Chapter 3 - THE SECRET INSIDE THE THIMBLE
Massachusetts General admitted Nora through a private entrance twelve minutes later.
Roman had apparently arranged it from the car.
Nora was beginning to understand that Roman Calder did not make requests.
He made reality reorganize itself.
Yet when the ultrasound technician entered the room, he stayed by the door.
He didn’t assume.
He didn’t approach.
He simply waited.
Nora looked at him.
“You can come closer.”
Roman crossed the room.
The technician moved the probe.
Seconds passed.
Then—
A heartbeat.
Fast.
Tiny.
Perfect.
Nora closed her eyes.
Roman did not move.
The man who had made an entire hotel corridor retreat with one look now stared at a grainy ultrasound monitor like someone had cracked his chest open.
“That’s the baby?” he whispered.
The technician smiled.
“That’s your baby.”
Roman sat down.
Nora almost laughed.
“You look pale.”
“I’ve been shot twice.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Neither occasion was this frightening.”
The technician suppressed a smile.
The baby was fine.
Nora had bruising, stress, and mild abdominal cramping, but no sign of immediate danger.
Only after the doctor left did Roman speak again.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Nora looked at him.
“I found out three days ago.”
“You could have called.”
“I blocked you.”
“I noticed.”
“You lied to me.”
Roman nodded once.
“Yes.”
No excuses.
That surprised her.
“You let me think you worked in private investments.”
“I do.”
“Roman.”
“I also knew if I told you my surname the first night, you would never have spoken to me again.”
“That should have been my choice.”
His silence admitted she was right.
Nora looked away.
“And the wife thing?”
Roman rubbed one hand over his face.
“I panicked.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Roman Calder panics?”
“Apparently when someone strikes the pregnant mother of his child.”
Nora looked at him sharply.
“You’re sure?”
“I can count.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
His expression softened.
“I’m sure I want this child protected. And I’m sure I never stopped thinking about you.”
The room became quiet.
Then Roman opened his palm.
The thimble pendant rested there.
The chain was broken.
Nora reached for it.
Roman hesitated.
“What?”
“There’s something inside.”
Nora frowned.
“There isn’t.”
Roman rotated the thimble.
A hairline seam crossed its base.
Nora had never noticed it.
Roman pressed his thumbnail against the edge.
The bottom shifted.
Nora sat upright.
“What did you do?”
“I barely touched it.”
The tiny base unscrewed.
Inside was a rolled strip of translucent paper.
No.
Not paper.
Microfilm.
Roman’s expression changed instantly.
“Where did your mother get this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Nora.”
“She wore that necklace for twenty years.”
Roman stood.
The softness disappeared from him.
He crossed to the door and opened it.
“Dante.”
One of his men entered.
Roman showed him the film.
Dante’s face hardened.
“Where?”
“Inside Celeste Bellamy’s pendant.”
Dante looked at Nora.
“That’s not possible.”
Nora’s pulse quickened.
“What is it?”
Neither man answered quickly enough.
“Roman.”
He returned to her bedside.
“Your mother worked as a seamstress before she became ill, correct?”
“Yes.”
“For whom?”
“Hotels. Private clients. Wealthy families. Anyone who paid.”
“The March family?”
Nora hesitated.
“Years ago.”
Roman and Dante exchanged a look.
“What?”
Roman sat beside her.
“Sixteen years ago, my father was killed.”
Nora went still.
“The official story was a robbery.”
“And the real one?”
“We never proved the real one.”
Dante held up the microfilm.
“This may.”
Nora stared.
Roman continued.
“My father had been investigating a laundering network using luxury hotels, construction contracts, and charitable foundations.”
“The March Grand?”
“We suspected it.”
Nora shook her head.
“My mother had nothing to do with crime.”
“I didn’t say she did.”
“She sewed dresses.”
Roman’s eyes shifted to the pendant.
“Which means powerful people ignored her while she stood close enough to hear them.”
Nora remembered her mother’s warnings.
Never assume invisible means powerless.
Celeste used to say it whenever Nora complained that wealthy clients barely looked at her.
A cold sensation moved through her.
“My mother died four months ago.”
Roman’s gaze sharpened.
“From what?”
“Heart failure.”
“Was there an autopsy?”
“No.”
“Who signed the death certificate?”
Nora’s throat tightened.
“A private physician.”
“Name?”
“Dr. Malcolm Vane.”
Dante swore quietly.
Nora looked between them.
“What?”
Roman stood.
“Vane works for Edmund March.”
The hospital room suddenly felt smaller.
Nora remembered her mother’s final week.
The confusion.
The sudden deterioration.
Julian insisting they use the private doctor because the hospital was too expensive.
Julian handling the paperwork.
Julian telling her not to ask questions.
Then she remembered his face in the corridor.
Not jealousy.
Fear.
“He knew.”
Roman turned.
“Who?”
“Julian.”
She gripped the blanket.
“He recognized the necklace.”
Roman’s phone rang.
Dante answered his own at nearly the same moment.
His expression changed.
“What happened?”
He listened.
Then looked at Roman.
“The hotel security archive was just wiped.”
Roman’s face became stone.
“All of it?”
“Only the corridor and staff areas.”
Nora whispered, “Selene.”
Dante shook his head.
“She’s still with police.”
Roman looked toward the rain streaking the hospital windows.
“Then somebody else is cleaning up.”
Nora’s phone vibrated on the bedside table.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Her apartment door.
Open.
Then a message.
YOUR MOTHER SHOULD HAVE DESTROYED IT.
May you like
A second message arrived.
GIVE US THE THIMBLE OR THE BABY WILL NEVER BE BORN.
