Chapter 2 - Room 614

Matteo left the ballroom without saying goodbye.

I went with him.

Mr. Lawson followed.

Rebecca did not.

The elevator ride to the hotel was silent.

Matteo held the key card in one hand.

The marriage certificate in the other.

He looked at neither.

At The Langham, Room 614 was at the end of a quiet hallway.

Matteo stopped outside the door.

For the first time that night, he looked afraid.

Not angry.

Afraid.

He knocked.

Nothing.

Then the lock clicked.

A woman opened the door.

Gray had begun to show in her dark hair.

She was thinner than the photograph.

Older.

But Matteo knew her immediately.

His hand dropped to his side.

“Mom?”

Isabella Rinaldi stared at him.

Eighteen years disappeared from her face.

“Matteo.”

He did not move.

Neither did she.

Then Matteo said:

“I watched them lower your coffin.”

Isabella’s eyes filled.

“I know.”

“You knew?”

“Yes.”

“You let me believe you were dead.”

“I was trying to keep you alive.”

Matteo laughed once.

There was no humor in it.

“From who?”

Isabella looked at Mr. Lawson.

Then at me.

“Come inside.”

The room held one suitcase.

One coat.

One photograph on the desk.

Matteo’s father.

Carlo Rinaldi.

Alive.

Older.

Standing beside Isabella near a train platform.

The same photograph Mr. Lawson had shown him.

Matteo picked it up.

“Where is he?”

Isabella did not answer.

“Where is my father?”

“He’s alive.”

Matteo closed his eyes.

I saw his jaw tighten.

“Where?”

“Three hours from here.”

“Why isn’t he here?”

“Because he thinks coming back will get you killed.”

Matteo opened his eyes.

“By Rebecca’s father?”

Isabella sat down.

“By several men.”

Mr. Lawson closed the door.

Isabella continued.

“Anthony Vaughn was not just violent with me.”

“He used the family companies to move money for people your father later worked with.”

Matteo looked at her.

“My father worked with Anthony?”

“For a while.”

“Doing what?”

“Cleaning money.”

The room became still.

Matteo’s black dagger tattoo showed beneath his cuff as he folded his arms.

“My father told me he built everything himself.”

“He built it after he left Anthony.”

“And then you disappeared.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Isabella looked at the floor.

“Because Anthony found me.”

Matteo stepped closer.

“After you married my father?”

“Yes.”

“And Rebecca’s father helped him.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because Victor Vaughn believed family loyalty mattered more than what Anthony had done.”

Matteo’s expression changed.

Victor Vaughn.

Rebecca’s father.

The man sitting beside the stage downstairs less than an hour earlier.

Matteo said quietly:

“What did Anthony do when he found you?”

Isabella looked at the closed curtains.

“He took me to a house outside Albany.”

Matteo’s face went pale.

“For how long?”

“Two days.”

Mr. Lawson lowered his eyes.

Isabella continued.

“Your father found me.”

“How?”

“Someone told him where I was.”

“Who?”

She looked at me.

Not because she knew me.

Because she did not want to look at her son.

“Victor.”

Matteo frowned.

“Rebecca’s father helped Anthony take you, then helped my father find you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because by then Anthony had lost control.”

Matteo’s voice hardened.

“What does that mean?”

Isabella said:

“Anthony planned to take you next.”

Silence.

Matteo stared at her.

“I was fourteen.”

“I know.”

“And after that?”

“Your father came for me.”

“With police?”

“No.”

“With Lawson?”

“No.”

“Then with who?”

Isabella looked at Mr. Lawson.

The old lawyer said:

“Two men who worked for Carlo.”

Matteo’s face became unreadable.

“And Anthony?”

Isabella whispered:

“He disappeared that night.”

Matteo looked from her to Lawson.

“Did my father kill him?”

Isabella’s eyes closed.

“No.”

Matteo waited.

Then:

“Did you?”

She opened her eyes.

“I don’t know.”

Matteo stared.

“How can you not know?”

“Because when I left that house, Anthony was still breathing.”

“Then who stayed?”

Isabella answered:

“Victor Vaughn.”

Matteo turned toward the window.

The city lights reflected in the glass.

Rebecca’s father.

Again.

Matteo said:

“So Victor knows what happened.”

“Yes.”

“And Rebecca?”

“She knows more than she told you.”

“How much?”

Isabella reached into her suitcase.

She removed a small digital recorder.

Old.

Black.

Scratched along one side.

She placed it on the table.

“What is that?”

“A recording Victor made six months after Anthony disappeared.”

“Why would he record anything?”

“Because he was afraid.”

“Of my father?”

“No.”

Isabella looked at Matteo.

“Of Rebecca’s mother.”

Matteo frowned.

“Rebecca’s mother died when she was twelve.”

Isabella shook her head.

“No, Matteo.”

“She didn’t.”

He stared.

Isabella pressed play.

Static.

Then a man’s voice.

Victor Vaughn.

Nervous.

Quiet.

And then a woman.

Matteo had never heard her voice before.

But Rebecca would have.

The recording lasted nine seconds.

The woman said:

“If Anthony’s body is ever found, Victor, you tell them the truth.”

Matteo looked at Isabella.

“What truth?”

Isabella stopped the recording.

“There’s more.”

“Play it.”

“I will.”

“When?”

“When Rebecca is here.”

Matteo’s face hardened.

“Why?”

“Because the woman on that tape is her mother.”

Matteo stared at the recorder.

Then at Isabella.

“And what does Rebecca’s mother have to do with Anthony’s disappearance?”

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Isabella answered:

“She was the last person who saw him alive.”