Chapter 5 - Roman DeLuca Starts Asking Questions
Claire had expected Roman to explode.
He didn't.
That was worse.
After Marcus spoke Damian Cross's name, Roman simply stood.
Still.
Silent.
The kind of silence that made Marcus begin talking before anyone asked another question.
“I didn't know she would send Claire into the storm.”
Roman remained motionless.
Marcus swallowed.
“She told me to disable the cameras and open the delivery gate. That's all.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I swear.”
Claire watched Marcus.
“You gave Vivian my sister's photograph.”
Marcus looked away.
“Claire—”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Her room number?”
“Yes.”
“Therapy schedule?”
Marcus closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Claire felt something inside her crack.
Marcus had smiled at Lily once.
Last summer, when Claire's car wouldn't start, he'd driven her to the train station and asked about the photograph taped inside her locker.
That's your sister?
Yeah.
She looks like trouble.
She is.
He had laughed.
Then apparently written down the information.
Roman saw Claire's face.
His voice dropped.
“Why?”
Marcus rubbed his hands together.
“Money.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand.”
Claire stared.
“You sold my sister for two hundred thousand dollars?”
Marcus flinched.
“No one was supposed to hurt Lily.”
“That makes it better?”
“No.”
Roman placed both hands on the table.
“Tell me everything Vivian asked you to do.”
Marcus exhaled shakily.
It started in October.
Vivian approached him after the failed Northstar agreement.
She wanted to know whether Claire had mentioned finding documents.
Marcus said no.
Then she asked him to monitor Claire's calls from estate phones.
Later, her travel schedule.
Then Lily.
“Why Claire?” Roman asked.
“Because Victor believed she copied something.”
Claire shook her head.
“I didn't.”
Marcus nodded.
“I know.”
Roman's eyes narrowed.
“How?”
“I searched her locker.”
Claire stared.
Marcus continued.
“Her room. Her car. There was nothing.”
“Then why continue?”
“Vivian didn't believe me.”
Claire spoke softly.
“Because she needed me afraid.”
Marcus looked at her.
“Yes.”
Roman paced once around the room.
“What does Northstar hide?”
Marcus shook his head.
“I don't know.”
“Wrong answer.”
“I don't know!”
Roman turned.
Marcus immediately lowered his voice.
“Victor doesn't tell me things. Vivian barely did. I was security, not family.”
“Damian knows?”
“Maybe.”
“Where is he?”
Marcus hesitated.
Roman's stare hardened.
“Marcus.”
“I don't know exactly.”
“Try.”
“He uses a house outside Stamford.”
Gabriel wrote down the address.
Claire looked at Roman.
“What happens now?”
“We find Damian.”
“And Vivian?”
Roman didn't answer.
Claire understood.
That problem was more complicated.
Vivian wasn't simply his fiancée.
Their families were connected by business.
Contracts.
Political relationships.
Men whose loyalty depended on money flowing between the two sides.
Calling off the wedding wasn't like ending a normal engagement.
It could begin a war.
Roman knew it.
Claire knew it.
And Vivian certainly knew it.
Back at DeLuca House, Vivian waited in Roman's private sitting room.
She had changed into cream trousers and a cashmere sweater.
Perfect again.
As though nothing had happened.
When Roman entered, she looked up.
“Where have you been?”
“Working.”
“On Christmas morning?”
“Yes.”
She watched him.
“Claire?”
“Recovering.”
“I'm glad.”
Roman poured water.
Not whiskey.
Vivian noticed.
“You're angry with me.”
“Should I be?”
Her eyes sharpened.
“You tell me.”
Roman sat opposite her.
“Why did you send Claire outside?”
“Because my father wanted wine.”
“No.”
Vivian crossed her legs.
“If you've already decided what happened, why ask?”
“I want to see how long you'll lie.”
That struck.
Her jaw tightened.
“You're being dramatic.”
“A woman nearly died.”
