Chapter 3 - The Woman at Providence Station
Luca read the sentence twice.
If a Donovan ever enters this family, tell her the emerald was never Teresa's to give.
He looked up.
“What does this mean?”
Teresa sat down.
Vivienne closed her eyes.
Nora whispered, “Donovan?”
Luca kept reading.
The letter was dated September 14, 1989.
Thirty-seven years earlier.
Elena Russo had written it to Antonio Ferraro.
Most of the words were personal.
Painful.
She wrote about loving him.
About his silence.
About realizing that a man could promise courage in private and still become a stranger when his family entered the room.
The similarities to Claire's note were so exact that Luca had to stop reading.
Then came the part about the emerald.
Your mother gave it to me because she said I was the woman you chose. Your father demanded it back when you refused to defend me. I returned the ring, Antonio, but I did not return what it represented. Teresa may wear it one day. Someone else may wear it after her. But if a Donovan ever enters this family, tell her the emerald was never Teresa's to give.
Luca lowered the letter.
“Who was Donovan?”
Teresa stared at the floor.
Vivienne answered.
“Elena's closest friend.”
Luca looked at her.
“Name?”
“Margaret Donovan.”
His heart stopped.
Claire's grandmother.
He knew the name.
Claire had spoken about her often.
Margaret Donovan had died when Claire was seventeen.
She had been the reason Claire became interested in restoring old buildings.
“She knew Elena?”
“They grew up together,” Vivienne said.
Luca turned toward Teresa.
“You knew Claire's grandmother?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told us?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Teresa looked toward the photograph.
“Because I didn't know Claire was Margaret's granddaughter until six months ago.”
Luca's voice became dangerously quiet.
“Before or after I told you Claire would wear the emerald?”
Teresa didn't answer.
Nora did.
“Oh my God.”
Luca folded the letter.
“You found out, and that's when everything changed.”
Teresa stood.
“You don't understand.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“No, you don't.”
“Then explain it.”
Teresa's eyes flashed.
“Margaret blamed me for what happened to Elena.”
“What happened to Elena?”
Teresa said nothing.
Again.
Luca was finished with silence.
He took out his phone.
“Mercer.”
The security chief answered immediately.
“Yes?”
“Find Claire's train.”
“We already have it.”
Luca straightened.
“Where?”
“She bought a ticket for Boston.”
“When does it arrive?”
“It already did.”
Luca looked at the clock.
“Can you locate her?”
A pause.
“We can try, but—”
“No.”
Luca stopped himself.
Nora watched him.
Claire had said don't come after me.
He closed his eyes.
“Don't track her.”
Mercer sounded surprised.
“Sir?”
“Leave her alone.”
He ended the call.
Nora gave him a small nod.
It hurt.
Doing the right thing hurt because it meant accepting that Claire had the right to leave him.
Vivienne looked at the letter.
“She may already know.”
Luca turned.
“Know what?”
“About Elena.”
“How?”
“Margaret kept everything.”
“Everything?”
“Letters. Photographs. Documents.”
Luca remembered Claire's battered brown tote.
She carried papers constantly.
Architectural drawings.
Old property records.
Historical photographs.
Her work required archives.
Old things spoke to Claire.
Sometimes more clearly than people did.
Teresa crossed the room.
“If Claire knows the whole story, then we have a bigger problem.”
Luca stared at her.
“You still think Claire is the problem?”
“No.”
For once, Teresa sounded sincere.
“I think what she might have found is.”
“What did Margaret have?”
Teresa looked toward the old velvet box.
“Proof.”
“Of what?”
Before Teresa could answer, Nora's phone rang.
She checked it.
Unknown number.
She answered.
“Hello?”
Her expression changed.
“Claire?”
Luca moved instantly.
Nora raised a hand.
“Wait.”
She listened.
“Are you okay?”
Luca could hear nothing from the other end.
Nora looked at him.
“Yes. He's here.”
Another pause.
“No, he isn't coming after you.”
Luca's chest tightened.
Nora listened.
Then she whispered, “What?”
Teresa stepped closer.
Vivienne went pale.
“What is she saying?” Luca asked.
Nora held up a finger.
“Claire, slow down.”
Pause.
“Where are you?”
Nora listened.
Then the line disconnected.
“Nora.”
She looked at Luca.
“She wasn't calling about you.”
“What?”
“She said someone followed her from Providence.”
Luca's entire body changed.
“Who?”
“She doesn't know.”
“Where is she?”
“She wouldn't say.”
“Call her back.”
