Chapter 5 - The House That Remembered EverythingBlackthorn House stood six miles from the Moretti estate, beyond a stretch of neglected woodland and a stone wall nearly swallowed by ivy.
I had lived on Long Island for three years and never heard of it.
That should have frightened me more than it did.
Dante insisted on bringing Sophie, Teresa, and me into the mansion's underground safe room before leaving the estate. He assigned four guards to protect us, then changed his mind and brought us upstairs again when Sophie began crying for Bruno.
“I want my dog,” she said.
“He's not your dog,” I reminded her weakly.
“Then why does he listen to me?”
I had no answer.
Bruno padded beside her, his black head almost level with her shoulder. He'd refused to leave her side since the first knock.
Dante watched them for a moment.
“Bring the dog.”
We left at 5:20 a.m.
Rain blurred the windows of Dante's armored vehicle. I sat beside Sophie in the back while Teresa occupied the opposite seat. Dante sat up front, speaking quietly into an encrypted radio.
I watched the landscape pass, holding the photograph of Miguel so tightly that its edges bent.
“Does he know we're coming?” I asked.
“No,” Dante replied.
“Then how do you know he'll be there?”
“I don't.”
“Wonderful.”
He glanced at me in the rearview mirror.
“You're welcome to stay in the car.”
“And leave my daughter in another building full of secrets? I'll pass.”
Teresa almost smiled.
For a moment, I caught a glimpse of the woman who had once brought soup to our cottage when Sophie had the flu, then sat beside my daughter's bed until midnight because I couldn't afford to miss work.
I had trusted her.
Now I didn't know which memories were real and which had been carefully arranged around a lie.
Blackthorn House appeared through the trees shortly before six.
The mansion had been abandoned for years. Several windows were boarded up, the iron gates hung crookedly, and weeds pushed through the cracked driveway. A weather-beaten stone lion guarded the entrance.
Dante unlocked the front door with an antique brass key.
Inside, the air smelled of damp wood and dust.
Teresa stopped at the foot of the stairs.
“My husband used this place for private meetings,” she explained. “He trusted very few people. His accountant, his attorney, and Victor Salazar.”
Dante turned.
“Victor was your husband's consigliere.”
“He was more than that. He knew everything about the family, including its weaknesses.”
“And you never suspected him?”
Teresa's eyes hardened.
“I suspected him long before Miguel died. Suspicion is not proof.”
We entered a study on the ground floor.
The room had been stripped almost bare, except for a large desk, a broken clock, and a painting of a sailing ship. Dante examined the painting while I searched the desk.
Sophie wandered toward a bookshelf.
“Mama, this book is wrong.”
I turned.
“What do you mean?”
She was pointing at a thick red volume between two black encyclopedias.
“It doesn't fit.”
Dante crossed the room and pulled it free.
The shelf moved.
Behind it stood a steel cabinet secured with a combination lock.
Teresa stared at it.
“My husband never allowed anyone into this room without him.”
Dante examined the lock.
“Do you remember the combination?”
She shook her head.
I looked at the little silver star around Sophie's neck.
Something Miguel had once told me floated back into my mind.
If you ever forget the most important date in our lives, look at the night our little star was born.
Sophie was born on October 14.
Tomorrow.
I told Dante the date.
He tried it.
The lock clicked open.
Inside lay several black folders, a sealed envelope, and a small portable recording device.
Dante took the envelope first.
His name was written on it.
The message inside contained only one sentence.
If you're reading this, Victor has already chosen which family member he intends to sacrifice.
Dante read it twice.
Then he activated the recording device.
Static filled the silent room.
A man's voice emerged, strained but unmistakable.
Miguel.
“Ifabel is listening to this, then I've failed to get back to her.”
My knees almost gave way.
The recording continued.
“Sophie must keep the star. It contains the only copy of the original transaction records. Don't give it to Teresa. Don't give it to Dante. And under no circumstances should you trust Dominic Rourke.”
The recording stopped.
Nobody spoke.
I turned toward Dante, my heart hammering.
My husband had warned us not to trust him.
Yet Dante was the only man who had brought us into the room where his warning could be heard.
Teresa reached for the recording device.
Dante moved it out of her reach.
“Why would Miguel tell us not to trust you?” he asked.
She shook her head, tears gathering in her eyes.
“I don't know.”
From the hallway came the sound of footsteps.
Slow.
Heavy.
Unhurried.
A man's voice called through the open doorway.
“You've always been too curious for your own good, Dante.”
Victor Salazar stepped into the study.
He wore a perfectly tailored navy suit and carried a black umbrella dripping rainwater onto the floor.
May you like
Behind him stood Dominic Rourke.
And neither man looked surprised to see us.
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