Chapter 2 - The Woman He Claimed I Was
The car door locked beside Beatrice and she whispered, "My mother disappeared nine years ago."
Lorenzo placed the photograph between them.
A hospital bracelet was visible around Eleanor Gallagher's wrist.
Someone had scratched a room number into the corner.
Lorenzo immediately ordered the driver to change direction.
Beatrice stared at him.
"Where are we going?"
"To find out why your father lied about two Gallagher women instead of one."
The convoy moved through the city while Beatrice held the photograph beneath the passing glow of streetlights.
Her mother looked thinner than Beatrice remembered.
Eleanor Gallagher had always been beautiful in a quiet way. Dark hair. Warm eyes. A laugh Charles hated because it filled rooms without asking permission.
Then, when Beatrice was eighteen, her mother vanished.
Charles told everyone Eleanor had abandoned them.
He said she had another man.
He said she had emptied a private account and disappeared voluntarily.
And because Beatrice had already spent years being trained to doubt herself, she believed him.
At least, she tried.
Now she looked at the hospital bracelet.
"This was taken after she disappeared."
Lorenzo nodded.
"Seven months after."
Beatrice's fingers tightened around the photograph.
"My father said she was in France."
"Apparently she wasn't."
"How did your man get this?"
"It was delivered to the estate thirty minutes ago."
"By whom?"
"Unknown."
"And you think it is real?"
"I think your father was terrified of it."
That, Beatrice could not argue with.
Charles Gallagher feared very little in public.
He feared losing status.
He feared financial exposure.
And tonight, he had feared a photograph.
"Where are we going?" she asked again.
"Private airfield."
Beatrice turned.
"What?"
"My home is in Sicily."
"I thought you had an estate here."
"I do."
"Then why Sicily?"
"Because Charles's debt is connected to Palermo."
She looked down at the image.
"My mother is connected to this?"
"I don't know."
Beatrice gave him a disbelieving look.
"You seem very comfortable saying that."
"Saying what?"
"That you don't know."
Lorenzo looked almost amused.
"Only insecure men pretend knowledge they don't have."
Her father would have hated that sentence.
Maybe that was why she liked it.
The thought unsettled her.
She turned toward the window.
"What exactly did my father tell you about me?"
Lorenzo remained silent.
Beatrice looked back.
"I deserve to know."
"Yes."
"Then tell me."
His jaw tightened.
"He said you had been involved with several men connected to his business."
"False."
"He said two of them had made financial claims against him because of you."
"Also false."
"He described you as unstable."
She gave a humorless laugh.
"Of course."
"He said you had a habit of becoming attached to men, then threatening them."
"That's ridiculous."
"He said you needed supervision."
Beatrice turned away again.
That one hurt differently.
Because it sounded familiar.
Not the men.
The conclusion.
You need supervision.
Her father had used it whenever she talked about living alone.
"You won't remember bills."
"You'll panic."
"You don't understand contracts."
"People will exploit you."
Then he had apparently exploited her himself.
Lorenzo watched her.
"Why didn't you leave?"
Beatrice stared at him.
It was an ordinary question.
People always asked ordinary questions about cages they had never seen.
"Because by the time I was old enough to leave, I believed I couldn't."
Lorenzo said nothing.
She continued.
"My father didn't lock doors. He didn't have to. He spent years making every choice outside that house feel dangerous."
"Did he hit you?"
"Once when I was seventeen."
Lorenzo's eyes sharpened.
"He never did it again."
"Why?"
"My mother threatened to leave him."
"And then she disappeared a year later."
Beatrice looked down.
"Yes."
Silence filled the car.
The driver turned onto a private road.
Lights appeared ahead.
Aircraft hangars.
Beatrice realized the situation had become real enough that fear finally broke through numbness.
She was getting on a plane with a Mafia boss.
A man her father owed three million dollars.
A man who had been told she was part of the repayment.
"Lorenzo."
He turned.
"Am I safe with you?"
The question seemed to surprise him.
He did not answer immediately.
That frightened her more than a lie would have.
Finally he said, "From me, yes."
"And from your world?"
"No."
She appreciated the honesty.
"Then why should I go?"
"Because your father's world is already mine. You were simply never told."
The car stopped beside a jet.
Lorenzo stepped out.
One of his men opened Beatrice's door.
She remained seated.
Lorenzo looked back.
"You said I decide."
"You do."
"If I say no?"
"I arrange protection somewhere else."
"My father?"
"Will not know where."
She studied him.
Then she stepped out.
The flight to Sicily lasted hours.
Beatrice slept only briefly.
When she woke, the cabin lights were dim.
Lorenzo sat across from her reading documents.
The tattoos on his forearms disappeared beneath rolled white sleeves.
He did not look like the monster her father's fear suggested.
That did not mean he wasn't dangerous.
It only meant danger could read quietly at three in the morning.
"What are those?" she asked.
"Your father's companies."
"All of them?"
"Almost."
"Why?"
"Because three million dollars doesn't disappear accidentally."
"You think he stole it?"
"I think he borrowed three million from me after losing five million somewhere else."
Beatrice sat straighter.
"Five million?"
"At least."
"And you still loaned him money?"
"He offered collateral."
Her stomach tightened.
"Me?"
"No."
She blinked.
"What did he offer?"
