Chapter 2 - I Thought the Locked Garage Hid His Criminal Secrets—Until I Heard My Dead Brother's Name
I didn't touch the sugar again.
Cedric knew exactly what I'd done.
That should have embarrassed me.
Instead, it made me angry.
He returned to his newspaper as though he hadn't just peeled away the small lie I'd offered him.
Tomaso studied the ceiling.
Mariana replaced the tablecloth without a word.
And I sat there wondering what else Cedric could see.
"You keep staring," he said.
"You keep noticing."
He folded the paper.
"That's how conversations work."
"We aren't having one."
"Then why are you still talking?"
Tomaso coughed into his coffee.
I pushed back my chair.
"Where are you going?" Cedric asked.
"To learn the house."
"The garden is worth seeing."
"I wasn't asking permission."
"I wasn't offering it."
I left before he could smile.
The east corridor smelled of lemon polish.
Sunlight spread across the marble in pale squares.
Every door looked identical.
Every camera looked expensive.
I counted six before reaching the conservatory.
Beyond the glass, rain darkened the garden paths.
A gardener in a green jacket trimmed a rosebush.
He glanced at me.
Then he glanced toward the house.
That second look bothered me.
I had lived alone for years.
I knew the difference between being seen and being watched.
A door clicked behind me.
Mariana stood holding a folded shawl.
"The garden gets cold, ma'am."
"You can call me Anna."
Her fingers tightened around the fabric.
"Mr. Spedaro prefers proper titles."
"Did he tell you that?"
She looked past my shoulder.
"It's how things are done."
I accepted the shawl.
"How long have you worked here?"
"Eleven years."
"Then you knew him before the wheelchair."
The color left her face.
For a moment, the rain was the only sound.
"I should check the kitchen," she whispered.
She walked away too quickly.
I watched her disappear around the corner.
One question.
That was all it took.
I turned toward the garden doors.
A black sedan rolled through the far gate.
Two security men emerged from the side entrance.
One wore a gunmetal-gray handkerchief.
The same shade I'd seen last night.
The sedan stopped near a service building.
A man climbed out carrying a narrow metal case.
He looked familiar.
Not his face.
The way he moved.
A slight hitch in his right shoulder.
I had seen that movement before.
Fifteen years ago.
On the day my family died.
My stomach tightened.
I pressed my palm against the glass.
The man turned.
A security guard stepped between us.
Then the sedan moved behind the garage.
I stood motionless.
My mother had died in a house fire.
So had my brother, Matteo.
That was what the police report said.
That was what every adult had repeated.
But I remembered one other thing.
A man outside our home.
A dark coat.
A shoulder that never moved quite right.
I had spent fifteen years convincing myself that memory was unreliable.
Now it had walked through Cedric Spedaro's gate.
"Mrs. Vincenzi."
I spun around.
Tomaso stood by the door.
He wasn't smiling.
"Mr. Spedaro would like to see you."
"Why?"
"He didn't say."
"Then tell him I'm busy."
Tomaso followed my gaze toward the garage.
His expression changed.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
"Anna," he said quietly. "Please come inside."
"Who was that man?"
"Which man?"
"Don't do that."
His jaw tightened.
"Not here."
The words made my pulse jump.
Not here meant there was something to discuss.
Not here meant the garden wasn't safe.
I followed him.
We took a different corridor.
At the end stood a small elevator.
Tomaso pressed the button himself.
"I thought the study was downstairs."
"We're going somewhere else."
The doors opened.
Inside, a brass panel displayed three floors.
And one unmarked button.
Tomaso pressed it.
The elevator descended.
My throat went dry.
"The underground garage is off-limits," I said.
"I remember the rules."
"So does Cedric."
The elevator stopped.
Tomaso faced me.
"Whatever you see, listen before you decide."
The doors slid apart.
Cedric waited in a brightly lit room.
Behind him stood a wall of monitors.
One showed the garden.
Another showed the front gate.
A third showed the black sedan.
The man with the metal case stood beside it.
Cedric watched my face.
"You recognized him," he said.
I didn't answer.
"Anna."
"Who is he?"
Cedric looked toward Tomaso.
The lawyer closed the elevator doors.
"His name is Vittorio Neri," Cedric said.
I felt the name like a sudden drop.
Neri.
My mother's maiden name.
"That's impossible."
"I wish it were."
I stepped toward the screen.
Vittorio lifted the metal case onto a table.
A silver ring flashed on his hand.
I knew that ring.
A small blue stone.
A crack running through its center.
My brother used to turn it between his fingers when he was nervous.
I gripped the edge of the desk.
"Where did he get that?"
Cedric didn't answer immediately.
"Sit down," he said.
"Stop telling me to sit."
His eyes hardened.
"Then hold on to something."
He reached into a drawer.
He placed a photograph on the desk.
It showed my brother.
Older than I remembered him.
Alive.
Standing beside Vittorio Neri.
The date printed along the bottom was six months ago.
I couldn't breathe.
"No," I whispered.
Cedric's voice came from somewhere far away.
"Anna, the fire didn't kill Matteo."
I stared at the photograph.
Then at the man who had bought my future with a marriage contract.
"Where is he?"
Cedric's hand closed around the wheelchair rim.
"That's what I've been trying to find out."
The monitor behind him flickered.
Vittorio opened the metal case.
Inside lay a child's red scarf.
My scarf.
The one I'd worn the night our house burned.
And beneath it was a note.
Cedric enlarged the image.
May you like
Five words appeared on the screen.
SHE WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE.
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