Chapter 2 - THE BLUE BOOK
I ended the call without explanation.
Then I crossed the library and locked the doors.
Grace watched me carefully.
“What are you doing?”
“Making sure no one walks in.”
My daughters stayed close together.
That frightened me more than anything else.
This house had always been their home.
Now they were behaving like guests inside a dangerous place.
“Show me where the book is.”
Grace nodded.
We moved upstairs through the back staircase.
I avoided the main hall.
I had no idea who could be trusted.
Fourteen months earlier, I would have laughed at that thought.
My household was built around loyalty.
Carlo DeLuca had been responsible for my security for eleven years.
Anthony was my younger brother.
Cecilia had been family for almost a decade.
My mother lived in the east wing.
Half the people working in the mansion had been employed by the Romanos since before Olivia was born.
But Isabelle had known something.
And whatever she had known had frightened her enough to hide evidence inside our daughter’s bedroom.
Nora’s room was decorated with faded stars and pale yellow curtains.
Isabelle had chosen everything herself.
Grace went to the built-in bookshelf.
She removed three children’s books.
Then she pressed the wood panel behind them.
It shifted.
My pulse quickened.
There was a narrow opening behind the shelf.
Grace reached inside.
Nothing.
Her expression changed.
“It was here.”
I stepped forward.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“A blue notebook?”
“Dark blue.”
“How large?”
“About this big.”
She held her hands apart.
“It had a leather cover.”
Olivia began crying.
Not loudly.
The tears simply rolled down her cheeks.
“Someone took it.”
I knelt beside her.
“When did Mommy hide it?”
“The night before school.”
“What did she say?”
Olivia closed her eyes.
Sophie answered instead.
“She said bad people sometimes smile.”
I felt something inside me break.
Isabelle had been frightened.
And I had not known.
I had slept beside her that night.
I had kissed her goodbye the next morning.
She had known something was wrong while I had walked through our own home believing everything was fine.
Grace touched the wall.
“There’s dust missing here.”
I looked.
She was right.
A clean line ran across the inside panel.
Someone had opened it recently.
Very recently.
“Who knew you found the book?”
“No one.”
“You told nobody?”
“No.”
“Did the girls see you take it?”
Nora nodded.
I looked at her.
“Who else came into this room yesterday?”
She pressed her lips together.
Then pointed toward the door.
“Grandma.”
My mother.
Elena Romano.
I stood very slowly.
My mother had adored Isabelle.
At least I had believed she had.
She had cried harder than anyone at the funeral.
For months afterward, she had refused to enter Isabelle’s dressing room.
Why would she take the book?
Unless she had known it existed.
Footsteps sounded outside.
I moved toward the door.
“Dominic?”
My mother.
I opened it.
Elena stood in the hallway wearing a cream blouse and dark trousers.
At seventy-one, she still carried herself with the same elegance I remembered from childhood.
Her eyes moved from me to Grace.
Then to the girls.
“What is happening?”
I studied her face.
“Did you come into Nora’s room yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to leave her new pajamas.”
“Did you touch the bookshelf?”
A flicker.
Tiny.
But there.
“No.”
Olivia stared at her grandmother.
Elena noticed.
“What is it?”
Olivia moved behind me.
That action answered more than words could have.
My mother’s face changed.
“She’s speaking?”
“Yes.”
Elena covered her mouth.
Tears filled her eyes.
“Oh, my God.”
She stepped toward Olivia.
My daughter backed away.
Elena froze.
The pain on her face looked real.
Maybe it was.
But I no longer trusted appearances.
“Mom, where were you the morning Isabelle died?”
She stared at me.
“What kind of question is that?”
“Answer it.”
“At home.”
“All morning?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see Cecilia?”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Why are you asking about Cecilia?”
“Because the girls remember seeing her at the preschool.”
Silence.
My mother looked toward the door.
Then she shut it.
“You should not discuss this here.”
My pulse sharpened.
“Why?”
“Because walls in this house have ears.”
Grace stared at her.
I stepped closer.
“What do you know?”
Elena looked at my daughters.
Then back at me.
“More than I ever wanted to.”
I waited.
She lowered her voice.
“Isabelle came to me three days before she died.”
My chest tightened.
“She told me she had discovered money moving through one of the family charities.”
“What money?”
“She didn’t know yet.”
“She suspected someone?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
My mother hesitated.
Then shook her head.
“She never told me.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“She said she needed proof first.”
My anger rose.
“You knew Isabelle was frightened, and you never told me?”
“She begged me not to.”
“She was my wife.”
“And you were exactly the person she was afraid would react before she understood what was happening.”
That stopped me.
Because she was right.
Fourteen months ago, if Isabelle had told me someone inside my own family was deceiving us, I would have confronted them immediately.
Maybe that was exactly why she had remained quiet.
My mother reached into her pocket.
She removed a small brass key.
“I found this under Isabelle’s jewelry box after she died.”
I stared at it.
“What does it open?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t you give it to me?”
“Because three days after the funeral, someone searched her bedroom.”
My head snapped toward her.
“What?”
“I heard movement after midnight.”
“Who?”
“I only saw someone leaving.”
“Who?”
She looked directly at me.
“Carlo.”
Before I could answer, the security alarm beeped once.
Then twice.
My phone lit up.
A message from Carlo.
FRONT GATE BREACH.
I checked the cameras.
May you like
Every screen was black.
Then the lights in Nora’s room went out.
