Chapter 7 - THE BLUE THREAD
“The other coat?”
Vincent placed the button on the breakfast table.
Matteo stared at it.
“Yes.”
Gabriel leaned forward.
“What other coat?”
Matteo looked frustrated.
“I don’t know.”
Clara pulled a chair beside him.
“You don’t have to know.”
“But I do.”
“You remember a piece.”
She pointed toward the thread.
“What color?”
“Blue.”
Teresa made a sound.
Very small.
Everyone turned.
She was staring at the button.
Vincent saw fear return to her face.
“What?”
Teresa walked backward.
“No.”
“Mother.”
“That coat is gone.”
Gabriel stood.
“What coat?”
Teresa looked toward the staircase.
“Elena’s.”
Vincent stopped breathing.
Elena had owned a dark navy wool coat.
Almost black in low light.
Brass buttons.
Custom-made in Florence during the winter before Matteo was born.
After she died, Teresa packed most of Elena’s clothes herself.
Vincent had not seen the coat in years.
“Where is it?” he asked.
“I donated her clothes.”
“You kept some.”
Teresa closed her eyes.
“The coat stayed.”
“Where?”
“In storage.”
Gabriel was already moving.
The old cedar storage room sat at the far end of the third floor.
Vincent had avoided it since Elena’s death.
Boxes lined the shelves.
Holiday decorations.
Children’s books.
Photographs nobody could decide where to hang.
Teresa found the garment bag behind an old trunk.
Her hands shook as she unzipped it.
The navy coat hung inside.
One brass button was missing.
Nobody spoke.
Vincent held the loose button against the empty thread.
Perfect match.
Gabriel stepped away.
“That’s impossible.”
Matteo sat in the doorway with Clara behind his chair.
His face had gone pale.
Vincent crouched beside him.
“You do not have to stay.”
“I want to.”
“You can change your mind.”
Matteo nodded.
Vincent turned toward the coat.
“Who wore this?”
Teresa shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“Someone did.”
“It had been boxed for months.”
Gabriel examined the sleeve.
“There’s dust everywhere except the collar.”
Vincent saw it too.
The coat had been worn.
Not recently.
But sometime after Elena died.
Matteo whispered, “I thought it was Mom.”
Vincent turned quickly.
His son looked down.
“That’s why I went upstairs.”
Clara’s face softened.
“You saw someone wearing her coat?”
Matteo nodded.
“From behind.”
Teresa sat on a trunk.
“Oh, God.”
Gabriel looked toward Vincent.
“The person on the stairs.”
Matteo’s chin trembled.
“I thought Mom came back.”
Vincent knelt.
His own grief rose so quickly he almost could not speak.
“Matteo…”
“I knew she was dead.”
“I know.”
“But for one second…”
“I know.”
The boy began to cry.
Not loudly.
That made it worse.
Vincent pulled him forward.
Matteo stiffened.
Then, slowly, he rested his forehead against his father’s shoulder.
Vincent held him.
It was the first time in fourteen months that his son had allowed it without pulling away.
Clara turned toward the window.
Gabriel stared at the floor.
Teresa wept openly.
When Matteo finally leaned back, Vincent wiped his face with his thumb.
“Whoever wore that coat was not your mother.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t fall because you were foolish.”
Matteo looked at him.
“You were seven.”
His voice broke.
“And you missed her.”
Matteo nodded.
Vincent kissed his forehead.
Then the boy looked toward the navy coat.
“I followed it.”
Gabriel whispered, “Upstairs?”
“Yes.”
“But I was taking you down.”
“You were.”
Matteo frowned.
“I saw the coat after you dropped the picture.”
Teresa stood.
“That means someone was above me.”
Everyone looked at her.
“I heard footsteps,” she whispered.
Matteo nodded.
Vincent’s mind moved backward through the house.
Fourteen months.
Security staff.
Family.
Employees.
Someone had worn Elena’s coat to get Matteo’s attention.
Someone who knew the boy would follow.
That changed everything.
Clara walked toward the garment bag.
“Can I?”
Vincent nodded.
She examined the collar.
Then the pockets.
Her fingers stopped.
She pulled out something small.
A wooden token.
Painted red.
Matteo gasped.
“My train.”
Vincent recognized it.
Matteo had owned a wooden train set when he was little.
Each carriage had removable passengers.
One red conductor had disappeared years ago.
Matteo reached for it.
Clara gave it to him.
“I gave this to Carlo.”
Vincent stared.
“When?”
“After Mom died.”
Matteo rubbed the worn paint with his thumb.
“He said grown men need lucky things too.”
Gabriel looked at Vincent.
No one had to say the name.
Carlo Bianchi.
Again.
This time, Vincent sent someone.
Not armed men.
Not an extraction team.
He called Carlo’s daughter himself.
Carlo lived forty minutes away in a small coastal house while recovering from his heart attack.
Vincent asked whether he could visit.
She sounded surprised.
Then cautious.
“My father’s not well.”
“I know.”
“What is this about?”
“A mistake we made fourteen months ago.”
A long silence.
“He’s been waiting for that conversation.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
Before he could respond, she added quietly, “Mr. Rossi?”
“Yes?”
“Please don’t bring your brother.”
Gabriel heard.
His expression hardened.
Vincent ended the call.
“What does that mean?” Gabriel asked.
“I don’t know.”
Matteo rolled the little wooden conductor between his fingers.
Clara crouched beside him.
“You okay?”
He nodded.
Then he looked at Gabriel.
“Why can’t Uncle Gabe go?”
Nobody answered.
Gabriel stepped toward Vincent.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“This involves me.”
“It involves Matteo.”
“And if Carlo is blaming me—”
“I said no.”
For several seconds the brothers stared at one another.
Then Gabriel did something Vincent did not expect.
He backed down.
“Fine.”
Vincent took Matteo and Clara with him.
At the front door, Teresa stopped them.
“Vincent.”
He turned.
She held Elena’s navy coat.
“There is something else.”
She reached into the torn lining near the missing button.
Her fingers pulled out a thin strip of black fabric.
Clara frowned.
“That isn’t from this coat.”
“No.”
Teresa looked toward Gabriel standing at the far end of the hall.
“It’s from a glove.”
Gabriel went completely still.
Teresa’s face changed.
“Gabriel wore black leather gloves that night.”
He shook his head.
“So did every security man in the house.”
Teresa stared at him.
“Yes.”
Then Matteo whispered:
“But Uncle Gabriel took his off.”
Everyone turned.
May you like
The boy looked frightened again.
“The man in Mom’s coat didn’t.”
