Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN IN THE PORTRAIT
Matteo’s first instinct was denial, because denial was easier than allowing a stranger to
rewrite the face of the woman he had buried five months earlier. He turned toward the
portrait and studied it as though seeing his wife for the first time, then looked back at
Liana with a coldness that would have frightened most people into silence. Liana did not
step away, because grief had already taken the worst thing from her and fear had lost some
of its power.
“You saw one photograph,” Matteo said. “You’re mistaken.” “I shared a room with her for
seventeen years.” “That proves nothing.” “She had a scar under her left ear,” Liana replied.
“Small, curved like a crescent. She hated wearing her hair up because people asked about
it.”
Matteo went completely still. Liana saw the answer before he spoke. “She told you it was
from a bicycle accident.” His jaw tightened. “It wasn’t. She fell through the glass door
behind our mother’s apartment when she was eight. I was the one who ran for help.”
Rafe and Julian exchanged a glance, but neither interrupted. Matteo kept staring at Liana as
if every word loosened a bolt inside a structure he had believed could never move. Nico
whimpered and stretched both arms toward her again.
Matteo looked down at his son. “Why does he want you?” Liana’s voice softened. “I don’t
know.” That answer was the only honest one she had. Her hands were shaking. She had spent
eleven years imagining her sister dead, alive, imprisoned, remarried, lost, ashamed, or
simply unwilling to return. Every version had hurt differently, and now the truth stood in
front of her in an expensive frame: Mara had lived, changed her name, married Matteo Varric,
and had a child.
Then Mara had died before Liana found her. Nico lunged toward Liana again. Matteo hesitated
so long that she thought he would refuse, but finally he loosened his grip and transferred
the baby into her arms.
The moment Nico touched her, the last of his crying stopped. He gave one exhausted hiccup,
pressed his damp cheek against Liana’s shoulder, and curled his fingers into the fabric of
her red uniform. His whole body softened as if some invisible alarm inside him had been
switched off.
Liana nearly broke. She did not rock him immediately. She did not kiss him or murmur
soothing words, because her arms remembered another baby and the memory was almost too much
to survive. She simply held Nico carefully, one palm spread across his back, while tears
slid down her face.
Matteo watched her with a mixture of suspicion and awe. “What did you do?” he whispered.
“Nothing.” Nico’s breathing slowed. Liana finally began to sway, almost imperceptibly, and
hummed three uneven notes under her breath.
Matteo’s head lifted. “That song.” She stopped. “What?” “Elena used to hum that.” Liana’s
mouth trembled. “Our mother sang it when the power went out. Mara never remembered all the
words, so she just hummed the same three notes.”
The statement struck Matteo harder than the scar. For years, he had accepted Elena’s vague
stories about a childhood she disliked discussing. She had told him her parents were gone,
that she had no siblings, and that there was nothing behind her worth revisiting. He had
believed her because Dominic Vale had confirmed every detail.
Dominic Vale had always confirmed everything. Matteo turned toward the guards. “Lock the
gates.” Rafe straightened. “Sir?” “No one leaves the property until I say so.” The old
instinct had returned to Matteo’s voice, the one built for command. Yet beneath it ran a new
current: panic sharpened into purpose.
Julian touched his earpiece. “Yes, sir.” Matteo pointed toward the hallway beyond the
staircase. “Bring me Elena’s private file. The original one.” Rafe hesitated. Matteo noticed
instantly. “What?”
“Mr. Vale ordered the archive sealed.” “When?” “The week after Mrs. Varric died.” The answer
landed hard. Matteo’s eyes became colder. “Open it.” Rafe left at once. Liana looked toward
the portrait. Nico was almost asleep in her arms now, his lashes dark against his cheeks.
She had not realized how much he resembled Mara until he quieted.
“Who is Vale?” she asked. “My uncle.” “Your mother’s brother?” “No. My father’s closest
friend. He became family before I was old enough to know the difference.” Matteo spoke
reluctantly, each word forcing him to revisit years he had never questioned. Dominic had
handled security, background checks, private negotiations, and the invisible problems
wealthy families paid to make disappear. When Matteo began dating Elena, it was Dominic who
delivered the report declaring her history clean.
Born in Nevada. Parents deceased. No siblings. No living relatives. Liana laughed once, but
there was no humor in it. “That’s a very complete lie.” Matteo looked at her. “You think he
knew?”
“I think somebody worked hard to erase me.” The rain had started outside, soft against the
tall windows. Rafe returned carrying a gray archival box dusted along the edges. Matteo took
it and led the group into his study, a dark-paneled room overlooking the rear gardens.
Liana sat in a leather chair with Nico sleeping against her. Matteo set the box on his desk
and opened it. Inside were police photographs, insurance forms, medical records, vehicle
reports, witness statements, and a death certificate. Liana looked away when she saw the
name Elena Varric printed across official paper.
Matteo’s hand rested on the document. “She died five months ago.” “How?” “Car accident.” The
answer came too fast. Liana looked at him. “You don’t believe that.” “For five months, I
have tried very hard to.”
He pulled out the investigation summary. Elena had left a charity dinner shortly after
eleven. Her driver had been dismissed unexpectedly. She had taken another vehicle from the
family garage. The car had gone through a barrier on Bellamy Road and dropped into a ravine.
Liana swallowed. “Who identified her?” “Dental records.” “Who supplied those?” Matteo’s eyes
moved down the page. A signature waited near the bottom. Dominic Vale. He turned another
sheet. Vehicle maintenance authorization: Dominic Vale.
Private medical verification: Dominic Vale. Security access on the night of the crash:
Dominic Vale. Matteo’s face changed with every page. He lowered himself into the chair
behind the desk.
“I hired a detective after the funeral,” he said. “He told me parts of the accident didn’t
fit. Brake wear, access logs, the missing driver.” “What happened?” “I shut him down.”
“Why?” Matteo closed his eyes. “Dominic told me grief was making me paranoid.”
Liana glanced at Nico. “And you believed him.” “He raised me.” That sentence explained more
than Matteo intended. Liana looked toward the open doorway where the portrait was visible in
the foyer. A memory surfaced from childhood: Mara sliding a folded note behind a picture
frame because their mother searched every drawer in the apartment.
Liana stood so suddenly Nico stirred. Matteo looked up. “What?” “Mara hid things behind
pictures.” He frowned. “When we were girls, she hid money, letters, anything she didn’t want
found. She said people always search drawers but nobody searches walls.”
Matteo rose. They returned to the foyer. Liana handed Nico back carefully and approached
Mara’s portrait. With Rafe’s help, she lifted the heavy frame from its hooks and lowered it
onto the walnut console.
At first there was nothing. Liana’s pulse hammered. Then her fingertips found a thin line in
the backing paper. “Here.” She peeled it open. A narrow envelope slid into her palm. Across
the front, in handwriting she would have recognized after fifty years instead of eleven, was
one word.
LIANA. Her knees nearly gave way. Behind it was a flash drive. And another envelope. MATTEO.
He stared at his name. A car door slammed outside. All three men turned. Julian touched his
earpiece. His expression tightened. “Someone just came through the main gate.”
Matteo’s voice was sharp. “Who?” Julian listened. Then he looked at the open frame, the
letters, and the flash drive. “Dominic Vale.” Liana’s fingers closed around the envelope
written by her dead sister. Matteo looked toward the front doors. And the mansion, which had
May you like
been full of secrets for more than a decade, suddenly seemed to inhale before the first one
exploded.
