Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Wasn't Evelyn Hart
Vincent recognized the woman at the top of the stairs.
Not because he had met her before.
Because thirty minutes earlier, he had been staring at her face in a photograph taken in 1994.
Older now.
Gray threaded through auburn hair that had once been dark. Fine lines surrounded frightened eyes. One hand gripped the upstairs railing.
But the face was unmistakable.
Claire stared up at her.
“Mom?”
Vincent felt the pieces inside his head rearrange themselves.
The woman in Teresa Morelli's hospital photograph had never been Evelyn Hart.
She was Claire Bennett's mother.
“Claire,” the woman whispered. “You shouldn't be here.”
Claire's expression collapsed into disbelief.
“Shouldn't be here?”
She held up the gold pendant.
“This was on the floor.”
Her mother looked at it.
Then at Vincent.
The fear in her face deepened.
Vincent stepped forward.
“What is your real name?”
“Vincent,” Claire warned.
But her mother answered.
“Anna.”
Vincent stopped.
“Anna what?”
She descended one step.
“Anna Russo.”
The surname landed harder than Vincent expected.
Claire looked between them.
“Russo?”
Vincent's eyes stayed on Anna.
“Daniel Russo.”
Anna closed her eyes.
“My brother.”
Claire went completely still.
Vincent remembered the photograph.
Daniel beside Teresa.
The man who had worked for Salvatore Morelli.
The man Teresa had specifically warned Vincent not to trust.
Claire whispered, “You told me you didn't have a brother.”
Anna reached the bottom of the staircase.
“I told you many things.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“I know.”
“Who broke into your house?”
Anna looked toward the open front door.
“We shouldn't talk here.”
Vincent glanced around.
Overturned chair.
Broken lamp.
No obvious blood.
No sign of forced entry.
“You know who did this?”
Anna nodded.
“Then give me a name.”
“Not here.”
Vincent's patience tightened.
“I've spent the last hour receiving photographs of my dead mother, my dead brother, you, and a child nobody will identify. Someone entered my home. Rosa may be in danger. Your house was searched. We're considerably past the point where you get to decide where we talk.”
Anna studied him.
For one strange moment, Vincent saw Teresa in her expression.
Not physically.
Something else.
Regret.
“Still impatient,” Anna murmured.
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
“You knew me.”
Anna looked away.
Claire stared at her mother.
“You knew Vincent?”
Anna didn't answer.
“Mom.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“It's complicated.”
Claire gave a short, humorless laugh.
“That's what people say when the truth is worse than the lie.”
Anna flinched.
Vincent almost admired Claire for it.
Almost.
Then he heard a vehicle outside.
He moved to the window.
Dark SUV.
Engine running.
No plates visible from this angle.
“Marco.”
His driver appeared behind him.
“I saw it.”
“Get Claire and Anna to the car.”
Anna shook her head.
“No.”
Vincent turned.
“That wasn't a request.”
“I can't leave.”
“Why?”
Anna looked upstairs.
Vincent followed her gaze.
“What’s up there?”
“Something Teresa left me.”
Claire stepped forward.
“Another letter?”
Anna shook her head.
“A recording.”
Vincent thought of the cassette in his penthouse.
“Where?”
Anna hesitated.
The SUV outside pulled away.
Vincent watched until its taillights disappeared.
Then he looked at Anna.
“Get it.”
She went upstairs.
Vincent followed.
Claire came behind him.
The second floor was untouched except for one room.
Anna's bedroom had been torn apart.
Mattress overturned.
Drawers emptied.
Clothing scattered.
A photograph frame lay shattered.
Anna went directly to the closet.
“They didn't find it.”
She reached behind a loose wooden panel.
From inside, she removed a small metal container.
Vincent recognized it instantly.
Same description Claire had given of the box found inside the Halsted wall.
Anna placed it on the bed.
Her hands trembled as she opened it.
Inside sat a VHS tape.
Claire stared.
“You kept that all these years?”
“I was told to.”
“By whom?”
“Teresa.”
Vincent looked at the label.
October 18, 1994.
Claire's birthday.
Or supposedly Claire's birthday.
Vincent looked at her.
She saw the date too.
“No.”
Anna's face tightened.
“Claire—”
“No.”
Claire backed away.
“You told me I was born October eighteenth.”
“You were.”
“The hospital record says that baby was born October sixteenth.”
Anna said nothing.
Claire's voice sharpened.
“Tell me I'm not that baby.”
Silence.
“Mom.”
Anna began crying.
Claire looked at Vincent.
For the first time since he met her, Vincent saw genuine panic in her eyes.
He wanted to tell her there were dozens of explanations.
He didn't.
Vincent didn't offer comfort he couldn't guarantee.
Anna sat on the edge of the bed.
“You are not Vincent's daughter.”
Claire blinked.
