Chapter 2 - THE CUFF LINK
Nobody in the kitchen spoke.
Ben held the brown bear against his chest.
Clara stood beside the pantry door with one hand pressed to the cheek Victoria had struck.
Victoria remained near the island, pale beneath the warm kitchen lights.
And Matteo stared at the cuff link in Clara’s palm.
Black enamel.
Silver border.
Tiny DeLuca crest engraved near the hinge.
Carlo’s.
There was no possibility of mistake.
Matteo had given his older brother the pair on his thirty-fifth birthday.
Carlo had complained they were too expensive.
Then wore them to every important dinner for the next four years.
Including the last night of his life.
Matteo looked at Ben.
“You saw Uncle Carlo after your mother died?”
The boy’s mouth closed.
Immediately.
The words disappeared again.
Matteo saw the change happen in real time.
Ben’s shoulders curled.
His eyes moved toward Victoria.
Matteo followed them.
Victoria straightened.
“This is insane.”
“Quiet.”
Matteo said it without looking at her.
She stared.
“Matteo—”
“I said quiet.”
Ben gripped the bear harder.
Matteo crouched.
The movement made his knees crack.
He barely noticed.
For seven months, doctors had told him not to pressure Ben.
Not to turn every sound into an interrogation.
Matteo had nodded through those meetings.
Then gone home and spent every evening watching his son exist behind an invisible locked door.
Now the door had opened.
He was terrified of slamming it shut.
“Ben.”
The boy looked at him.
“You do not have to tell me anything right now.”
Victoria exhaled.
Relief.
Too visible.
Clara noticed.
So did Matteo.
He continued.
“But you need to hear me.”
Ben waited.
“Nobody is sending you away.”
His son’s expression changed.
“Not for making trouble. Not for talking about Mom. Not for anything.”
Ben’s lips trembled.
Matteo felt something tear inside him.
“I should have told you that before.”
Clara looked down.
She understood the part Matteo had only just begun to understand.
Fear had not entered Ben’s life only through Victoria.
It had survived because Matteo was distant enough for someone else to define what his love looked like.
Victoria folded her arms.
“He’s ten. Children misunderstand things.”
Matteo stood.
“Did you tell him I would send him away?”
“No.”
Ben flinched.
Victoria saw it.
Matteo saw her see it.
“You’re frightening him,” she said.
Clara finally spoke.
“No. You are.”
Victoria turned.
“You need to remember your position.”
Clara’s expression stayed calm.
“My position is beside a child who’s afraid.”
Matteo almost told both women to stop.
Then he noticed Ben’s hand.
He was reaching for Clara again.
Not hiding behind her this time.
Just touching two fingers to her sleeve.
An anchor.
Matteo hated what that said about him.
His son trusted a woman he had known six weeks more easily than the father who had spent seven months throwing money at his silence.
He looked at Victoria.
“Go upstairs.”
Her face hardened.
“This is my home too.”
“No.”
The word landed.
Victoria stared.
“What?”
“It was going to be.”
Silence.
Wedding in twenty-two days.
Invitations mailed.
Church booked.
Two hundred guests.
Half of Brooklyn already knew.
Matteo didn’t care.
“Go upstairs.”
Victoria glanced at Ben.
Then at the cuff link.
For one second, something like calculation replaced panic.
“I think we should all sleep.”
Matteo smiled without warmth.
“That was not a suggestion.”
She left.
The moment her footsteps disappeared, Ben’s shoulders lowered.
Small.
But Matteo saw it.
Clara did too.
“Can I have the cuff link?” Matteo asked.
Ben shook his head.
Not violently.
Just no.
Matteo nodded.
“Okay.”
Clara crouched beside him.
“What if we put it in the bear’s pocket?”
Ben considered.
The bear had no pocket.
Clara found an old napkin, wrapped the cuff link, and tucked it gently beneath the bear’s torn seam without closing it.
Ben seemed satisfied.
Matteo asked:
“Can I sit with you?”
Ben looked at Clara.
Not Matteo.
Clara did not answer for him.
Good.
Finally Ben nodded.
They sat on the kitchen floor.
Matteo DeLuca.
Head of an organization controlling millions in businesses and enough illegal influence to make men disappear from meetings.
Sitting on tile at 2:24 in the morning beside a bowl of strawberries.
No bodyguards.
No captains.
No authority that mattered.
Ben ate one berry.
Then another.
Matteo waited.
Five minutes.
Seven.
Then Ben whispered:
“I saw Uncle Carlo by the garage.”
Matteo did not move.
“When?”
“After Mommy.”
The wording hurt.
