Chapter 2 - The Man Who Tried to Leave the Ballroom

Celeste’s father made it three steps.

Matteo made one.

“Mr. Ardano.”

The older man stopped.

So did everyone else.

His name was Victor Ardano.

Sixty-two.

Silver at the temples.

Perfect black tuxedo.

The kind of man who smiled when cameras appeared and disappeared before questions became specific.

Matteo crossed the ballroom slowly.

The silver watch remained in his hand.

Walter stood beside me.

Celeste looked between the two men.

“Dad.”

Victor turned.

“Matteo.”

“Why are you leaving?”

“I have an early meeting.”

Walter laughed softly.

Nobody else did.

Matteo held up the photograph.

“My father writes ‘Don’t trust the Ardanos’ and you suddenly remember a meeting?”

Victor’s face did not change.

“Your father has been unwell for years.”

The room shifted.

Matteo went still.

“You knew he was alive.”

Celeste closed her eyes.

Victor looked at her.

That was enough.

Matteo saw it.

“So both of you knew.”

Celeste stepped forward.

“I knew recently.”

“How recently?”

She did not answer.

Walter did.

“Three weeks.”

Matteo looked at her.

“The day you went to Saint Vincent.”

“Yes.”

The word barely came out.

Matteo lowered the photograph.

“Why?”

Victor stepped closer.

“Because your father did not want contact.”

Walter shook his head.

“That is not what he told me.”

Everyone turned.

Matteo’s eyes narrowed.

“You spoke to him?”

Walter nodded.

“Yesterday.”

Celeste stared at him.

“You said you only saw him through the window.”

“I said that was why I went back.”

He looked at Matteo.

“I got inside.”

My stomach tightened.

Matteo’s voice changed.

“What did he say?”

Walter reached into his coat.

This time he removed a folded hospital visitor badge.

No one needed to read it.

“Your father remembers me.”

Matteo’s grip tightened around the watch.

“He asked about you first.”

Victor moved.

“Enough.”

Matteo turned.

“No.”

Victor stopped.

Walter continued.

“Alessandro asked if you still hated him.”

Matteo looked like someone had struck him.

“I never hated him.”

“I know.”

Walter swallowed.

“He doesn’t.”

Matteo’s face emptied.

“What?”

“He thinks you do.”

“Why?”

Walter looked toward Victor.

Then at Celeste.

“Because somebody spent eleven years telling him you were better off believing he was dead.”

The ballroom became silent again.

Victor’s jaw tightened.

Celeste whispered:

“Walter, stop.”

Matteo looked at her.

“Why would my father agree to that?”

Nobody answered.

I watched Victor.

His right hand moved toward his jacket pocket.

Small movement.

Too careful.

Walter noticed too.

“Don’t.”

Victor froze.

Matteo looked at him.

“What’s in your pocket?”

“Nothing.”

“Take your hand out.”

Victor smiled.

“You’re making a scene.”

Matteo’s voice stayed calm.

“The scene started eleven years ago.”

Victor slowly removed his hand.

Empty.

Then Walter spoke.

“Ask him about Blackwater Pier.”

Victor’s face changed.

Only for a second.

But Matteo saw it.

“So did I,” he said quietly.

Celeste looked at her father.

“What is Blackwater Pier?”

Victor didn’t answer.

Walter did.

“The last place Alessandro Vescari was seen before his car appeared at the train station.”

Matteo stared.

“That was never in the police report.”

“No.”

“How do you know?”

Walter looked at Victor.

“Because I drove him there.”

Matteo turned back to Walter.

“You drove my father the night he disappeared?”

“Yes.”

“And you never told me?”

Walter’s eyes filled.

“I was ordered not to.”

“By him?”

“No.”

Matteo looked at Victor.

Walter nodded.

“By Victor Ardano.”

Victor finally lost his smile.

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And that was the moment Matteo understood this was no longer about an old watch.

It was about the night his father vanished.