Chapter 4: The Name Hidden in the Adoption File
“And the child's birth mother was named Eleanor Romano.””
Vincent stopped moving.
For several seconds, the only sound inside Emma Carter's apartment was the faint clicking of the dying radiator and the distant howl of wind against the windows.
“Repeat that,” Vincent said.
Jonathan Price hesitated on the other end of the call.
“An adoption filing was sealed twenty-eight years ago. Your mother's name appears in the records, but there's another document attached to the file. I haven't verified everything yet.””
“Who was the child?””
“I don't know. The identifying information is restricted, and someone has requested access to the file within the last forty-eight hours.””
Vincent's grip tightened around his phone.
“Who?””
“That's what I'm trying to establish. The request came through a law firm representing Daniel Carter.””
Vincent slowly turned toward Emma.
She stood beside the kitchen counter, clutching the empty blue velvet box against her chest. Her face had lost nearly all its color.
“Did you hear that?”” he asked her.
Emma nodded.
“Daniel knows about the document.””
“Apparently.””
“No.”” She shook her head.
“You don't understand. He wasn't supposed to know it existed.””
Vincent lowered his phone slightly.
“Why would you say that?””
Emma looked toward Isabella's bedroom.
Then she whispered, “Because my mother spent the last year of her life begging me never to open the box.””
Vincent glanced down at the paper bearing his mother's signature.
“Your mother knew mine?””
“I don't know. She never mentioned Eleanor Romano by name. She only said that some promises were dangerous because the people who made them were powerful enough to destroy anyone who broke them.””
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
“What else did she tell you?””
Emma swallowed.
“She said that if a man named Anthony ever came looking for me, I was supposed to leave Boston immediately.””
The room seemed to grow smaller.
Anthony Romano.
Vincent's father.
The man who had supposedly died in a car accident when Vincent was eight years old.
The man whose funeral Vincent remembered only in fragments: black umbrellas, wet pavement, his mother's trembling hands, and a coffin he hadn't been allowed to see.
Vincent stared at Emma.
“When did your mother tell you this?””
“Shortly before she died. I thought she was confused because of the medication.””
“Did she say anything else?””
Emma nodded slowly.
“She told me that my father wasn't the man whose name appeared on my birth certificate.””
Vincent's expression hardened.
“Who was your father?””
“I never found out. My mother refused to tell me.””
“Did she leave any other documents?””
“Just the box.””
Vincent looked at the paper again.
The handwriting was unmistakably his mother's. He had spent years studying the letters she used to write him while he attended boarding school. He knew the shape of her E, the way she crossed her t's, and the slight upward slant of her signature.
This was genuine.
But the sentence made no sense.
If anything happens to me, the Carter family must know that the child belongs to the Romanos.
Which child?
Emma's daughter?
Emma herself?
Or someone who had disappeared before Vincent was old enough to understand his family's secrets?
“Jonathan,” Vincent said into the phone, “I want that adoption file opened legally. Find out what you can without violating the court's restrictions.””
“I'm already working on it.””
“And Jonathan?””
“Yes?””
“If Daniel Carter is using forged documents to threaten a woman and her child, I want evidence. Not speculation. Don't contact him, and don't let him know we're investigating.””
“Understood.””
Vincent ended the call.
Emma was watching him with frightened eyes.
“Please tell me you're not going to hurt Daniel.””
Vincent slid the paper into his inner pocket.
“I'm going to find out what he's hiding.””
“That isn't what I asked.””
He studied her for a moment.
Then he gave her an answer he rarely gave anyone.
“No. I won't hurt him.””
Emma searched his face.
“Promise me.””
Vincent had built his reputation on never making promises he couldn't keep.
“I promise.””
She released a breath she seemed to have been holding for years.
Then she looked at the blue velvet box.
“My mother gave me that when I was sixteen. She said it belonged to her grandmother, but I don't think that was true. She never let me wear the ring.””
“What did she say about it?””
“That it was connected to a family who had lost something precious.””
Vincent looked toward the bedroom.
“Something like a child?””
Emma nodded.
“Maybe.””