After Mommy.
Not after Mommy died.
Ben had built a wall around the event so thick even grammar had to walk around it.
Clara asked quietly:
“Was it nighttime?”
Ben nodded.
Matteo kept his voice soft.
“The same night?”
Ben’s fingers tightened around the bear.
Clara saw it.
“Enough.”
Matteo looked at her.
She gave him a warning look.
Not now.
He wanted to demand every detail.
Instead, he stopped.
That was harder than threatening ten men.
Ben leaned against Clara.
Within minutes, exhaustion won.
His eyes closed.
Matteo lifted him.
The child stirred but did not wake.
Matteo carried his son upstairs.
Clara followed.
At Ben’s bedroom, Matteo stopped.
The room looked different now.
Angela’s photograph on the dresser.
Books.
Toy trucks.
Empty space beside the pillow where the bear should have been for months.
Victoria had taken the one object connecting him to his mother.
And Matteo had never noticed.
He put Ben in bed.
The boy immediately curled around the bear.
Matteo stayed beside him.
Clara stood at the door.
“He spoke.”
Matteo looked at her.
“Yes.”
“Don’t make tomorrow about that.”
He frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“Don’t invite three therapists over because he spoke tonight.”
He almost snapped.
Then stopped.
She was right.
Again.
“You seem comfortable telling me what not to do.”
“You seem like someone people usually tell yes.”
That surprised a laugh out of him.
Quietly.
Then Clara’s face became serious.
“What happened to your brother?”
Matteo looked toward Ben.
“Roadside attack.”
“Same as his mother?”
“Yes.”
“Same vehicle?”
“No.”
Angela and Carlo had been traveling separately after a family dinner on Staten Island.
Angela’s SUV was found crashed near the Belt Parkway service road.
Carlo’s car farther south.
Police believed both had been targeted in coordinated attacks connected to a feud with the Serrano crew.
Angela died at the scene.
Carlo’s car caught fire.
The body inside was identified through dental records and jewelry.
Including one cuff link.
Matteo’s eyes moved toward the bear.
Only one.
He had assumed the second was lost.
“Who identified your brother?”
Clara asked.
Matteo thought.
His consigliere.
His security chief.
And Victoria’s father.
That last detail suddenly felt wrong.
“Howard Hale.”
“Victoria’s father?”
“Yes.”
“What does he do?”
“Insurance. Commercial property.”
Clara frowned.
“Why was he identifying a body?”
Matteo’s face changed.
Because Howard Hale had been near the scene.
At the time, Victoria told Matteo her father had been driving back from Atlantic City and came upon the aftermath.
He helped.
Called people.
Stayed until Matteo arrived.
Then months later, Victoria became the person constantly checking on Ben.
Constantly checking on Matteo.
Their relationship began in grief.
Matteo had never examined how conveniently she had entered the center of his life.
Clara saw his expression.
“What?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Before he could say more, footsteps sounded downstairs.
Fast.
Men.
Matteo left Ben’s room immediately.
His security chief, Gabriel Russo, met him in the hallway.
Fifty-two.
Broad.
Scar along one jaw.
The man Matteo trusted with the house.
“We’ve got a problem.”
Matteo’s pulse changed.
“What?”
“Victoria left.”
He stared.
“When?”
“Seven minutes ago.”
“Who let her out?”
“Nobody. Side garden door.”
“Car?”
“Gone.”
Matteo looked at Clara.
She understood.
Victoria had not gone upstairs to sleep.
She had gone upstairs to run.
Gabriel continued.
“And there’s something else.”
He held out a small velvet box.
Matteo recognized it.
Victoria’s jewelry case.
Inside was one object.
The second black-and-silver DeLuca cuff link.
Carlo’s matching pair.
Matteo stared.
One had been hidden inside Ben’s bear.
The other inside Victoria’s bedroom.
Clara whispered:
“She knew he was alive.”
Matteo’s jaw tightened.
“No.”
He looked toward the stairs.
“She knew more than that.”
Then Gabriel’s phone buzzed.
He checked it.
His expression changed.
“What?”
“We pulled the gate camera.”
Matteo waited.
Gabriel turned the screen.
Victoria’s car left at 2:31.
Passenger seat occupied.
A man.
Older.
Gray coat.
Face turned partly away.
But not enough.
Matteo stopped breathing.
Carlo.
Alive.
Riding out of Matteo DeLuca’s own house beside the woman he planned to marry.
May you like
And suddenly the question was no longer whether Ben had imagined seeing his uncle after Angela died.
The question was why Carlo DeLuca had spent seven months pretending to be dead.
