Chapter 4 - THE CHILD’S DRAWING
“My mother said he took it the morning Teresa Romano died.”
I stared at Isabella.
“No.”
She didn’t argue.
That made it worse.
“You’re wrong.”
“I’m telling you what she told me.”
“My father didn’t steal.”
Isabella’s face changed.
Not with satisfaction.
Recognition.
“That is exactly what I said about mine.”
The words landed harder than an accusation.
Gabriel looked between us.
Then he picked up the photograph of Carlo Bellini.
“My mother wrote that Carlo did not steal.”
He looked at me.
“We don’t know what Henry did.”
I hated how reasonable that sounded.
We drove back toward Boston with the watch, the pearl, the photographs, and the coat-check ticket sealed inside a small case.
The Bellini apartment was on the third floor of an old brick building in the North End.
Isabella still owned it.
She hadn’t lived there since her mother’s funeral.
Nothing inside had been renovated.
The hallway smelled faintly of lemon polish and old radiator heat.
Isabella opened the closet.
The cedar box sat on the top shelf.
Number 41 was stamped into a brass plate.
Gabriel lowered it carefully.
The lock wasn’t broken.
The hinges weren’t damaged.
Inside was burgundy velvet.
Empty.
But Isabella had been right.
Something long and narrow had rested there for years.
A rosary.
Or a necklace.
I ran my fingers over the lining.
One corner lifted.
“Wait.”
I removed the velvet tray.
Underneath lay a folded piece of construction paper.
Blue crayon showed through.
Isabella froze.
“I drew that.”
She opened it.
A child’s drawing.
Four stick figures.
A red rectangle shaped like a coat.
A round clock on the wall.
The hands pointed a little past eight.
One man wore a black triangle on his chest.
Another had a red dot around his wrist.
Across the bottom, in childish block letters, someone had written:
MOM SAID STAY IN HALL.
Gabriel looked at Isabella.
“How old were you?”
“Nine.”
“You were at Saint Agnes.”
She nodded slowly.
“My parents couldn’t find a sitter.”
“Do you remember drawing this?”
“Pieces.”
Her finger touched the man with the red dot.
“That was Dominic.”
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re sure?”
“I thought his bracelet looked like Christmas lights.”
Dominic’s silver rosary.
The red beads.
Then Isabella pointed at the second man.
The black triangle.
“I don’t remember him.”
Gabriel did.
His face went still.
“That isn’t a triangle.”
He took the drawing.
“It’s a ship.”
I remembered the black enamel pin older Romano men sometimes wore in photographs around the mansion.
A ship with three sails.
Gabriel’s father had worn one.
Matteo Romano.
Gabriel sat down.
“My father was there.”
Isabella looked confused.
“Wasn’t he supposed to be?”
“Not according to him.”
A long silence followed.
Gabriel rubbed one hand across his mouth.
“He told me he was in New York that night.”
I looked at the photograph from the watch.
Matteo wasn’t in it.
But that proved nothing.
Photographs captured seconds.
Lies could live around them.
Isabella stared at her childhood drawing.
“I remember my mother crying.”
“What else?” Gabriel asked.
“She pushed me into the hall.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think.”
His voice was controlled, but Isabella stiffened.
“I was nine, Gabriel.”
He immediately looked away.
“You’re right.”
It was a small apology.
But real.
She closed her eyes.
“I remember a man yelling.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did he say?”
Her brow tightened.
Then she opened her eyes.
“He said, ‘You don’t get to make me small in my own city.’”
Gabriel went pale.
“My father used to say that.”
I heard movement behind us.
One of Gabriel’s security men stepped into the doorway.
“Mr. Romano.”
Gabriel turned.
“Your uncle is downstairs.”
Isabella laughed bitterly.
“Of course he is.”
Gabriel had called Dominic from the car.
No ambush.
No mystery.
He had told him exactly where we were and why.
“Send him up.”
Dominic entered three minutes later.
He looked older than he had at dinner.
Not frightened.
Tired.
His eyes went immediately to the child’s drawing.
Then the cedar box.
Then the watch.
“So,” he said.
“You found it.”
Gabriel held up the drawing.
“My father was at Saint Agnes.”
Dominic said nothing.
“You told me he was in New York.”