Before he could respond, Isabella's bedroom door creaked open.
The little girl stood in the doorway, rubbing one eye. Her chestnut braids had come loose, and she was dragging a stuffed rabbit by one ear.
“Mommy?””
Emma hurried toward her.
“Sweetheart, why are you awake?””
“Someone's outside.””
Vincent immediately turned toward the front window.
Marco moved before he gave an order, crossing the living room and peering through the blinds.
A black sedan sat across the street.
Its headlights were off.
A man stood beside it, holding a phone against his ear.
Marco's face changed.
“Boss.””
Vincent approached him.
“What?””
“The driver who brought us here says that car has been following us since we left the restaurant.””
Vincent studied the vehicle.
“Can you identify the driver?””
“Not from here.””
“Then don't approach him. Take a photograph and call the police. Tell them a suspicious vehicle is watching an apartment with a child inside.””
Marco nodded.
“Understood.””
Emma clutched Isabella against her chest.
“Daniel found us.””
“Possibly,” Vincent said.
“But we don't know that yet.””
“He said he'd find us wherever we went.””
Vincent turned to her.
“Emma, listen to me. You're not going anywhere tonight unless you choose to. No one is taking Isabella out of this apartment.””
Isabella lifted her head.
“Even Santa?””
Vincent looked down.
“Especially Santa. He has to knock first.””
The little girl considered this, then nodded seriously.
“That's good. Mommy says we don't open the door for strangers.””
Vincent's expression softened.
“Your mother is a very smart woman.””
Emma looked at him, and for the first time since he'd met her, she seemed almost willing to believe him.
Then Marco's phone vibrated.
He checked the screen and frowned.
“Boss, the sedan is leaving.””
Vincent watched the vehicle pull away from the curb.
“Did the police get here?””
“Two officers are turning onto the street now.””
“Good. Give them the photograph and cooperate fully.””
Marco nodded.
Vincent turned toward Emma.
“I'm going to have someone stay nearby tonight. Not inside your apartment. No weapons visible, no intimidation, and no contact unless you ask for help.””
Emma hesitated.
Then she nodded.
“Thank you.””
Vincent glanced at the clock.
It was nearly two in the morning.
Christmas Day was only hours away.
He should have gone home, opened a bottle of expensive whiskey, and forgotten the entire evening.
Instead, he found himself standing in a cramped apartment, listening to a little girl explain why she believed Christmas trees should have stars on top.
“Because stars help people find their way,” Isabella explained.
Vincent looked at the paper in his pocket.
For twenty years, he'd believed his family had no secrets left worth discovering.
Now a dead mother, a supposedly dead father, a frightened waitress, and a four-year-old girl had overturned everything he thought he knew.
“Isabella,” he said gently, “can I ask you something?””
She nodded.
“Do you know why your mommy keeps that little blue box?””
The girl looked toward Emma.
Then she whispered, “Because Grandma said the ring would bring our family home.””
Emma went rigid.
Vincent crouched.
“What family, sweetheart?””
Isabella hugged her stuffed rabbit.
“The family in the picture.””
“What picture?””
“The one Grandma kept under her pillow. There was a lady with dark hair, and a little boy who looked like you.””
Vincent felt the blood drain from his face.
“Did the little boy have a name?””
Isabella nodded.
“Grandma called him Vinny.””
No one spoke.
Vincent hadn't heard anyone call him Vinny since his mother died.
And he had never shown Isabella a photograph of himself as a child.
He slowly stood.
“Emma,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “where is that photograph?””
Emma's eyes filled with terror.
“I burned it.””
“Why?””
“Because Daniel came to our apartment three years ago, and he saw it.””
Vincent stared at her.
“What did he say?””
Emma swallowed.
“He told me that if I ever showed it to you, he would make sure Isabella never saw another Christmas.””
Vincent's expression turned to stone.
Outside, the first snow of Christmas morning began covering the empty street.
May you like
And somewhere across Boston, Daniel Carter was already preparing his next move.
Because he had just discovered that the woman he'd spent years threatening had finally found the one man he couldn't afford to let her trust.
