Chapter 2 - The Man Who Wouldn't Drink
Mrs. Bianchi stared at the phone.
I stared at her.
Lucia stared at me.
Nobody answered it.
PAULO REVA.
The name remained on the screen.
Four years earlier, two police officers had come to my apartment at 1:13 in the morning.
They told me Paulo's car had left a wet road outside Quincy.
They told me death had been immediate.
They told me identification had been difficult.
I remembered every word.
“What is this?” I whispered.
Mrs. Bianchi looked genuinely frightened.
“I don't know.”
The phone stopped.
Three seconds later, it rang again.
PAULO REVA.
Dominic stepped into the hallway.
“Answer.”
Mrs. Bianchi did.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
Then a man's voice.
Distorted.
Quiet.
“Alina needs to leave.”
My legs went weak.
Mrs. Bianchi put the call on speaker.
Dominic's expression sharpened.
“Who is this?”
A pause.
Then:
“Ask her what Paulo kept inside his winter coat.”
The call ended.
Everyone looked at me.
“I don't know.”
That wasn't entirely true.
Paulo had owned one heavy navy coat he wore every winter.
After his death, I couldn't throw it away.
It remained inside a storage box beneath my bed.
Dominic's doctor arrived twelve minutes later.
Dr. Russo examined him privately while two security employees quietly closed the estate gates.
Nobody used words like poison.
Nobody needed to.
Dominic refused to drink anything.
Not water.
Not coffee.
Nothing.
Lucia sat beside me in the kitchen.
“You did nothing wrong,” I told her.
She nodded.
But she didn't believe me.
Neither did I.
An hour later Dominic entered.
He looked steadier.
“Doctor says I'll live.”
Relief moved through me.
Then he sat opposite Lucia.
“Who touched the coffee first?”
Lucia thought.
“The lady with the silver bracelet.”
Mrs. Bianchi frowned.
“What lady?”
“She brought the tray.”
My heart stopped.
I had assumed one of the kitchen staff had delivered it.
Mrs. Bianchi immediately checked.
Nobody had.
Security footage showed a woman entering through the service corridor wearing a housekeeping uniform.
Her face was hidden from the camera.
She carried Dominic's coffee into the study.
Then disappeared.
There was no footage of her leaving.
Dominic watched the recording twice.
Then he turned toward me.
“Go home.”
I blinked.
“Sir?”
“Get Paulo's coat.”
“You believe that call?”
“No.”
He paused.
“But whoever made it believes the coat matters.”
Two cars accompanied us.
For four years, I had avoided opening the storage box.
That afternoon, I finally did.
Lucia sat on my bed while I lifted Paulo's coat.
It still smelled faintly like cedar.
I checked every pocket.
Nothing.
Then Lucia said, “Mama.”
She touched the lining.
A seam had been repaired.
Paulo couldn't sew.
I opened it carefully.
Something slipped onto the bed.
A photograph.
Dominic picked it up.
The photograph showed five men standing outside a shipping warehouse.
One was Dominic, perhaps fifteen years younger.
One was Paulo.
I stopped breathing.
“You knew my husband?”
Dominic stared at the picture.
“No.”
“You're standing beside him.”
“I said I didn't know him. I didn't say I'd never seen him.”
He turned the photograph over.
There was handwriting.
Paulo's.
D.F. DOESN'T KNOW.
TRUST THE GIRL.
Below it was a date.
Three days before Paulo died.
Dominic's face changed.
“What girl?”
“I don't know.”
Lucia touched the photograph.
“There.”
A reflection in the warehouse window.
A woman.
Barely visible.
Dominic took the photograph closer to the lamp.
Then he whispered a name.
“Evelyn.”
“Who is Evelyn?”
He didn't answer.
Someone knocked at my apartment door.
Three slow knocks.
Dominic's security man checked the hallway camera.
Nobody was there.
He opened the door.
A small package sat on the floor.
My name was written across it.
Inside was Paulo's wedding ring.
May you like
And beneath it, a note.
ALINA, THEY LIED ABOUT THE ACCIDENT.