Vincent hadn't realized he was holding his breath until it left him.
Claire stared at her mother.
“I didn't ask that.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you say it?”
Anna looked at Vincent.
“Because that's what everyone will assume when they learn the truth.”
Vincent's voice was quiet.
“What truth?”
Anna wiped her cheeks.
“Claire was the baby in Teresa's arms.”
The room became silent.
Claire didn't move.
Vincent looked at her.
Then the photograph in his memory.
Teresa smiling down at an infant.
Vincent standing beside her.
Thirty-two years ago.
Except Claire believed she was thirty-nine.
“You changed her age,” Vincent said.
Anna nodded.
“Why?”
“To hide her.”
“From whom?”
“Your father.”
Vincent's jaw hardened.
“My father died in 2003.”
“The people around him didn't.”
“Why would Salvatore care about a baby?”
Anna's eyes dropped.
“Because of who her father was.”
Claire's voice broke.
“You told me my father died before I was born.”
“He did.”
“Who was he?”
Anna looked at Vincent.
That was enough.
Vincent stepped closer.
“Who?”
Anna whispered, “Anthony.”
Vincent stopped.
Claire stared at her mother.
“My father was Vincent's brother?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Claire—”
“No.”
Claire shook her head violently.
“No. You told me his name was Michael Bennett.”
“There was no Michael Bennett.”
“You showed me photographs.”
“They were Daniel.”
Claire's face emptied.
“My uncle?”
Anna nodded.
Vincent felt something inside him turn cold.
Anthony.
His little brother.
The baby.
His mother's promise.
Protect her.
Suddenly the photograph made sense.
Not all of it.
But enough.
Vincent had been standing beside his niece.
He had apparently promised to protect her.
Then somehow forgotten she existed.
“Anthony had a daughter,” Vincent said.
Anna looked at him.
“Yes.”
Vincent turned toward Claire.
She seemed unable to look at him.
Eight months.
Dinner.
Arguments.
Late-night conversations.
A growing attraction neither had named clearly enough.
Vincent felt sick.
Anna saw it.
“Nothing happened between you two, did it?”
Claire snapped her head up.
“Mom!”
“I need to know.”
Vincent answered.
“No.”
Anna exhaled.
Claire looked humiliated.
“This is insane.”
Vincent agreed.
But insanity didn't change blood.
He picked up the VHS.
“What's on this?”
“Anthony.”
Vincent stared at her.
Anna nodded.
“He recorded it two months before he died.”
“Why?”
“He knew someone was watching him.”
“Who?”
“Daniel.”
Vincent remembered Teresa's note.
Do not trust Daniel.
Anna continued.
“My brother worked for Salvatore, but eventually Daniel stopped working for him and started working against him.”
“Why?”
“Because of Claire.”
Vincent looked toward Anna.
“Explain.”
Anna sat again.
“I met Anthony in 1992. Daniel hated it. Your families weren't exactly ordinary families.”
Vincent almost smiled.
“No.”
“Anthony wanted out. He didn't want Salvatore's restaurants or businesses. He wanted to leave Chicago.”
Vincent remembered.
Anthony had once talked about California.
Vincent had laughed at him.
Called him restless.
“You became pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“Did Anthony know?”
“Yes.”
“Did my father?”
“Eventually.”
Anna rubbed her hands together.
“Salvatore believed family was ownership. When he learned I was carrying Anthony's child, he decided the baby would be raised as a Morelli.”
Claire stared.
“You mean he wanted to take me?”
“Yes.”
“And you let me believe I had no family?”
“I was trying to make sure you lived long enough to hate me for it.”
Claire recoiled.
Vincent interrupted before anger consumed the room.
“What did Teresa do?”
“She helped us.”
That surprised him.
“Mother?”
“She hated what Salvatore planned. She arranged the false hospital identity. Evelyn Hart. After Claire was born, Teresa helped me disappear.”
“Then why was I at the hospital?”
Anna looked at him.
“You helped.”
Vincent shook his head.
“No.”
“You did.”
“I would remember.”
“You were there.”
“I know what the photograph shows.”
“You held Claire.”
Something moved inside him.
A fragment.
White hallway.
Teresa crying.
A baby's hand wrapped around his finger.
Then gone.
Vincent pressed two fingers against his temple.
Claire noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That wasn't nothing.”
Vincent looked at Anna.
“What happened after?”
“Three days later, you came to the apartment where Teresa was hiding us.”
“I don't remember that.”
“You brought passports.”
Vincent stared.
“You gave Anthony money. You arranged a car.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I never—”
“You were going to help us leave.”
Vincent's voice hardened.
“Then why didn't you?”
Anna looked away.
“Because Daniel betrayed us.”
Claire whispered, “Your brother?”
“Yes.”
“He told Salvatore.”
Vincent felt his anger rising.
“What did my father do?”
