Chapter 7 - The Woman in the Photograph
Vincent didn't sleep.
Neither did I.
By morning, specialists had examined the airport photograph.
It was real.
But the woman wasn't Lucia.
Not exactly.
Facial comparison revealed enough differences to rule her out.
Vincent absorbed the news without reaction.
I could see the disappointment anyway.
Someone had wanted to hurt him.
Or distract him.
The answer came from Calder.
Facing decades in prison, he started talking.
The woman was Lucia's younger half sister, Gabriella DeLuca.
Vincent hadn't seen her in nine years.
Gabriella had discovered Lucia's investigation shortly before the crash. Terrified, she'd disappeared.
Now she'd returned because Calder's arrest made hiding unnecessary.
She met Vincent at the estate that evening.
I stayed away.
It wasn't my family.
But two hours later, Vincent found me in the kitchen.
“She knew.”
I looked up.
He seemed shattered.
“About Calder?”
“Lucia called Gabriella the morning she died. She said she was taking Sofia and leaving until she could tell me everything safely.”
His voice roughened.
“I thought she was driving home.”
I understood what he was really saying.
Lucia had been trying to protect their daughter.
And Vincent had spent five years believing she'd died during an ordinary school run.
“You couldn't have known.”
“I should have.”
“You're powerful, Vincent. You're not psychic.”
His mouth twitched.
“Mia says the same thing.”
“Mia doesn't know the word psychic.”
“She said, ‘You don't know everything, Mr. Grumpy.’ I translated.”
I laughed.
He did too.
Then the laughter faded.
Vincent looked at me for a long moment.
“Elena, why aren't you afraid of me anymore?”
I considered lying.
Instead I said, “Because I saw you eat a lint-covered cracker.”
He stared.
I smiled.
“Very difficult to maintain the terrifying-mafia-boss image after that.”
He stepped closer.
“Is that the only reason?”
No.
It wasn't.
I had seen him risk his life for my daughter.
I'd seen him sit outside Mia's bedroom after the kidnapping because she was afraid to sleep.
I'd watched him let her paint one fingernail bright pink because she'd declared his hands “boring.”
But there was a complication.
He was my employer.
He was wealthy beyond anything I understood.
And his world had already nearly gotten my child killed.
“I can't do this,” I whispered.
His expression changed.
“Do what?”
“This.”
The space between us.
The thing neither of us had named.
Vincent nodded once.
Then stepped back.
He respected the boundary immediately.
That made it worse.
Three days later, I resigned.
I expected resistance.
Vincent simply accepted the letter.
“I understand.”
Mia did not.
She cried when I told her we wouldn't be coming back every day.
“But Mr. Grumpy lives here.”
“I know.”
“He needs us.”
My throat tightened.
“He was okay before us.”
Mia frowned.
“No.”
Children sometimes saw truths adults worked very hard to avoid.
We moved home.
Vincent had quietly paid six months of my rent.
I returned the money.
He sent it again.
I returned it again.
The third time, he included a note.
This is not charity. Consider it hazard pay.
I laughed despite myself.
Then I returned half.
Life became ordinary.
I found work managing housekeeping at a boutique hotel.
Mia returned to daycare.
For three weeks, we didn't see Vincent.
Then Mia's preschool held Family Breakfast.
Parents crowded tiny tables.
Mia sat beside me looking toward the door.
“Who are you waiting for?”
“Nobody.”
The door opened.
Vincent walked in.
Black suit.
No tie.
Holding a pink lunchbox.
Every mother in the room stared.
Mia screamed.
“MR. GRUMPY!”
Thirty heads turned.
Vincent closed his eyes.
I laughed so hard I nearly spilled my coffee.
He approached.
“Mia left this at the estate.”
“Three weeks ago?”
“Yes.”
“And you personally needed to return it during Family Breakfast?”
“Yes.”
I raised an eyebrow.
He raised his.
Mia copied both of us.
Then she pointed to the empty chair.
“Sit.”
Vincent sat.
A teacher approached cautiously.
“And you are...?”
Mia answered.
“He's my grumpy friend.”
Vincent looked at me.
Something warm passed between us.
After breakfast, he walked us outside.
“I miss her,” he said.
I nodded.
“She misses you.”
His eyes held mine.
“That isn't what I meant.”
My heart stumbled.
Then a black sedan pulled to the curb.
Gabriella stepped out.
Her face was pale.
“Vincent.”
He turned.
“What?”
She held up a folder.
“I found Lucia's final bank record.”
Vincent's expression tightened.
Gabriella looked at me.
Then back at him.
“Calder wasn't the person who ordered the crash.”
Vincent went still.
“Who was?”
May you like
Gabriella swallowed.
“Your father.”
