Chapter 4 - A WARNING FROM THE MORETTI HOUSE|
Adrian Moretti had learned to recognize fear in other people.
He saw it in the way his men avoided certain questions, in the way business associates smiled too quickly, and in the way his enemies looked toward the nearest exit when he entered a room.
But the expression Elena Ross had worn when he denied knowing her was different.
It had not been fear.
It had been grief.
He sat behind his desk in a penthouse overlooking Manhattan while his head of security, Dominic Vale, placed a thick folder in front of him.
“Her background is clean,” Dominic said. “Nursing degree. Emergency medicine certification. No criminal record. No unusual financial activity.”
“Family?”
“Her father ran a small clinic in Hudson Valley. Michael Ross. Died seven years ago.”
Adrian opened the folder.
A photograph showed Elena standing beside an older man outside a modest medical building.
Something about the picture made his chest tighten.
He looked away.
“Find out how she acquired the ring.”
“We've already asked.”
“Then ask someone who was alive ten years ago.”
Dominic hesitated.
“There's another issue.”
Adrian looked up.
“Your mother called twice this morning. She heard about the clinic incident.”
“What does she want?”
“To know whether you found the ring.”
The room went silent.
Adrian slowly closed the folder.
“Why would my mother care about a ring?”
Dominic did not answer.
That was answer enough.
“Bring her here.”
“Your mother?”
“No. Someone who knows how my mother operates.”
Twenty minutes later, a gray-haired housekeeper named Teresa Bell entered the office. She had served the Moretti family for nearly thirty years and was one of the few people Adrian trusted without reservation.
“Mr. Moretti,” she said.
“Teresa. Do you remember a woman named Elena Ross?”
Teresa's face changed.
It was small, but Adrian saw it.
“You do.”
“I remember the name.”
“From where?”
Teresa clasped her hands.
“Your mother instructed us never to discuss certain events from the year you disappeared.”
Adrian rose.
“Disappeared?”
Teresa looked at him with something close to pity.
“You were missing for eleven days after the attack in Hudson Valley. When you returned, you were injured, frightened, and unable to remember much of what had happened.”
“I was told I was recovering from a concussion.”
“You were told many things.”
“By whom?”
Teresa lowered her eyes.
“Your mother. Your uncle. Dr. Sloane.”
Adrian felt the familiar pressure behind his temples, a dull ache that sometimes appeared when he tried to recall the months before his return.
“Was there a woman?”
Teresa swallowed.
“Yes.”
“What was her name?”
“I believe it was Elena.”
He gripped the edge of his desk.
“Why did nobody tell me?”
“Because your mother said the young woman had betrayed you.”
Adrian stared at her.
“Betrayed me how?”
“I don't know. But I remember your mother burning a bundle of letters in the garden. She said they were dangerous.”
“When?”
“Shortly after you returned.”
Adrian's phone vibrated.
A message from his mother appeared.
I hear you've found the ring. Bring it home immediately. Do not speak to the nurse again.
For the first time in years, Adrian felt genuine suspicion toward the woman who had raised him.
He turned the phone facedown.
“Teresa, find every letter my mother burned, every record of that clinic, and every person who treated me after the attack.”
“And if your mother refuses?”
May you like
Adrian's expression hardened.
“Then we find out what she's afraid of.”
