Chapter 3 - The Secret Mrs. Bell Kept for Twenty-Three Years
Alessandro arrived at Natalie's apartment seventeen minutes later.
He entered the hallway wearing a black coat over his white shirt, rain glistening in his dark hair.
Two security men followed.
But Alessandro barely seemed aware of them.
His attention went directly to Natalie.
She was sitting on the floor outside her apartment, wrapped in a blanket that the building security officer had found.
Marco stood nearby speaking with the police.
Alessandro approached.
“Are you injured?”
Natalie shook her head.
“No.”
He crouched in front of her.
“Let me see your hands.”
She lifted them.
They were shaking.
Alessandro looked at the red mark on her wrist.
“What happened?”
“He pushed me.”
Alessandro's face tightened.
“Did he hit you?”
“No.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“He pointed a gun at me.”
For a second, Alessandro looked away.
His jaw moved as though he were forcing himself to swallow words he did not want her to hear.
Then he reached for her hand.
He stopped before touching her.
“May I?”
Natalie nodded.
His fingers closed gently around hers.
The contrast was almost unbearable.
This was the same man whose guards had nearly drawn weapons when she hugged him at the Grand Meridian Hotel.
The same man people whispered about as though his name itself were dangerous.
Yet he held her injured wrist with extraordinary care.
“I'm sorry,” he said.
Natalie shook her head.
“You didn't do this.”
“The people responsible may be connected to my organization.”
“That doesn't mean you sent them.”
Alessandro looked at her.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Natalie opened her other hand.
The small blue scrap lay in her palm.
“I found this.”
He read the message.
Ask Mrs. Bell about Luca.
His expression changed.
“Where did you get it?”
“Outside my apartment. I think it fell from the intruder's pocket.”
Marco approached.
“The man escaped through the rear parking lot. We're reviewing security footage with the police.”
Alessandro held up the scrap.
“Preserve this as evidence. Photograph it first.”
Natalie pulled it back instinctively.
“This is my father's handwriting.”
Marco stopped.
Alessandro looked at her.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
She stared at the words.
“I spent years copying his handwriting because I wanted my birthday cards for Michael to look like the ones Dad used to give us.”
Alessandro's expression softened.
Natalie swallowed.
“Why would an intruder have a note written by my dead father?”
“That,” Alessandro said, “is what we're going to find out.”
By two in the morning, Natalie's apartment had been examined by police.
The intruder had searched closets, drawers, bookshelves, and the space beneath her kitchen sink.
He had taken nothing obvious.
Her laptop remained.
Her emergency cash remained.
Even the small jewelry box on her dresser was untouched.
The only missing item was an old cardboard storage box containing her parents' paperwork.
Natalie had kept it beneath her bed for years.
She rarely opened it.
Inside had been family photographs, tax records, medical receipts, old letters, and a few notebooks belonging to her father.
She had not known there was anything important among them.
Now the box was gone.
Alessandro insisted that she should not sleep in the apartment until security had been restored.
Natalie argued.
He listened.
Then he said something that stopped her.
“Whoever sent that man knew your father's name, your address, and what they wanted. If they didn't find it, they may return.”
Natalie thought of Michael.
He was staying near his university medical center during the week, but he occasionally came home without warning.
She could not risk him walking into a situation like this.
“Where am I supposed to go?” she asked.
Alessandro answered without hesitation.
“My home.”
Natalie stared at him.
“Absolutely not.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Why?”
“Because I met you three days ago.”
“Technically, you met me six days ago.”
“That's not helping your argument.”
For the first time that night, he smiled.
“I have a guest wing, a staff, and professional security. You would have your own rooms.”
“That's still an extraordinary arrangement.”
“Then consider it temporary protection while we identify the person who threatened you.”
She looked at Marco.
He nodded solemnly.
“It's the safest available option.”
Natalie sighed.
“Of course you'd say that.”
By sunrise, she had agreed to stay at Alessandro's Hudson River estate for two nights.
Only two.
She told him so repeatedly.
He did not argue.
At eight o'clock, after a sleepless night in a guest suite larger than her entire apartment, Natalie called Mrs. Bell.
The elderly shop owner answered on the second ring.
“Natalie, sweetheart, are you all right?”
Natalie sat straighter.
“Why wouldn't I be?”
A pause.
Then Mrs. Bell whispered, “Because a man called the shop last night asking whether you had found Daniel's records.”
Natalie's stomach dropped.
“What man?”
“He wouldn't give his name.”
“Mrs. Bell, I need to ask you something.”
“Of course.”
“Did you know Luca Vitale?”
Silence.
Natalie looked at the phone.
“Mrs. Bell?”
The older woman's voice returned, barely audible.