“I didn't create the weather.”
“You created the reason she entered it.”
“I asked an employee to retrieve something.”
“Something that wasn't there.”
Vivian paused.
A tiny mistake.
Roman caught it.
Then she smiled.
“Maybe I was mistaken about where the bottle was stored.”
“Were you also mistaken about Marcus Dane disabling the cameras?”
The smile vanished.
Roman watched her carefully.
“You talked to Marcus?”
“Yes.”
Vivian stood.
“You detained one of your employees?”
“He betrayed me.”
“You don't know what you're talking about.”
“I know he gave you Claire's family information.”
Vivian's face changed.
Not guilt.
Anger.
“You had no right to interrogate him about private conversations.”
Roman almost smiled.
“That's your concern?”
She turned toward the fire.
“You're allowing a maid to create problems between our families.”
“Claire hasn't created anything.”
“She was in the wrong place.”
Roman's eyes narrowed.
“Which place?”
Vivian realized too late.
Roman stood.
“What wrong place, Vivian?”
She remained silent.
“The conservatory?”
No answer.
“October seventeenth?”
Vivian turned slowly.
“You don't understand what my father has been trying to protect.”
“Then explain it.”
“I can't.”
“You mean you won't.”
“Our marriage is bigger than Claire Bennett.”
Roman stepped closer.
“This isn't about Claire anymore.”
Vivian laughed quietly.
“Of course it is.”
“What does that mean?”
“I've watched you.”
Roman said nothing.
“You notice her.”
“She works in my house.”
“You know when she enters a room.”
“Vivian.”
“You never look at me like that.”
Roman stared.
For the first time, Claire's existence was mixing with something Vivian had apparently resented long before the snow.
“Did you send Damian Cross?”
Vivian's face became blank.
That was answer enough.
Roman felt something settle.
“Wedding's postponed.”
Her eyes widened.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You cannot do that.”
“I just did.”
“My father will—”
“Your father should be more concerned about Northstar.”
That finally frightened her.
Roman saw it.
Vivian stepped back.
“What has Claire told you?”
Roman's expression sharpened.
“Interesting question.”
“What did she tell you?”
“Enough.”
Vivian grabbed her handbag.
Roman didn't stop her.
At the doorway, she turned.
“You think you're protecting her.”
Roman said nothing.
“You aren't.”
“What does that mean?”
Vivian's voice lowered.
“You should ask Claire what else she found that night.”
Then she left.
Roman stood alone.
Minutes later he went upstairs.
Claire was near the guest-room window.
He entered.
“What else did you find in the conservatory?”
She turned.
“The folder.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“Think carefully.”
Claire frowned.
“I told you everything.”
“Vivian thinks otherwise.”
Claire searched her memory again.
Flowers.
Coffee cups.
Northstar folder.
Fireplace.
A broken pen.
Victor's chair.
Then—
An envelope.
Small.
Cream colored.
She had found it beneath the folder.
“What?” Roman asked.
“There was an envelope.”
His expression changed.
“What happened to it?”
“I thought it was trash.”
“Claire.”
“I put it in my apron.”
“Where is it?”
She stared at him.
“I don't know.”
Then she remembered.
That uniform had torn later that evening.
Mrs. Patel had put it aside for mending.
Claire looked toward the door.
They both ran.
Downstairs, Mrs. Patel led them to the sewing room.
A row of uniforms hung beside the wall.
Claire found the lavender dress.
She reached into the apron pocket.
Her fingers touched paper.
The envelope was still there.
Inside was a tiny brass key.
And a folded slip containing three numbers.
Roman stared.
Claire whispered, “What does it open?”
Roman recognized the engraving.
His blood went cold.
“Something beneath the carriage house.”
And suddenly the bottle Vivian had sent Claire to retrieve made sense.
Maybe she hadn't sent Claire there only to meet Damian.
May you like
Maybe she'd been afraid Claire would discover what was hidden underneath.
---