“I repeated what Matteo told everyone.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Dominic looked at Isabella.
“You remembered more than your mother hoped.”
Isabella stood.
“My father died branded a thief.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
Her voice rose for the first time.
“You watched that happen.”
Dominic took it without flinching.
“Yes.”
Gabriel moved between them.
“Why?”
Dominic finally sat.
“Because Carlo Bellini needed to disappear.”
Isabella stared at him.
“From whom?”
Dominic looked at Gabriel.
“Your father.”
The room seemed to shrink.
Dominic folded his hands.
“Matteo had started using the waterfront differently. At first it was favors. Security. Loans. Then people who couldn’t repay started surrendering things.”
“What things?” Gabriel asked.
“Jewelry. Watches. Family pieces.”
My stomach tightened.
A jewelry repair shop.
A jeweler who knew the value of old gold.
My father.
“Henry appraised them,” I said.
Dominic looked at me.
“At first.”
The word hurt.
“At first?”
“He thought the pieces were legitimate collateral. Then he learned where they were coming from.”
“What did he do?”
“He refused.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding.
Dominic continued.
“Carlo refused too. Your mother found out. She wanted it stopped.”
Gabriel stared at him.
“And my father?”
“He told her she didn’t understand what kept the family standing.”
“That sounds like him.”
“She threatened to tell you.”
Gabriel looked toward the dark window.
“I was twenty-nine.”
“You worshiped him.”
“I was old enough.”
“To hear it? Yes.”
Dominic’s voice sharpened.
“To survive what happened next? Teresa wasn’t sure.”
Gabriel turned.
“So you framed Carlo.”
Dominic’s expression tightened.
“We made it look like Carlo stole from Teresa.”
Isabella’s eyes filled.
“You destroyed him.”
“We got him out of Boston alive.”
“That does not make it noble.”
“No.”
Dominic didn’t defend himself.
“That is the part I told myself for years.”
Silence settled.
Then Gabriel looked at the cedar box.
“What was inside?”
Dominic’s eyes stayed on it.
“Teresa’s gold necklace.”
“What necklace?”
“The one Henry altered for her.”
I looked at him.
“Altered how?”
Dominic’s gaze moved to me.
“Your father engraved the inside of every link.”
“With what?”
“Initials.”
Gabriel’s voice dropped.
“Whose?”
Dominic looked at him.
“The families Matteo took from.”
Isabella sank into the nearest chair.
Gabriel said, “Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just said Henry took it.”
“He did.”
“Then why isn’t it with the watch?”
“Because Elena became convinced Matteo was watching Henry.”
Isabella stared at him.
“My mother gave Henry the box.”
“Yes.”
“And he moved the necklace.”
“Yes.”
“To where?”
Dominic shook his head.
“Henry never told me.”
Gabriel studied him.
I watched Dominic’s wrist.
Silver rosary.
One missing red bead.
“You said everything changed when that bead disappeared,” I said.
Dominic looked down.
“It broke during the argument at Saint Agnes.”
“With Teresa?”
“With Matteo.”
Isabella’s child drawing lay open on the table.
The figure with the red wrist.
The figure with the black ship.
Gabriel’s face changed.
“My mother wasn’t afraid of you that night.”
Dominic looked at him.
“No.”
“She was afraid of my father.”
Dominic’s answer came quietly.
“She was afraid of what loving him had allowed her to ignore.”
No one spoke.
Then Dominic looked at the red coat hanging inside the closet.
His expression sharpened.
“Take that down.”
Isabella did.
“What?”
“The hem.”
I carried it beneath the light.
The seam had already been opened where I found the brooch.
I ran my fingers along the old stitching.
Something hard remained inside.
Smaller than the brooch.
I cut three careful threads.
A tiny red glass bead rolled into my palm.
Dominic stopped breathing.
I held it beside the empty loop on his bracelet.
Perfect match.
He stared at it.
Then at Gabriel.
“That bead came off at 8:17.”
Gabriel’s voice was almost too quiet to hear.
“What happened at 8:17?”
Dominic looked toward the child’s drawing.
“Your mother told Matteo she was sending you away from Boston.”
Gabriel stared at him.
Dominic swallowed.
May you like
“And your father told her she would never get the chance.”
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