Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Left the Photograph Knew I Was Dominic’s Wife Before Anyone Announced the MarriageThe photograph had been taken twenty-two years ago.
That meant whoever had left it knew what I was searching for.
But there was another problem.
My marriage to Dominic had been secret.
The chapel had been private.
Only a handful of people knew.
Yet the envelope had been placed beneath my bedroom door.
Someone inside the mansion knew I was there.
Someone knew I was Dominic's wife.
And someone knew exactly what would make me investigate.
I went back to the clinic records in my memory.
The elderly patient.
Paolo Marchetti.
The Vesper scar.
His final words.
He had said:
"Tell Elena I failed."
At the time, I hadn't understood.
Now I did.
I told Dominic.
He immediately searched his mother's files.
There was no record of Paolo's death.
He had simply disappeared.
"That's impossible."
"You said your father controlled the records."
"He did."
"Then someone erased him."
Dominic looked at me.
"Why are you helping me?"
"Because I'm married to you."
"That's not an answer."
I smiled.
"It is now."
He looked away.
Then he said:
"If you stay, you're in danger."
"I know."
"You can leave."
"I can't."
"Why?"
"Because I don't like unfinished stories."
He almost laughed.
Then someone knocked.
A maid entered.
"Mrs. Russo?"
I still wasn't used to hearing that.
"Yes?"
"Someone left this for you."
Another envelope.
This one contained a letter.
Clara Hayes never existed.
My blood ran cold.
Dominic read it.
Then looked at me.
"What does that mean?"
I swallowed.
"My identity was never fully real."
He frowned.
"My birth certificate is real."
"Yes."
"Your passport?"
"Real."
"Then what?"
The letter continued.
Your father changed your name when you were six.
I stared.
My father had never told me that.
He had said my mother died when I was five.
He had said our family moved to Chicago because he found work.
Suddenly, memories felt unreliable.
My father had been secretive.
He had burned papers.
He had changed phone numbers.
He never let me answer the door.
I always thought it was because he was paranoid.
What if he had been protecting me?
Dominic looked at me.
"What was your mother's name?"
"Anna."
"Do you remember her?"
"Somewhat."
"Anything unusual?"
I closed my eyes.
A silver bracelet.
A dark room.
A woman's voice saying:
"Never trust the Vesper men."
I had thought it was a dream.
Dominic looked at me.
"Say that again."
I did.
He walked backward.
"Your mother knew."
"Apparently."
"Did she ever mention my family?"
"No."
"Vesper?"
"No."
Then Dominic saw the bracelet I wore.
It had belonged to my grandmother.
Small silver chain.
Three interlocking lines.
The symbol.
I had never recognized it.
Dominic's eyes widened.
"Where did you get that?"
"My grandmother."
"She gave it to your mother."
I stared.
"How do you know?"
"Because my mother had one exactly like it."
We were silent.
Our families had been connected.
Not by coincidence.
By Vesper.
Then a guard rushed into the room.
"Sir."
"What?"
"We found blood in the old wine cellar."
Dominic's face hardened.
"Whose?"
"We don't know."
He looked at me.
"Stay here."
I followed anyway.
The wine cellar was cold.
A trail of blood led toward the back wall.
Behind a rack was a hidden passage.
We opened it.
Inside was a chair.
Rope.
Blood.
And an old photograph.
A woman tied to the chair.
My mother.
She was alive in the photograph.
May you like
Older than I remembered.
And standing behind her was Dominic's father.
Related Stories
