Chapter 2 - The Name Hidden in Cosmo’s Will
Aldrich knew Riona was hiding something before she lowered the note.
Eight years earlier, he had ignored the instinct that told him the same thing for a different reason.
Back then, he had looked at her silence and seen guilt.
Now he looked at it and saw fear.
He hated himself for finally understanding the difference.
“What did my grandfather write?”
Riona slipped the note into her coat.
“Something intended for me.”
“That concerns my family.”
“It concerns why I left.”
“Then it concerns me.”
She gave him a look he remembered too well.
The look she used when he had said something technically logical and emotionally useless.
Anel stood beside her, watching the exchange.
Aldrich immediately lowered his voice.
He had handled negotiations involving millions of dollars without a tremor in his pulse.
Yet the presence of this seven-year-old boy had destroyed his ability to think in straight lines.
His son.
Maybe.
No.
Not maybe.
Aldrich had studied the dates.
He remembered the final weeks before Riona disappeared.
Remembered waking beside her.
Remembered the morning she stole his coffee and told him she hated the tie he was wearing.
Remembered the last night they were together before Roland's folder appeared.
The math was not complicated.
The implication was devastating.
He had a son.
And someone else had watched that boy take his first steps.
Someone else had heard his first words.
Aldrich had missed seven birthdays because eight years ago he had believed paper over the woman he claimed to love.
Riona touched Anel's shoulder.
“We need to go.”
Aldrich stepped back instead of blocking her.
“Where are you staying?”
“No.”
“I wasn't asking so I could follow you.”
“Yes, you were.”
He almost smiled despite himself.
She still knew him.
That somehow made it worse.
“I want to make sure you're safe.”
“I've managed that without you.”
He accepted the blow.
Then he looked toward the street where Nathaniel Price's sedan had disappeared.
“My grandfather apparently spent years planning for your return. That means somebody else may have spent years making sure you never came back.”
Riona didn't answer.
Her silence told him enough.
“Please,” he said.
She stared at him.
Perhaps the word surprised her.
Aldrich Ferrante was not known for using it.
Finally she said, “Hotel Place d'Armes.”
“Room?”
“No.”
“Of course.”
She guided Anel away.
Aldrich watched until they entered the rental car.
Only then did his cousin Marc approach.
Marc Ferrante was thirty-nine, broad-shouldered, impeccably dressed, and one of the few men alive who could speak to Aldrich without first measuring every word.
“What was that?”
Aldrich didn't look at him.
“Riona.”
“I noticed.”
“And the boy?”
Aldrich's jaw tightened.
Marc followed his gaze toward the departing car.
Then realization hit.
“Oh.”
“Don't.”
“I wasn't going to say anything.”
“You were thinking loudly.”
Marc went quiet.
Aldrich turned toward him.
“Where's Roland?”
“Inside.”
“Bring him to the estate.”
Marc frowned.
“Now?”
“Now.”
“What happened?”
“My grandfather left Riona something.”
That changed Marc's expression.
“What?”
“I intend to find out.”
Twenty minutes later, Aldrich returned to the Ferrante estate outside the city.
The house had never felt like home.
Cosmo had built it during the 1970s when security mattered more than comfort. Stone exterior. Iron gates. Long drive through maple trees. Cameras hidden where guests couldn't see them.
Aldrich entered his grandfather's study.
Roland Vain was already waiting.
At fifty-four, Roland retained the calm appearance of a banker rather than a man who had spent three decades navigating the politics of powerful families.
He rose.
“Aldrich.”
“Sit.”
Roland did.
Aldrich remained standing.
“You saw Riona today.”
“Yes.”
“What did you think?”
Roland paused.
“That it was unexpected.”
“The boy?”
A fraction too long.
“The boy?”
Aldrich's attention sharpened.
“You saw him.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He was with her.”
Aldrich walked slowly toward the desk.
“How old do you think he is?”
Roland's face didn't change.
“I have no idea.”
“Seven.”
Silence.
Aldrich watched every movement.
Roland had taught him to do that.
Ironically.
“Do you understand what that means?”
Roland exhaled.
“I understand what you believe it may mean.”
“What I believe?”
“We shouldn't assume—”
Aldrich slammed his palm against the desk.
Not violently.
Just once.
Enough.
Roland stopped.
Aldrich leaned forward.
“Eight years ago you brought me evidence claiming Riona sold information to the Omonts.”
“Yes.”
“Where did you get it?”
“We've discussed this.”
“We're discussing it again.”
Roland's eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“Because my grandfather contacted her.”
That did it.
Small.
Nearly invisible.
But Aldrich saw it.
Roland was afraid.
“Before he died?” Roland asked.
“When doesn't matter.”
“What did he tell her?”
“I asked you a question.”
Roland looked toward the window.
“The financial records came through our internal security review.”
“Conducted by?”
“Several people.”
“Names.”
“Aldrich—”
“Names.”
Roland stood.
“I spent thirty years protecting this family.”
“And if you want a thirty-first, answer me.”