“Where did you hear that name?”
“From a document connected to my father.”
Another silence.
Then Mrs. Bell said, “Come to the shop. Alone.”
Natalie closed her eyes.
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Someone broke into my apartment last night. He had a gun.”
Mrs. Bell gasped.
“Oh, dear God.”
“He asked for a blue ledger.”
For several seconds, Natalie heard only faint breathing.
Then Mrs. Bell spoke.
“Don't tell anyone else about the ledger.”
“Mrs. Bell—”
“And don't trust Richard Vale.”
Natalie went cold.
“You know him?”
“I knew him before he became Richard Vale.”
The call ended.
Natalie stared at the screen.
She immediately called back.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
She hurried into the hallway.
Alessandro was speaking with Marco near the staircase.
Both men turned when they saw her.
“We need to go to Bell Paper,” Natalie said.
“What happened?”
“Mrs. Bell knows something.”
Alessandro studied her expression.
Then he reached for his coat.
“Let's go.”
They arrived on the Upper West Side forty minutes later.
The stationery shop's front door was locked.
Its lights were off.
That was unusual.
Mrs. Bell always opened at eight-thirty.
Even during snowstorms.
Natalie knocked.
No response.
Alessandro noticed a small crack in the lower pane of the front window.
Marco moved toward the rear entrance.
Natalie's heart began pounding.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please be okay.”
Marco returned.
“The back door is open.”
Alessandro called 911.
Then, with the emergency operator on speakerphone, they entered carefully.
The shop looked untouched.
Stacks of handmade paper lined the walls.
Invitation samples hung beside the register.
The familiar scent of ink and cedar filled the air.
But the door to the upstairs office stood open.
Natalie climbed the stairs before Alessandro could stop her.
“Mrs. Bell?”
A weak voice answered.
“Down here.”
Natalie hurried into the office.
Mrs. Bell sat on the floor beside an overturned chair.
Blood marked her forehead.
Her cardigan was torn.
Natalie dropped to her knees.
“Oh my God.”
Mrs. Bell reached for her hand.
“I'm all right.”
“You're bleeding.”
“Someone pushed me. I fell.”
Alessandro entered.
His expression became cold.
“Who?”
Mrs. Bell looked at him.
For a moment, she seemed frightened.
Then she recognized his face.
“Alessandro?”
He stopped.
“Do I know you?”
The elderly woman began crying.
“You look so much like your brother.”
The room went silent.
Natalie looked between them.
“Mrs. Bell, you knew Luca?”
Mrs. Bell nodded.
“I helped him and your father.”
Alessandro approached slowly.
“With what?”
She looked toward the office wall.
A framed photograph hung above a battered filing cabinet.
It showed the opening day of Bell Paper.
Mrs. Bell stood beside Natalie's father.
A young man smiled between them.
Dark hair.
Broad shoulders.
Kind eyes.
Alessandro stopped breathing.
“Luca,” he whispered.
Mrs. Bell nodded.
“He came here every Thursday. He wanted to print scholarship certificates that couldn't be easily copied.”
Natalie stared at her.
“Why?”
“Because someone was stealing from the foundation. Luca and Daniel wanted proof.”
Alessandro's voice grew rough.
“Did they find it?”
Mrs. Bell's eyes filled.
“Yes.”
Natalie leaned closer.
“Where is it?”
Mrs. Bell gripped her wrist.
“Your father hid the original records in something nobody would think to steal.”
“What?”
“The thing he knew you'd never sell.”
Natalie stared at her.
“My mother's engagement ring?”
Mrs. Bell shook her head.
“Not the ring.”
She looked at the framed photograph of the shop.
“The letters.”
Natalie's breath caught.
Her father had written a letter to each of his children every birthday.
Even during difficult years.
After his death, Natalie had carefully preserved them in a cedar box.
She had given Michael his letters when he turned eighteen.
Hers remained in a locked drawer at home.
The intruder had searched her apartment.
He had stolen the paperwork box.
But he had ignored the cedar box because it contained sentimental letters.
Alessandro looked at her.
“Do you still have them?”
Natalie nodded.
“Yes.”
Mrs. Bell closed her eyes.
“Then Daniel's secret is still safe.”
Before anyone could speak, she opened them again.
“There is something else.”
Alessandro knelt beside her.
“Tell me.”
Mrs. Bell's voice trembled.
“The night Luca died, he called me. He said Richard had discovered what they were doing.”
Alessandro's face hardened.
“What did he say exactly?”
Mrs. Bell began crying harder.
“He said if anything happened to him, we should look for the missing money through the children.”
Natalie frowned.
“What children?”
May you like
Mrs. Bell looked straight at her.
“You and Michael.”
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