Nora did.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Luca grabbed his jacket.
Nora stepped in front of him.
“She told you not to come.”
“She also said someone is following her.”
“That changes things,” Vivienne said.
Teresa looked toward the letter.
“Yes.”
Luca noticed.
“Why?”
Teresa didn't answer.
“Why would anyone follow Claire because of Elena?”
Vivienne looked at Teresa.
“Tell him.”
Teresa shook her head.
“Tell me what?”
Vivienne took a breath.
“Elena didn't simply leave Rhode Island.”
Teresa whispered, “Stop.”
“She disappeared.”
Luca frowned.
“Disappeared?”
“Three days after Antonio married Teresa, nobody could find her.”
Luca stared at her.
“For how long?”
Vivienne's eyes filled.
“Twenty-two years.”
The room seemed to shrink.
“What happened after twenty-two years?”
“She contacted me.”
Teresa closed her eyes.
Vivienne continued.
“She was living in Maine under another surname.”
“Why?”
“She said she'd discovered something involving the Ferraro estate.”
Luca's patience snapped.
“What?”
“A trust.”
The word landed strangely.
Luca looked toward his father's desk.
“What trust?”
Teresa sat down again.
Vivienne's voice became quiet.
“A trust Antonio's mother created before she died.”
“For whom?”
Vivienne looked directly at Luca.
“For the woman who wore the emerald by choice.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It wasn't about the jewelry.”
Teresa finally spoke.
“It was about ownership.”
Luca turned.
She looked exhausted now.
“The waterfront property wasn't originally your grandfather's.”
“What?”
“It belonged to your grandmother.”
Luca knew that.
But only vaguely.
“She inherited it from her family,” Teresa continued. “When she became ill, your grandfather expected it to pass into his control. Instead, she created a trust.”
“For Dad?”
“No.”
“For whom?”
“For Antonio's future wife.”
Luca stared at her.
“The estate?”
“Controlling interest in it.”
Nora looked stunned.
“So if Elena married Dad—”
“She would have controlled the estate.”
“And when Elena left?”
Teresa looked away.
“The documents disappeared.”
Luca understood.
“Dad married you.”
“Yes.”
“And you received control?”
“No.”
That surprised him.
“Then who did?”
“Your grandfather.”
Vivienne said, “Temporarily.”
Teresa shot her a look.
Luca caught it.
“What does temporarily mean?”
Vivienne answered.
“Until the original beneficiary or her lawful successor made a claim.”
Luca stared at the letter.
“A successor.”
Vivienne nodded.
“Elena never had children.”
“So who—”
Then he remembered.
Margaret Donovan.
Her closest friend.
The line in the letter.
If a Donovan ever enters this family...
Luca looked at Teresa.
“No.”
Teresa's silence confirmed it.
“Claire?”
Nora whispered.
Teresa spoke carefully.
“Possibly.”
Luca felt dizzy.
Claire had walked into his family believing she was an outsider.
But decades earlier, a legal document may have placed her family at the center of a dispute nobody had told her existed.
“Does Claire know?”
“I don't know.”
“Did Margaret?”
“Yes.”
“Did my father?”
“Yes.”
Luca looked at the old study.
Every wall suddenly seemed full of secrets.
His phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered immediately.
“Claire?”
Silence.
Then breathing.
“Claire?”
A woman's voice answered.
But it wasn't Claire.
“Luca Ferraro?”
“Yes.”
“You don't know me.”
“Where is Claire?”
The woman ignored the question.
“You need to stop looking for her.”
Luca's grip tightened.
“Who is this?”
“If you care about Claire, leave the past alone.”
The line disconnected.
Luca immediately called back.
Nothing.
Nora stared at him.
“What happened?”
He told them.
Vivienne looked terrified.
Teresa looked worse.
Luca stepped toward her.
“You know that voice?”
“No.”
Too fast.
“Mother.”
“No.”
“Then why are you scared?”
Teresa didn't answer.
His phone vibrated.
A text.
From Claire.
Three words.
I found Margaret.
Luca stared at the screen.
Claire's grandmother had been dead for more than a decade.
Another message arrived.
Not my grandmother.
Then a photograph loaded.
An elderly woman sat across from Claire at a café.
Luca didn't recognize her.
Vivienne did.
The phone nearly slipped from her hand.
“No.”
Luca looked at her.
“Who is she?”
Vivienne's lips parted.
“Elena.”
May you like
And then Claire's third message arrived.
SHE SAYS YOUR FATHER LIED ABOUT EVERYTHING.