“He had Anthony taken.”
“Taken where?”
“I never knew.”
“Anthony died two years later.”
Anna looked at him.
“That's what they told you.”
Vincent froze.
Claire looked between them.
“What does that mean?”
Anna's lips trembled.
“I don't know whether Anthony died in that crash.”
Vincent stepped forward.
“I identified his body.”
“Did you see his face?”
The question hit him.
Vincent remembered the hospital.
Sheet.
Blood.
A doctor telling him the damage was severe.
His father's hand on his shoulder.
A ring on the dead man's finger.
Anthony's ring.
Vincent had seen part of the face.
Had he truly recognized it?
Thirty years had turned memory into something unreliable.
“You're saying my brother survived.”
“No. I'm saying Teresa believed he might have.”
“Why?”
“Because she received a phone call after the funeral.”
Vincent's heartbeat changed.
“From Anthony?”
“She thought so.”
“What did he say?”
“Only two words.”
Vincent waited.
Anna looked directly at him.
“She's safe.”
Claire sat down abruptly.
Vincent said nothing.
Anna reached for the VHS.
“Everything I know after that came from Teresa. She made me promise never to contact you.”
“Why?”
“She said something happened to you.”
“What?”
“I don't know. You stopped asking about us. You stopped looking. Teresa said you couldn't remember.”
Vincent's mind returned to the missing pieces.
Hospital.
Baby.
Passports.
Nothing.
“How do you forget an entire child?”
Anna whispered, “Maybe you didn't forget.”
Vincent stared.
“Maybe someone made sure you remembered something else.”
Before he could respond, Marco appeared in the doorway.
“Boss.”
Vincent turned.
“Police?”
“No.”
Marco held up his phone.
“Rosa called me.”
Vincent moved instantly.
“When?”
“Two minutes ago.”
“Where is she?”
“She wouldn't say.”
“Did she sound hurt?”
“Scared.”
“What did she tell you?”
Marco looked toward Anna.
“She said don't trust the tape.”
Everyone looked at the VHS.
Anna's face changed.
“What?”
Marco continued.
“She said Teresa made two recordings.”
Vincent stared at Anna.
“You knew?”
“No.”
“Where's the other one?”
“I don't know.”
Claire stood.
“Can we watch this one?”
Anna nodded.
“There’s an old player downstairs.”
They moved quickly.
Anna led them into a small den.
An old television stood inside a cabinet beside a VHS player.
Vincent inserted the tape.
Static.
Then darkness.
A figure appeared.
Vincent stopped breathing.
Anthony.
Twenty-eight years old.
Alive.
Sitting in a chair.
His younger brother looked directly into the camera.
“If Vincent is watching this, then something went wrong.”
Vincent stepped closer to the screen.
Anthony smiled faintly.
“Vince, you probably hate me right now.”
Vincent whispered, “Idiot.”
Claire looked at him.
He didn't notice.
Anthony continued.
“Anna and the baby are safe for now. Mom helped. You helped more than you realize.”
The image flickered.
“But Dad knows.”
Anthony looked frightened.
Vincent had almost never seen his brother frightened.
“If anything happens to me, don't believe Daniel.”
Anna closed her eyes.
Anthony leaned toward the camera.
“And don't believe Dad when he tells you what happened on October twenty-first.”
Vincent frowned.
October twenty-first.
Five days after Claire's birth.
The screen distorted.
Anthony's voice continued.
“That was the night they—”
Static swallowed the sentence.
“No,” Vincent muttered.
The picture returned.
Anthony was crying now.
“There is one person who knows everything.”
He gave a name.
Rosa.
Vincent looked at Marco.
“Find her.”
Marco was already calling.
Anthony continued.
“If Rosa kept her promise, she has the second tape.”
The screen went black.
Then came back.
Anthony was closer to the camera.
“And Vince…”
Vincent stared at his brother's face.
“If Claire ever finds you, don't push her away because of what happened.”
Claire slowly turned toward Vincent.
Anthony swallowed.
“You aren't her uncle.”
Silence.
Vincent felt the floor disappear beneath him.
Claire whispered, “What?”
The tape ended.
Static filled the screen.
Anna stood frozen.
Vincent turned toward her.
“You said Anthony was her father.”
“He was.”
“Then what did he mean?”
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“No.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“Thirty-two years is enough, Anna.”
“I swear to you.”
A loud knock struck the front door.
Everyone froze.
Three knocks.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Marco moved first.
Vincent stopped him.
Another knock.
Then Vincent's phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
One message.
THE SECOND TAPE HAS ARRIVED.
Claire looked toward the foyer.
A shadow moved beneath the front door.
Then a man's voice came from the other side.
“Vincent.”
Vincent knew that voice.
He hadn't heard it since 1996.
May you like
But he knew it.
The doorknob slowly began to turn.
