Chapter 12 - The Woman Vincent Thought Was Dead
Anthony Bell had managed Rossi family legal affairs for eighteen years.
He drafted my marriage contracts.
Handled property purchases.
Structured trusts for Matteo.
Helped coordinate Elena's estate after her death.
He knew where money moved.
He knew where people lived.
He knew every security company we hired.
He knew Marcus Vale.
He knew Luca.
He knew nearly everything.
And I had never once considered him dangerous.
That made him dangerous.
We searched his office.
Empty.
Phone disconnected.
House abandoned.
He had left hours after Marcus fled.
Not coincidence.
Dominic found a hidden account linking Anthony to Argent Wing.
Large transfers.
Regular intervals.
Then something strange.
The final payment had been made not to Anthony—
but by him.
Two million dollars.
“What does that mean?” Clara asked.
“Maybe he was buying something,” Dominic said.
“Or paying someone to disappear.”
The transaction memo contained five characters.
E-R-140.
Elena Rossi.
Fourteen months.
Clara looked at me.
“No.”
I understood her thought.
“No.”
“What if—”
“She died.”
“You saw her?”
I froze.
I had seen Elena at the funeral.
Or rather, I had seen a closed casket.
Her injuries had been severe.
Hospital staff advised against viewing.
Marcus Vale personally told me not to.
My stomach turned.
“Dominic.”
He looked sick.
“I identified her at the hospital.”
“How?”
“Marcus showed me.”
“You saw her face?”
Pause.
“No.”
“What did you see?”
“Wedding ring. Clothing. Medical bracelet.”
Clara whispered, “All things that could be moved.”
I stood.
“No.”
Hope can be more frightening than grief.
Because grief is stable.
Hope destroys stability.
“She died in the hospital.”
“According to Marcus,” Clara said.
“Death certificate.”
“Signed by Marcus.”
“Body.”
“Closed casket.”
“Stop.”
She did.
I pressed both hands against the desk.
Fourteen months.
What if?
No.
Impossible.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A woman breathed on the other end.
“Vincent?”
I stopped breathing.
There are voices the human brain recognizes before logic interferes.
I knew hers.
“Elena?”
Clara's hand flew to her mouth.
The line crackled.
The woman whispered:
“Don't let them take Matteo.”
Then a noise.
A door.
Male voices.
The call ended.
My knees nearly failed.
Dominic caught the desk.
“No.”
I called back.
Number unavailable.
Clara whispered, “That was her?”
“Yes.”
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
Elena was alive.
Everything after that happened fast.
Telecom tracing identified the call as routed through multiple internet relays, but one relay briefly touched a cellular tower in northern Vermont.
Dominic mobilized a small team.
I started packing.
Matteo appeared in the doorway.
He had wheeled himself from the hallway.
“Dad?”
I stopped.
He looked from me to Clara.
“What happened?”
Every instinct said lie.
Instead:
“I heard your mom.”
He stared.
“What?”
“She may be alive.”
The room disappeared behind his expression.
Hope.
Fear.
Disbelief.
Children should not experience that combination.
“You said she died.”
“I believed she did.”
“Mom's alive?”
“I don't know yet.”
“You just said—”
“I heard a voice that sounded exactly like her.”
Matteo began crying.
“I want to go.”
“No.”
“Dad—”
“No.”
His face hardened.
“You always leave me.”
The sentence stopped me.
“I have to find her.”
“I know.”
“Then—”
“But I want you.”
Not the safest house.
Not guards.
Not Clara.
Me.
I crouched beside his wheelchair.
“What if Clara stays?”
He shook his head.
“What if Dominic?”
“No.”
He looked eight again.
Not traumatized.
Not injured.
Just eight.
“Please.”
I looked at Clara.
She understood before I spoke.
“I'll go,” she said.
I stared.
“What?”
“With Dominic.”
“No.”
“You stay with Matteo.”
“I need to find my wife.”
“And he needs his father.”
She leaned closer.
“If Elena is alive, what do you think she'd tell you right now?”
I knew.
That was the problem.
I stayed.
It was the hardest decision I had made since the bombing.
Dominic and Clara left for Vermont.
For twelve hours, Matteo and I waited.
We watched terrible television.
He beat me at chess twice.
Neither of us spoke about Elena.
Then at 3:17 a.m., my phone rang.
Clara.
I answered.
“We found the building.”
My heart hammered.
“And?”
“There was a woman here.”
“Was?”
“Someone moved her less than an hour ago.”
I closed my eyes.
“Evidence?”
Clara hesitated.
Then:
“She left something.”
“What?”
“A message scratched into the wall.”
“Read it.”
Clara's voice shook.
Tell Matteo I kept my promise. Tell Vincent the Shepherd is inside the family.
Then Dominic came onto the line.
“Vincent, there's more.”
“What?”
“We found blood.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“And a photograph.”
“Of what?”
“You, Matteo, Elena…”
He paused.
“And Clara.”
I looked across the room at my sleeping son.
“Clara had never met Elena.”
“I know.”
“So how is she in the photograph?”
May you like
Dominic answered quietly.
“Because the picture was taken three years ago.”
