Chapter 5 - THE LETTER FROM A DEAD WOMAN
Anthony's dinosaur pancake looked like a wounded horse.
Luca stared at it.
I covered my mouth.
Anthony frowned.
“It's a tyrannosaurus.”
Luca whispered, “It looks sick.”
I laughed.
I couldn't stop myself.
Anthony looked offended.
Then Luca giggled.
The sound changed the entire kitchen.
Anthony stared at his son.
Luca tore off the pancake's head.
Anthony smiled.
A real smile.
Then Marco entered.
The smile vanished.
“We found Vincent's car.”
“Where?”
“Airport parking.”
Anthony stood.
“Flight?”
“None under his name.”
Marco handed him a phone.
Anthony read something.
His face hardened.
“Evelyn, take Luca upstairs.”
I hated those words now.
They always meant danger.
Three hours later, I found the letter.
It was hidden behind Luca's bookshelf.
An old envelope.
My name was written on the front.
EVELYN HART.
I stopped breathing.
The handwriting wasn't Anthony's.
Inside was a photograph.
My mother.
Twenty years younger.
Standing beside a dark-haired woman I recognized from portraits in the mansion.
Isabella Pellagrini.
Anthony's dead wife.
My hands began shaking.
The letter contained six lines.
Evelyn,
If you're reading this, Anthony finally found you.
Do not trust Vincent.
Do not trust Celeste.
Luca is in danger because of what your mother and I discovered.
Anthony does not know the truth.
Tell your mother Isabella kept her promise.
Then run.
I read it three times.
Anthony found me sitting on the floor.
He saw the photograph.
Everything in him changed.
“Where did you get that?”
I handed him the letter.
He read it.
Then read it again.
“My wife wrote this.”
“You're sure?”
“I know her handwriting.”
“Why did she know me?”
Anthony looked at me.
“I don't know.”
“You investigated my life.”
“Yes.”
“You knew my mother.”
“No.”
I believed him.
That frightened me more.
We drove to my mother's care facility before sunset.
Anthony brought six guards.
My mother was awake.
When she saw Anthony, she started crying.
Not softly.
She looked terrified.
“You have Isabella's eyes,” Anthony told her.
My mother whispered, “I failed her.”
I sat beside her.
“Mom, what happened?”
She looked at me.
Then at Anthony.
“Isabella found the ledger.”
Anthony went still.
“What ledger?”
“The real Pellagrini accounts.”
My mother explained.
Twenty-three years earlier, she had worked as a bookkeeper for a company secretly controlled by Anthony's father.
Isabella had discovered money disappearing.
Millions.
Weapons.
Judges.
Police officers.
But the money wasn't being stolen by Anthony's enemies.
It was being stolen by someone in his family.
“Vincent?” Anthony asked.
My mother shook her head.
“Vincent was a child.”
“Then who?”
She whispered the name.
“Your father.”
Anthony stared at her.
“My father is dead.”
“No.”
The room seemed to shrink.
My mother gripped my hand.
“Salvatore Pellagrini never died.”
Anthony's face became stone.
“He staged his death.”
“Why?”
“Because Isabella found out he was selling information about you.”
Anthony stepped backward.
My mother continued.
“Isabella hid copies of the accounts. She trusted me with one thing.”
“What?”
My mother looked at me.
“A key.”
I felt cold.
“Where?”
She touched the silver necklace around my throat.
The necklace I had worn since I was sixteen.
The necklace she had told me belonged to my grandmother.
Anthony stared at it.
My mother whispered, “Inside.”
Anthony broke the pendant open.
May you like
A tiny metal key fell into his palm.
And somewhere far away in the city, a dead man was about to learn that his daughter-in-law's secret had survived.
