themselves into useful categories.
“Put it in the bag,” she said.
Elena opened the inner pocket. Isabella slid the photograph behind her passport and the envelope of cash. The wedding ring lay at the bottom, catching the lamplight.
Elena touched it with one finger. “You took it off before the clinic?”
“After.”
“Why?”
“I saw the ledger when I came home.”
“How did you get into the safe?”
“Lorenzo’s code was our wedding date.”
Elena closed her eyes.
“He changed every security code except that one,” Isabella said. “I suppose he thought it was romantic.”
“Or he thought no one would guess.”
“I guessed.”
“Why were you in his office at three in the morning?”
Isabella folded the damp washcloth and placed it beside the sink. “Matteo’s old girlfriend called me yesterday. Nadia. She said someone had been asking about his laptop.”
“Who?”
“She didn’t know. Two men came to her apartment. They said they were collecting foundation property.”
“Did Matteo have a foundation laptop?”
“No. He used his own.”
Elena sat on the edge of the tub.
“Nadia found a voicemail from him,” Isabella continued. “He told her he had copied payment records and hidden one set somewhere Lorenzo would never look. He said if anything happened, she should tell me to check the anniversary.”
Elena frowned. “The anniversary of what?”
“I thought he meant my wedding. Our wedding date opened the safe.”
“And inside you found the payment.”
“Among other things.”
“What other things?”
“Transfers. Property records. Names. I didn’t understand most of it.”
May you like
“Did you photograph them?”
Isabella looked toward the bedroom door.
