Chapter 2 - VICTOR RUSSO
Domenico did not open the envelope.
That surprised Camilla.
It surprised Marco more.
He folded it once into his inside jacket pocket.
Then pointed toward the broken chair.
“Stay here.”
Marco laughed nervously.
“You think we're children?”
Domenico looked at him.
“No.”
Then:
“That would make this easier.”
Another knock.
Domenico crossed the foyer.
Camilla followed three steps behind.
“Daddy.”
He stopped.
“What?”
“Don't let them in.”
“Who?”
She looked toward Marco.
Domenico noticed.
“Who is at my door?”
Marco answered this time.
“Probably Uncle Victor.”
Domenico turned slowly.
His older brother lived four hours away.
Victor Russo did not make surprise visits.
Victor made appointments through assistants and then arrived twelve minutes early.
“Why would Victor be here?”
Neither child answered.
Domenico opened the door.
Victor Russo stood beneath the portico.
Sixty-seven.
Camel overcoat.
Silver hair.
No umbrella despite the rain.
Beside him stood a woman Domenico knew by reputation but had met only twice.
Rachel Bell.
Probate and trust attorney.
Behind them, a black sedan idled in the circular drive.
No bodyguards.
No guns.
No masked men.
Somehow that made Camilla look even more afraid.
Victor saw her.
Then Marco.
Then Domenico's face.
His eyes moved once toward Domenico's jacket pocket.
“You found it.”
Domenico said nothing.
Victor's shoulders dropped.
Not relief.
Defeat.
Rachel Bell spoke.
“Mr. Russo, may we come inside?”
“No.”
Victor looked at his brother.
“Dom.”
“You have thirty seconds to explain why my children think you found them.”
Victor looked toward Camilla.
“You told him that?”
She folded her arms.
“You had people following us.”
Domenico's head turned.
“Following?”
Victor frowned.
“I had an investigator watching the storage property.”
“That is not better.”
Marco stepped into the foyer.
“You put someone outside Mom's archive unit for three days.”
Victor looked at him.
“Because you requested records that should have been handled through counsel.”
“My mother's records.”
“Family records.”
Domenico's voice cut through them.
“Enough.”
Everyone stopped.
He looked at Victor.
“You knew Elena hid something in my house.”
“Yes.”
“You knew my children were looking for it.”
“Yes.”
“You did not call me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Victor's expression changed.
“Because I promised Elena I wouldn't.”
Domenico laughed once.
The sound had no humor in it.
“My dead wife had an agreement with you?”
Victor looked at the floor.
“Yes.”
That hurt more than Domenico expected.
He opened the door wider.
“Come in.”
Camilla said:
“Daddy—”
Domenico looked at her.
“If somebody has been deciding what I'm allowed to know for thirty years, I'm done discussing it on the porch.”
Victor entered.
Rachel followed.
Domenico closed the door.
Nobody sat.
The shattered vase remained visible through the archway.
Victor stared at it.
“Elena loved that thing.”
Domenico almost hit him for saying her name casually.
Instead:
“What is in the envelope?”
Victor shook his head.
“I don't know exactly.”
Marco snapped:
“Liar.”
“I know what it concerns.”
“Which is?”
Victor looked at Marco.
“You.”
Silence.
Marco's face tightened.
Domenico felt something cold move through his chest.
“What about my son?”
Victor answered carefully.
“His adoption.”
Camilla closed her eyes.
Domenico did not move.
Marco had always known he was adopted.
There had been no secret about that.
Domenico's younger brother Gabriel died before Marco was born.
Gabriel's girlfriend, Julia Mercer, became pregnant before the boating accident that killed him.
After Marco's birth, Julia struggled badly.
Temporary guardianship became permanent.
Domenico and Elena adopted Marco when he was two.
That was the family story.
Not shameful.
Not hidden.
Just painful.
Domenico looked at Victor.
“The adoption was thirty-two years ago.”
“Yes.”
“What could Elena have hidden from me?”
Victor's eyes moved toward Domenico's jacket.
“A letter.”
“From Julia?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
Victor hesitated.
“Before the adoption was finalized.”
The room changed.
Domenico's hand went instinctively over the envelope inside his coat.
Marco watched him.
“Dad.”
Domenico looked at his son.
Marco's anger had disappeared.
What remained was worse.
Fear.
May you like
Not that he had been adopted.
That everyone else had known more about it than he did.