Roland stared at him.
Then the study door opened.
Marc entered carrying a legal envelope.
“Nathaniel Price is here.”
Aldrich frowned.
“Why?”
“Reading of the private codicil.”
Roland's face changed again.
This time Marc noticed too.
“What private codicil?” Aldrich asked.
Marc shrugged.
“Apparently Cosmo added it years ago.”
Nathaniel Price entered five minutes later with a leather case.
Aldrich, Marc, Roland, and Aldrich's aunt Serafina gathered inside the study.
Serafina Ferrante was Cosmo's only daughter.
At sixty-six, she remained elegant, controlled, and intimidating enough to make grown men reconsider their posture.
She kissed Aldrich's cheek.
“This couldn't wait?”
Price set documents on the desk.
“Your father was explicit.”
Serafina sighed.
“My father was explicit about everything.”
Price adjusted his glasses.
“This portion of Mr. Ferrante's will is not related to financial distribution. It concerns property held in trust.”
“What property?” Marc asked.
Price unfolded a page.
“A private security archive.”
Roland went pale.
Aldrich saw it.
Price continued.
“Mr. Ferrante directed that access be granted jointly to two individuals after his death.”
“Who?” Serafina asked.
Price looked at Aldrich.
“You.”
Then he looked toward the empty chair across from him.
“And Riona Mallister.”
No one moved.
Serafina's expression hardened.
“That woman hasn't been part of this family for eight years.”
Price remained professional.
“Nevertheless.”
Roland stood.
“This is absurd.”
Aldrich looked at him.
“Sit down.”
Price continued.
“The archive is located beneath the old wine cellar. Access requires two keys.”
Aldrich looked at the brass key placed on the table.
Price produced another.
“The second key remained in Mr. Ferrante's possession.”
Marc crossed his arms.
“What exactly is in this archive?”
Price read from the document.
“Records Mr. Ferrante believed should remain outside ordinary family systems, including correspondence, financial ledgers, security reports, and personal recordings.”
Roland took a slow breath.
Serafina noticed.
“Roland?”
“Cosmo was ill for years. We don't know what state of mind—”
“My father knew exactly what he was doing,” Serafina snapped.
Price cleared his throat.
“There is one additional instruction.”
Aldrich waited.
“The archive must be opened within forty-eight hours of Mr. Ferrante's burial.”
“And if it isn't?”
“Certain files are automatically released to law firms in Montreal, Toronto, and New York.”
Silence.
Marc whistled softly.
“Grandfather really knew how to schedule entertainment.”
Aldrich ignored him.
“What files?”
“Unknown.”
Roland moved toward the door.
Aldrich spoke without turning.
“Where are you going?”
“I have work.”
“No.”
Roland stopped.
Aldrich finally looked at him.
“You're staying here.”
Roland stared for several seconds.
Then sat.
Across Montreal, Riona was opening the note again.
Anel slept on the hotel bed while rain struck the windows.
She read Cosmo's warning for the fifth time.
Do not trust Roland. But more importantly, do not trust the person who made Roland do it.
Below it:
Serafina Ferrante.
Riona's stomach tightened.
Aldrich's aunt.
The woman who had welcomed Riona into the family.
Taken her shopping.
Defended her at dinners.
Once told her Aldrich had never looked at anyone the way he looked at her.
Why?
Riona turned the note over.
There was writing on the back she hadn't noticed in the street.
Three lines.
Serafina believed you would destroy Aldrich.
She was wrong.
What she did afterward was worse than the accusation.
Riona stared at the final sentence.
What happened afterward?
She thought she knew.
She ran.
She discovered she was pregnant.
She disappeared.
What else could Serafina possibly have done?
A knock came at the hotel door.
Riona immediately covered the note.
She checked the peephole.
Nathaniel Price.
She opened the door halfway.
“How did you find my room?”
“Mr. Ferrante did.”
“Aldrich?”
“No.”
Price looked over his shoulder.
“Cosmo.”
Riona stared.
Price handed her a small flash drive.
“He arranged the reservation.”
Her blood turned cold.
“What?”
“Eight years ago.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“He maintained prepaid reservations under several aliases in Vancouver and Montreal. Your arrival activated one.”
Riona tightened her grip on the door.
“What is on this?”
“I was told not to view it.”
“Everyone keeps giving me things they haven't viewed.”
Price almost smiled.
“Cosmo trusted compartments.”
Then his expression became serious.
“Ms. Mallister, there's something else you should know.”
“What?”
“The week after you disappeared, someone hired investigators to locate you.”
“Aldrich?”
“No.”
She stared.
“Who?”
Price looked down the hotel corridor.
“Serafina Ferrante.”
Riona stopped breathing.
“Why?”
Price's answer was barely audible.
“She wasn't trying to bring you back.”
He looked toward sleeping Anel.
“She was trying to find out whether you were pregnant.”
Riona felt the room tilt beneath her.
And suddenly the question was no longer why Serafina had framed her.
May you like
It was why Serafina had been searching for her unborn child.
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