Chapter 2 - THE COAT THEY CAME TO STEAL
“Your father was murdered in that house?”
I stared at Matteo Ricci, waiting for him to tell me I'd misunderstood.
He didn't.
For the first time since I'd grabbed his whiskey glass, the powerful man standing beside me looked genuinely frightened.
Salvatore lowered his phone.
“Boss, there's something you need to understand about Whitmore's plan.”
Matteo turned.
“Tell me.”
“His company requested access to the old house two weeks ago. They claimed they needed measurements for a redevelopment proposal.”
“I approved an inspection.”
“Yes. But tonight, Whitmore arranged for a private removal crew to collect something from the property.”
“What?”
Salvatore hesitated.
“Your father's black wool overcoat.”
Matteo stared at him.
“My father's coat?”
“The one he was wearing the night he died.”
A terrible silence followed.
I looked between them.
“What does a nineteen-year-old coat have to do with my mother?”
Matteo didn't answer immediately.
Then he looked toward the hallway where Nathan had been escorted.
“That's what we're going to find out.”
He reached for my hand.
“Anna, before we do anything else, I need you to understand something.”
His voice was gentle.
“My father wasn't a good man.”
I blinked.
People in Chicago spoke about Carlo Ricci as though he'd been some kind of legend.
He'd owned restaurants, properties, and several businesses that nobody seemed comfortable discussing.
Matteo continued.
“He provided for us. He could be generous. But he was also cruel when someone stood between him and what he wanted.”
I swallowed.
“And my mother stood between him and something?”
“Apparently.”
He looked toward Salvatore.
“Have the police been contacted about Eleanor?”
“Yes. They're treating her disappearance as urgent, given her mobility and medical needs.”
“Good.”
Then Matteo looked at me.
“Your mother isn't going to become another secret this family keeps.”
I wanted to believe him.
But nineteen years of silence suddenly felt enormous.
Salvatore led us into a smaller private dining room adjoining the banquet hall.
Nathan sat at the table.
His jacket was unbuttoned.
His expensive watch rested beside a glass of water.
When he saw me, his expression softened.
“Anna. Thank God.”
I stopped several feet away.
“Where's my mother?”
Nathan looked toward Matteo.
“She's frightened. I told you that before.”
“Where is she?”
“Sweetheart, you're upset.”
“Don't call me that.”
His expression changed.
I'd never spoken to him that way.
Not in public.
Not in front of another man.
I stepped closer.
“You borrowed money against my mother's house. You locked me in our bedroom. And now she's missing.”
Nathan's jaw tightened.
“You're making this worse.”
Matteo moved beside me.
“Answer her question.”
Nathan looked at him.
“This is a private family matter.”
“An elderly woman has disappeared from her home.”
“Eleanor left because she was frightened of what Anna might discover.”
I shook my head.
“My mother wouldn't leave without her walker.”
Nathan looked away.
Then Matteo placed Salvatore's phone on the table.
The address of his father's house was still displayed.
“Why did you arrange access to this property tonight?”
Nathan went still.
“I was helping with an appraisal.”
“At eleven o'clock?”
“The crew had availability.”
Matteo leaned forward.
“Then explain the coat.”
Nathan's eyes flickered.
“What coat?”
“My father's.”
For several seconds, Nathan didn't speak.
Then he gave a small, tired laugh.
“You Riccis always think everything belongs to you.”
Matteo's expression hardened.
“Careful.”
“No. You should hear this.”
Nathan stood.
“My father spent twenty years trying to recover what Carlo took from him.”
I stared.
“Your father?”
Matteo slowly straightened.
“Victor Whitmore.”
Nathan nodded.
“The same.”
I looked at Matteo.
“You know him?”
“His father was my father's business partner.”
Nathan's expression turned bitter.
“Until Carlo decided he didn't need a partner anymore.”
Matteo didn't argue.
That frightened me more than if he'd denied it.
Nathan reached for his watch.
“Anna, I didn't come into your life to hurt you.”
My stomach twisted.
“What does that mean?”
He looked at me.
“For years, my father believed Eleanor Collins had something that belonged to him.”
I felt cold.
“That's why you started dating me?”
Nathan didn't answer.
I remembered our first dinner.
The flowers.
His beautiful manners.
How carefully he'd listened when I spoke about Mom.
Had he been listening because he loved me?
Or because he needed information?
“Nathan.”
My voice shook.
“Did you know who my mother was before we met?”
He looked down.
“Yes.”
The room seemed to tilt.
I gripped the back of a chair.
“Every Sunday dinner you spent with us?”
He closed his eyes.
“Anna.”
“Every time you asked about her old banking job?”
“I was trying to understand what happened.”
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
“Because you wouldn't have believed me.”
I stared at the man I'd planned to marry.
And suddenly, six months of my life felt like something he'd borrowed without asking permission.
Matteo stepped forward.
“Where is Eleanor?”
Nathan looked at him.
“You won't find what you're looking for without her.”
“What are we looking for?”
“A record your father kept. Names, properties, payments. Things neither of our families wants made public.”
Matteo's face tightened.
“Then why the whiskey?”
Nathan didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
“Were you trying to kill him?”
“No.”
The answer came quickly.
Too quickly.
“Then what was in that bottle?”
Nathan looked toward the door.
Matteo's voice became dangerously quiet.
“Whatever your intention, you arranged for an unknown substance to be put into my drink. You don't get to decide afterward that it was harmless.”
Nathan swallowed.
Then he looked at me.
“Anna, you were supposed to come home with me tonight.”
My hands went cold.
“Why?”
“Because your mother has been keeping something from you.”
He reached into his coat pocket.
Matteo's security immediately moved closer.
Nathan slowly placed a small object on the table.
A silver butterfly brooch.
One wing was bent.
The clasp hung broken.
I recognized it before I could breathe.
My mother's brooch.
She'd worn it to church for as long as I could remember.
I reached for it.
“Where did you get this?”
Nathan looked at me.
“She gave it to someone helping her.”
“No.”
My voice cracked.
“She wouldn't take this off.”
“Anna—”
“No!”
I held up the damaged clasp.
“My father gave her this on their twentieth anniversary. She wore it through chemotherapy, through his funeral, through every surgery.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“She wouldn't give it to you.”
Nathan looked away.
And that told me everything.
Matteo turned toward Salvatore.
“Make sure the officers see this. Preserve whatever we can about how he obtained it.”
Then he looked directly at Nathan.
“If Eleanor is injured, you're going to have to answer for what happened.”
Nathan's expression finally broke.
“You don't understand what my father will do if that record comes out.”
Matteo stared at him.
“Then maybe it's time somebody stopped being afraid of your father.”
Nathan gave a bitter laugh.
“You sound exactly like Carlo.”
Matteo went completely still.
Then Nathan looked at me.
His voice dropped.
“Anna, the reason your mother never told you what happened nineteen years ago isn't because she's innocent of everything.”
My heart pounded.
“What did she do?”
May you like
Nathan looked toward the silver butterfly in my hand.
Then whispered, “She helped hide what happened to Carlo Ricci.”
