Chapter 4 - The Message Beneath Lily’s Napkin
I didn’t show Roman immediately.
That decision lasted twelve minutes.
It ended when Vincent walked into the hallway.
I folded the napkin and shoved it into my purse.
He smiled.
“Enjoying yourself?”
“Your family dinners are less terrifying than advertised.”
“Roman prefers people to think we’re terrifying.”
“Does he?”
Vincent chuckled.
“It keeps unnecessary questions away.”
The sentence sounded casual.
It didn’t feel casual.
Lily stood near the staircase.
She had gone completely still.
Vincent followed my gaze.
“She’s been through a difficult year.”
“So I hear.”
“Elena was special.”
He said the name softly.
Almost lovingly.
Lily turned and went upstairs.
Vincent sighed.
“She blames everyone.”
“Children do that when they’re hurting.”
“She isn’t a child.”
“She’s sixteen.”
“In our world, sixteen can feel older.”
Our world.
Not hers.
Not mine.
His.
Vincent excused himself.
The moment he entered the dining room I found Roman.
“We need to talk.”
He looked at my face and didn’t ask why.
We went into his study.
I closed the door.
Then handed him the napkin.
His eyes moved across Lily’s words.
Nothing changed for three seconds.
On the fourth, everything did.
“Where did she give you this?”
“Hallway.”
“Did Vincent see?”
“No.”
“Are you certain?”
“As certain as I can be.”
Roman went to the door.
I caught his arm.
“Where are you going?”
“To remove him from this house.”
“Stop.”
He looked at my hand on him.
Then at me.
“Clare.”
“You promised.”
“This concerns Lily.”
“Exactly.”
“She says Vincent frightened Elena.”
“She says your sister was scared of him. We don’t know why.”
“I can ask him.”
“You think a man who might have frightened your sister before she died is going to confess because you ask sternly?”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
I lowered my voice.
“If Lily wanted you to confront him, she would have handed the note to you.”
That hurt him.
I could see it.
But he listened.
“Why you?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
I exhaled.
“Because I’m outside your family.”
Roman looked toward the window.
“And because she thinks I won’t react like you.”
His gaze returned.
“What does that mean?”
“You want to protect her so badly you control everything around her.”
“She needs protection.”
“She also needs to believe she gets a choice.”
His expression hardened.
“You’ve known her three days.”
“And apparently that’s long enough for her to tell me something she hasn’t told you in three months.”
Silence filled the room.
I regretted the cruelty of it immediately.
Roman looked away.
“That was unfair.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded.
A strange thing about Roman: he didn’t forgive with words.
He simply stored things.
I suspected he stored everything.
Fear.
Anger.
Grief.
Love.
That explained why he looked exhausted even when perfectly dressed.
“Tell me about Elena,” I said.
He sat behind the desk.
I sat opposite.
“She was three years younger than me. Smarter than me.”
“Hard to imagine.”
He ignored that.
“She hated the family business.”
“What does that mean exactly?”
Roman’s eyes met mine.
“Some of our companies are legitimate.”
“And some aren’t.”
“Yes.”
At least he didn’t insult me by lying.
“Elena worked for the legitimate side?”
“She managed charitable foundations and property investments. She tried to separate herself.”
“But couldn’t.”
“You don’t completely separate from a family like mine.”
“What about Lily?”
“She will.”
His answer was immediate.
“That’s what Elena wanted?”
“It’s what I want.”
“Maybe ask Lily too.”
His expression suggested I was becoming irritating again.
Good.
It meant we were returning to normal.
“What changed before Elena’s death?” I asked.
Roman opened a drawer.
He removed a photograph.
Elena stood beside him at some formal event.
She resembled Lily.
Same eyes.
Same slight tilt of the head.
“She started reviewing accounts from one of our shipping companies.”
“Why?”
“She wouldn’t tell me.”
“Did Vincent have anything to do with that company?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“He managed it for my father. Later for me.”
I looked at the photograph.
“Money?”
“Possibly.”
“Stealing?”
“Possibly.”
“Enough to kill someone?”
His eyes darkened.
“I don’t know.”
There were some questions even powerful men hated answering.
“What happened the day Elena died?”
“She left Lily with Sophia.”
“Why?”
“She said she had a meeting.”
“With whom?”
“We don’t know.”
“Did she tell anyone where?”
“No.”
“Her car?”
“Went off an embankment during heavy rain.”
“Any other vehicle?”
“None identified.”
“Phone?”
“Never recovered.”
I stared.
“And you accepted that?”
His gaze became cold.
“I was grieving.”
The answer stopped me.
Roman Duca might be feared by Chicago.
He was still a brother who had buried his sister.
“I’m sorry.”
He put the photograph away.
A knock came.
Lily entered.
She looked at us.
Then at my purse.
She knew.
“You told him.”
“Yes.”
Anger flashed in her eyes.
“You promised—”
“I never promised.”
She turned.
I stepped between her and the door.
“Lily.”
“Move.”
“No.”
Roman started to speak.
I lifted one hand.
He stopped.
That may have been the moment I achieved a level of authority in the Duca mansion nobody else had.
I looked at Lily.
“Your uncle needed to know.”
“He’ll make everything worse.”
Roman’s face tightened.
I continued before he could react.
“Maybe. He’s talented that way.”
Lily almost smiled.
“But we need him.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Yes, we do.”
“Why?”
“Because if your mother was afraid, and if someone hurt her, we need facts. Roman has resources.”
Roman looked mildly offended at being described as resources.
“And,” I continued, “you have memories.”
Lily’s eyes filled.
“I don’t want to remember.”
My voice softened.
“Then we don’t force it.”
She looked at Roman.
“Promise?”
He stood.
“I promise.”
“Really promise.”
Roman came around the desk.
“I won’t ask you anything until you decide.”
For a second Lily looked young again.
Much younger than sixteen.
Then she whispered, “Mom left something.”
Roman froze.
“What?”
Lily shook her head.
“You promised.”
He closed his mouth.
I waited.
Lily looked at me.
“A box.”
“Where?”
“In my closet.”
“What kind?”
“A recipe box.”
Roman frowned.
“Elena didn’t cook.”
Lily gave him the faintest look of teenage contempt.
“She baked.”
“With you?”
“Yes.”
“And what’s in the box?”
Lily swallowed.
“I don’t know. Mom told me not to open it unless something happened to her.”
The room became silent.
Roman’s voice turned rough.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because three months ago somebody went into my room.”
All color left Sophia’s nephew’s face.
“Who?”
Lily looked toward the closed study door.
May you like
Then whispered one name.
“Vincent.”