"A shipping facility in Palermo."
"Then why is my name in the agreement?"
"That is what I am trying to understand."
Lorenzo placed a page on the table between them.
"This is the copy my attorney reviewed."
Beatrice read it.
There was no mention of her.
He placed another beside it.
"This is the copy Charles gave my intermediary yesterday."
Her name appeared in three places.
Beneficiary.
Domestic liaison.
Personal guarantee.
And the strange handwritten notation.
Collateral.
"He altered it."
"Yes."
"Why would anyone accept this version?"
"Someone inside my organization approved it."
Beatrice looked at him.
"So someone helped my father."
"Yes."
"And you don't know who."
"Not yet."
A cold sensation moved through her.
Her father's lies suddenly felt larger than one cruel bargain.
Someone had wanted Beatrice transported to Sicily.
Someone had wanted Lorenzo to think the worst of her.
Someone had changed legal documents.
And someone had sent a photograph of her missing mother.
The jet landed shortly after dawn.
Lorenzo's estate sat beyond high stone walls overlooking the sea.
Beatrice barely noticed its beauty.
She was exhausted.
A woman named Sofia greeted them and led Beatrice upstairs.
Sofia was in her sixties, with silver-streaked hair and an expression that suggested nothing in the world surprised her anymore.
"I prepared the east room," Sofia said.
Beatrice glanced at Lorenzo.
"My own room?"
Lorenzo's brow furrowed.
"Obviously."
Heat rose in her face.
"I didn't know."
His expression darkened.
"What exactly did Charles tell you would happen here?"
"Nothing."
That answer seemed to anger him more.
Sofia noticed.
"Come, cara."
She touched Beatrice's elbow gently.
"Food first. Fear is always louder on an empty stomach."
For the first time in twenty-four hours, Beatrice almost smiled.
She slept until late afternoon.
When she woke, the ivory dress had been hung carefully near the wardrobe.
Fresh clothes waited on a chair.
No one had entered while she slept.
She showered and changed into a simple blue dress.
Downstairs, voices carried from a study.
Lorenzo.
Another man.
Beatrice approached.
"...Charles insists she knew."
"She didn't."
"You trust her?"
"No."
Beatrice stopped outside the door.
Lorenzo continued.
"But I trust fear. Hers is not the fear of someone whose scheme failed. It's the fear of someone discovering she was the scheme."
Beatrice swallowed.
The second man spoke.
"There's more."
Paper moved.
"The Palermo facility Charles offered as collateral hasn't belonged to him for nine years."
Silence.
Lorenzo asked, "Who owns it?"
"The deed was transferred through a holding company."
"To?"
A pause.
"Eleanor Gallagher."
Beatrice pushed the door open.
Both men turned.
The second man was younger than Lorenzo, perhaps forty, dark-haired and sharp-eyed.
Beatrice stared at the paper in his hand.
"My mother owns the building?"
The man glanced at Lorenzo.
Lorenzo nodded.
"Apparently."
"How?"
"We're finding out."
Beatrice stepped closer.
"If she owned it after she disappeared, she was alive."
"At least when the transfer occurred."
"When?"
The man checked the document.
"Two months after Charles claimed she left the country."
Beatrice sat down because her knees stopped cooperating.
"My mother didn't leave us."
Nobody answered.
She covered her mouth.
For years she had hated Eleanor for abandoning her.
Then hated herself for hating her.
Charles would tell her stories whenever Beatrice defended her mother.
Eleanor laughed at you.
Eleanor wanted a new life.
Eleanor said you were too much work.
Every story ended the same way.
Your mother chose herself over you.
Now a deed proved Eleanor had remained connected to the family business after her supposed disappearance.
Lorenzo crouched near Beatrice's chair.
"Beatrice."
She looked at him.
"My father told me she didn't want me."
Lorenzo's expression softened almost imperceptibly.
"Your father appears to tell stories when facts become inconvenient."
Tears finally came.
Beatrice hated them.
She wiped them immediately.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize."
"I don't cry in front of people."
"Then don't consider me people."
She stared at him.
The absurdity of the sentence pulled a tiny laugh from her.
Lorenzo stood.
The other man smiled faintly.
"Matteo Romano," he introduced himself. "Lorenzo's attorney."
Beatrice nodded.
Matteo handed her the deed.
"There's another detail."
Of course there was.
Beatrice looked at the signature.
Eleanor Gallagher.
Her mother's handwriting.
Below it was another signature.
Witness.
Beatrice read the name twice.
Then a third time.
Father Gabriel Marchetti.
She looked up.
"Who's this?"
Lorenzo and Matteo exchanged a glance.
Matteo answered.
"A priest who disappeared eight years ago."
Beatrice's skin went cold.
"Disappeared?"
"Yes."
Lorenzo picked up his phone.
Before he could dial, Sofia appeared in the doorway.
Her face had lost all warmth.
"Signore."
"What?"
"There is a woman at the gate."
"Name?"
Sofia looked directly at Beatrice.
"She says her name is Eleanor Gallagher."
The room went completely silent.
Beatrice stood so fast the chair fell backward.
Lorenzo reached for the door.
Sofia stopped him.
"There is one problem."
"What problem?"
May you like
Sofia's voice dropped.
"The woman says she is not Beatrice's mother."
