Chapter 2 - The Farmhouse With No Curtains

Luca did not ask anyone to follow him.

Gregory did.

I did anyway.

My name is Amelia Stone.

Twenty-eight.

Maid.

And apparently the only person in the Bellini estate who had touched the truth without already knowing what it contained.

We left the engagement ball at 12:17 a.m.

Luca drove.

Gregory sat beside him.

I sat in the back.

No one spoke for forty minutes.

The black phoenix tattoo on Luca’s left forearm disappeared and reappeared beneath the dashboard lights.

Finally he asked:

“Why did my father wait twenty years?”

Gregory looked through the windshield.

“He didn’t.”

Luca’s hands tightened around the wheel.

“What does that mean?”

“He wrote to you.”

“When?”

“Every year.”

Silence.

“Where are the letters?”

Gregory looked at him.

“Your uncle intercepted them.”

Luca laughed once.

Not because it was funny.

“Of course he did.”

We reached Vermont after sunrise.

The farmhouse stood beyond a line of bare trees.

White siding.

Green roof.

No curtains.

Luca stopped the car.

A man stood on the porch.

Gray hair.

Broad shoulders.

Weathered face.

He was holding a coffee cup.

Luca did not move.

The man did.

He walked down the steps.

Slowly.

Then stopped ten feet from the car.

Gregory whispered:

“Enzo Bellini.”

Luca opened the door.

His father stared at him.

Twenty years disappeared from both their faces at once.

Enzo dropped the cup.

It shattered on the stones.

“Luca.”

Luca stood completely still.

“You knew I was coming.”

“Yes.”

“And you still waited on the porch?”

Enzo swallowed.

“I have been waiting on this porch for twenty years.”

Luca’s jaw tightened.

“You could have come back.”

“I tried.”

“How many times?”

“Six.”

Luca stared.

Enzo continued.

“The first time, Vittorio sent men to the train station.”

Luca’s uncle.

Vittorio Bellini.

The man who raised him.

“The second time,” Enzo said, “your school was surrounded by guards loyal to him.”

Luca looked at Gregory.

Gregory nodded.

“The third?”

Enzo looked toward the farmhouse.

“Your mother begged me not to.”

Luca’s face changed.

“My mother?”

No answer.

He took one step forward.

“You said nothing about her.”

Enzo looked at Gregory.

Gregory looked down.

Luca’s voice dropped.

“Is she alive?”

Enzo’s eyes filled.

“Yes.”

No one breathed.

Luca stared at the farmhouse.

Then at his father.

“Where?”

Enzo pointed toward the trees.

“There is another house.”

Luca started walking.

Enzo caught his arm.

“Not yet.”

Luca pulled free.

“You do not get to say that to me.”

“There is something you need to understand first.”

“I understand enough.”

“No.”

Enzo’s voice broke.

“You think we abandoned you.”

“You did.”

“We lost you.”

Luca turned.

“You drove away.”

“With a gun pointed at me while your uncle held you inside the gatehouse.”

“You came back later?”

“Before sunrise.”

Gregory said quietly:

“I saw him.”

Luca looked at him.

Enzo continued.

“Vittorio had already moved you.”

“Where?”

“Rome.”

Luca froze.

“I was told we went to Rome because my father disappeared.”

“You went to Rome because Vittorio needed you outside the country while he erased us.”

Luca stared at the ground.

Then he looked up.

“Take me to my mother.”

Enzo did not move.

“Luca—”

“Now.”

A car engine sounded behind us.

Black sedan.

Luca turned.

The car stopped at the end of the drive.

Isabella stepped out.

Still wearing the dark red gown.

No coat.

No luggage.

She walked toward us.

Luca stared.

“How did you find us?”

She held up Gregory’s notebook.

“You left one page on the ballroom floor.”

Gregory frowned.

Isabella looked at Enzo.

“I’m sorry.”

Enzo’s face hardened.

“You should be.”

Luca looked between them.

“You’ve met before.”

Neither answered.

Luca stepped closer to Isabella.

“How many times?”

She whispered:

“Three.”

His expression went cold.

Then a second engine sounded.

This one came from the woods.

Gregory turned sharply.

A gray pickup appeared from the narrow road behind the farmhouse.

It stopped.

An elderly woman sat in the passenger seat.

White hair.

Thin face.

Dark eyes.

Luca stopped breathing.

The woman opened the door.

Enzo closed his eyes.

She stepped down slowly.

Then looked directly at Luca.

Her hand covered her mouth.

“My boy.”

Luca did not move.

The woman began crying.

“Sofia,” Enzo whispered.

Luca stared at the mother whose grave he had visited every year since childhood.

Then headlights flashed behind the trees.

A second vehicle.

Gregory reached inside his coat.

“Inside.”

Luca looked at him.

“What?”

Gregory’s voice changed.

“Now.”

The second vehicle accelerated toward the farmhouse.

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And Enzo whispered the name none of us wanted to hear.

“Vittorio.”