Chapter 14 - The Price of Loyalty
I spent the next hour refusing to ask the question.
It was ridiculous.
My mother had told me my father was David Bennett, a mechanic who died in an accident when I was two.
I had one photograph of him holding me as a baby.
He looked nothing like Vittorio Romano.
Still, the date on the photograph bothered me.
So did the hidden relationship between my mother and Eleanor.
Alexander found Eleanor before midnight.
She was at a small cottage on the northern edge of the property.
She hadn’t been fleeing.
She simply couldn’t face me.
I entered alone.
Eleanor sat beside the fireplace.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For keeping Margaret’s secrets.”
“Was Vittorio my father?”
Her eyes widened.
Then she actually laughed.
The tension inside me snapped.
“That isn’t funny.”
“No, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
She took my hands.
“Vittorio was absolutely not your father.”
Relief came so quickly my knees weakened.
“Then explain the photograph.”
“Margaret saved Vittorio’s life.”
“How?”
“She discovered Sebastian was altering medication intended for him.”
History repeating.
My mother had uncovered an earlier poisoning attempt.
Vittorio trusted her from then onward.
“He offered Margaret money,” Eleanor explained. “She refused. He offered protection. She refused that too.”
“That sounds right.”
“But when your father died, Vittorio quietly made sure Margaret had enough to raise you.”
“He paid her?”
“No. She would never accept it. He gave her legitimate accounting work through businesses she didn’t know belonged to him.”
I sat down.
“And her cancer treatment?”
“He paid anonymously.”
Sebastian had told the truth about that part.
“Why did you hire me?”
“Because after Margaret died, I learned you were working three jobs.”
My throat tightened.
“You watched me?”
“From a distance.”
“That sounds less comforting than you think.”
A sad smile appeared.
“I promised your mother if anything happened to her, I would make sure you were safe.”
“So you brought me into the Romano estate?”
“I believed Sebastian was dead.”
She looked ashamed.
“I thought this house was safer than the world outside it.”
Irony didn’t begin to describe it.
“Did Alexander know?”
“No.”
“Did my mother know him?”
“She met him twice when he was a boy.”
That was all.
No secret parentage.
No hidden romance.
Just people trying badly to repay old debts.
I should have been angry with Eleanor.
Part of me was.
But another part understood something.
Everyone in this story had made decisions in the name of protecting someone.
Thomas opened gates to protect me.
Julian obeyed threats to protect Emily.
Elena kidnapped Emily claiming to protect her.
Gabriel disappeared to protect himself from Sebastian.
Protection could become another form of control if you weren’t careful.
“What happens now?” Eleanor asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Will you leave?”
I thought of Alexander.
“I don’t know.”
That answer frightened me more.
Because Sebastian was in custody.
Emily was safe.
Keller’s daughter was safe.
Alexander was recovering.
Technically, I could leave.
Maybe I should.
My life had become dangerous because I loved a man whose name attracted enemies.
And love did not erase reality.
When I returned to the main house, Alexander was waiting in the kitchen.
Not the library.
Not his office.
The kitchen.
He wore dark pants and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
He looked strangely ordinary.
“There you are.”
“Were you waiting?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Long enough to learn your cook hides expensive whiskey behind the flour.”
I laughed despite myself.
He poured two glasses.
“I don’t drink whiskey.”
“I know.”
“Then why two?”
“The second is for me.”
“That makes more sense.”
He drank one.
Then the other.
“Efficient.”
He looked at me.
“Are you leaving?”
The question surprised me.
“Eleanor asked the same thing.”
“She told me.”
“You talked to her?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
I leaned against the counter.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
My heart betrayed me again.
“But wanting you here and having the right to ask you to stay are different things.”
I looked at him.
This was not the Alexander newspapers described.
“I heard your confession,” he said.
“I know.”
“You said you loved me.”
I stared at the floor.
“I was operating under the reasonable assumption you were unconscious.”
“Terrible assumption.”
“Apparently.”
He stepped closer.
“I remember your hand.”
My throat tightened.
“I remember you crying.”
“I wasn’t crying.”
“You were.”
“Fever hallucination.”
“And I remember thinking I had to wake up because you sounded like you were saying goodbye.”
That destroyed every defense I had built.
“Alexander…”
“I don’t know what a normal relationship looks like.”
“Excellent opening.”
He almost smiled.
“I have enemies. My family is complicated. Half my childhood involved armed men pretending to be chauffeurs.”
“You’re really selling this.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He took another step.
“I don’t want you to stay because you feel responsible for me.”
“I don’t.”
“Or because Eleanor brought you here.”
“I don’t.”
“Or because Sebastian made you believe leaving means he wins.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Then why are you still here?”
I looked at him.
“Because I haven’t decided whether loving you is brave or incredibly stupid.”
His expression softened.
“It can be both.”
Before I could answer, Vincent entered.
Naturally.
He stopped.
Looked at us.
“I can return later.”
Alexander sighed.
“What?”
“The toxicology results from Vittorio’s remains arrived.”
Everything inside the room changed.
Vincent handed him the report.
Alexander read it.
Then sat slowly.
“What does it say?” I asked.
His voice became hollow.
“My father was poisoned.”
Same class of respiratory suppressant.
Same basic method used against Alexander.
Sebastian had likely killed Vittorio.
But there was one problem.
The chemical concentration suggested the fatal dose was administered the night Vittorio died.
Sebastian’s passport records showed he was in Switzerland that week.
Someone else gave Vittorio the final dose.
Someone inside the estate.
Vincent placed a second document on the table.
The old security roster.
Only six people entered Vittorio’s room that night.
Alexander.
Julian.
Eleanor.
Thomas.
Nathan.
And one nurse.
The nurse’s name was unfamiliar to everyone except me.
Because I had seen it before.
On my mother’s old medical paperwork.
Marianne Cole.
Nathan’s wife.
And according to federal records, Marianne Cole had disappeared eight years ago.
May you like
The same night Vittorio Romano died.
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