Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
Vivian stared at the photograph until the faces blurred.
“That’s my mother.”
Edmund said nothing.
“You knew.”
“Vivian—”
“You knew!”
Her voice cracked through the private corridor.
Edmund reached for her phone.
She pulled it away.
“Don’t touch me.”
“The photograph isn’t what you think.”
“That sentence should be illegal.”
He glanced toward the ballroom doors.
“We need somewhere secure.”
“My mother died eleven years ago.”
“I know.”
“You were photographed with her three days ago.”
“Yes.”
The simple admission nearly broke something inside her.
Vivian backed away.
“Tell me.”
Edmund remained still.
“Her death was staged.”
The corridor seemed to tilt.
“By whom?”
“I don’t know everything.”
“Stop lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Then where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
Vivian laughed once.
It sounded broken.
“You met her but don’t know where she is?”
“She contacted me.”
“Why?”
“She wanted the wedding stopped.”
Vivian stared at him.
That was the last answer she expected.
“She told me Victor wasn’t marrying you to me to settle a gambling debt.”
“What was he doing?”
“Trying to complete an agreement made years ago.”
“Seventeen?”
Edmund nodded.
Vivian thought of the chip.
“What is it?”
“A private table.”
“At a casino?”
“Not exactly.”
Edmund led her into a security room and locked the door.
Screens showed every corridor of the estate.
Luca joined them minutes later.
He placed the recovered casing on the desk.
“No prints.”
Edmund examined it.
Vivian barely cared.
“My mother.”
Edmund looked at Luca.
“Give us the room.”
Luca left.
Edmund removed his jacket.
From an inner pocket, he took a small envelope.
Vivian recognized the handwriting immediately.
Her mother’s.
For Vivian.
Her hands trembled as she opened it.
Inside was a single sentence.
If Victor gives you to Edmund Costa, marry him—but do not trust him until he tells you what happened at Pier Seventeen.
Vivian read it twice.
Then looked up.
“Pier Seventeen.”
Edmund’s expression became unreadable.
“What happened there?”
“My father died.”
Vivian blinked.
She knew Edmund’s father, Antonio Costa, had died when Edmund was twenty.
Officially, a warehouse fire.
“Your father died at Pier Seventeen?”
“Yes.”
“And my mother knew?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She was there.”
Vivian’s knees nearly gave way.
Edmund caught her elbow.
She allowed it for one second, then stepped away.
“Tell me everything.”
“Seventeen years ago, my father discovered someone was using Moretti cargo ships to move weapons and launder money through Bellhaven.”
“My father?”
“I don’t know.”
“You always say that right before something horrible.”
Edmund ignored it.
“Antonio arranged a meeting at Pier Seventeen with someone from the Moretti company who claimed to have proof. The warehouse burned before the meeting ended.”
“And your father died.”
“Yes.”
“My mother survived.”
“I believe so.”
“Then she vanished years later.”
“Yes.”
Vivian looked at the photograph again.
“Why come back now?”
“Because Victor reopened Pier Seventeen.”
Her father had told her the property was condemned.
Edmund continued.
“Six months ago, shipments started moving through it again.”
“Illegal shipments?”
“We don’t know.”
“We?”
“My people.”
“You mean your criminals.”
A faint humorless smile touched his mouth.
“Yes.”
Vivian hated that he did not pretend.
“Did you marry me to get access to my father?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
His silence lasted too long.
“Edmund.”
“Because your mother asked me to protect you.”
Vivian stopped.
“When?”
“Three days ago.”
“That doesn’t explain why you agreed before then.”
“No.”
“So?”
Edmund looked directly at her.
“Because I had already decided to.”
Something unfamiliar moved through Vivian.
She crushed it immediately.
“This is not romantic.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“Good.”
A knock sounded.
Luca entered.
“We found Victor.”
“Where?” Vivian asked.
“Security footage shows him entering the old wine cellar.”
“Coming out?”
“No.”
Edmund reached for his jacket.
Vivian followed.
The cellar lay beneath the western wing.
The deeper they descended, the quieter the estate became.
Vivian remembered visiting the Costa property as a child once.
Her mother had brought her.
She had forgotten until now.
At the bottom of the staircase stood an iron door.
Open.
Inside, wine racks lined stone walls.
No Victor.
Luca found blood near the rear shelves.
Vivian’s stomach turned.
“Dad?”
No answer.
Edmund moved toward the blood.
It ended at a wall.
“A hidden door,” Luca said.
Edmund pressed one bottle.
Nothing.
Vivian noticed scratches beneath a brass plate marked 1917.
She pressed it.
The wall clicked.
A narrow passage opened.
Cold air came through.
They entered.
The tunnel ended beneath the eastern ballroom windows.
On the floor lay the missing rifle.
Beside it sat Victor Moretti.
Alive.
His hands were tied.
Blood ran from his forehead.
“Vivian.”
She rushed toward him.
Edmund caught her.
“Wait.”
Victor looked terrified.
“Get her out!”
Vivian stared at him.
“Who did this?”
Victor looked at Edmund.
Then at the rifle.
“I didn’t shoot him.”
“No one said you did,” Edmund replied.
Victor realized his mistake.
Vivian felt sick.
“Dad. What is Pier Seventeen?”
Victor’s face drained.
“Who told you?”
“Mom.”
He stopped breathing.
“She’s alive.”
Victor closed his eyes.
Vivian crouched before him.
“You knew.”
His silence answered.
“You let me bury an empty coffin?”
“I was protecting you.”
“From what?”
“From her.”
Vivian recoiled.
Edmund’s gaze sharpened.
Victor laughed bitterly.
“You think Elena Moretti was some innocent mother hiding from monsters?”
“Don’t.”
“You don’t know her.”
“And whose fault is that?”
Victor looked at Edmund.
“Ask your husband what his father was doing at Pier Seventeen.”
Edmund stepped forward.
“My father was murdered.”
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
Victor smiled through blood.
“That’s the question, isn’t it?”
A sound came from the tunnel.
Footsteps.
Luca raised his weapon.
Edmund pulled Vivian behind him.
A figure emerged from darkness.
Not Elena.
A man.
Older.
Silver-haired.
Vivian knew his face from photographs in Edmund’s study.
Antonio Costa.
Edmund’s father.
The man who had supposedly died seventeen years ago.
Edmund lowered his gun by an inch.
“Dad?”
Antonio smiled.
Then he looked directly at Vivian.
“Your mother sends her apologies.”
May you like
He reached into his coat.
And pulled out a second wedding contract bearing Vivian’s signature.
