Chapter 3 - The Sicilian Whisper
The silence in the dining room was absolute, broken only by the crackle of the fireplace. Chloe stood frozen behind Gabriel, her hand instinctively covering the silver bracelet on her wrist.
"How do you know my mother's name?" Chloe demanded, stepping out from behind Gabriel’s protective stance.
Gabriel immediately caught her arm, his grip firm. "Don't speak to him, Chloe. Not a word."
Vincenzo leaned on his gold cane, his gray eyes alight with a sick, nostalgic amusement. He took a slow step into the room. "Your mother was a thief. She stole something very precious from this family twenty-four years ago. I spent millions tracking her down, only to find she had changed her name and died in a cheap apartment in Queens."
Chloe’s chest tightened. "My mother wasn't a thief. She was a nurse."
"She was a maid," Vincenzo corrected sharply. "Here. In this house. Until the night she vanished in the snow."
Beatrice suddenly stood up. She grabbed her water glass and hurled it at the wall near Vincenzo’s head. It shattered, sending crystal raining onto the rug.
Vincenzo barely blinked. He looked at his wife with cold disdain. "Still throwing tantrums, Beatrice? It won't change the past."
Get him out! Beatrice signed frantically at Gabriel, her hands moving so fast Chloe could barely translate. He will kill her!
"Tony," Gabriel barked. The man with the neck tattoo immediately stepped forward, his hand resting inside his jacket. "Escort my father to the guest house. He is not to step foot in the main estate again tonight."
Vincenzo chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "You think you rule this family now, Gabriel? You rule nothing until the inheritance unlocks on Beatrice’s sixtieth birthday. Next week. Until then, I am still the head of this table."
Vincenzo turned his gaze back to Chloe. He switched from English to a rapid, guttural dialect of Sicilian. It was an obscure, mountain dialect. Nobody in the room understood it. Gabriel frowned. Tony looked confused.
But Chloe understood every word.
Her mother had spoken it to her every night as a child. She had said it was a secret language, just for them.
“The bastard child should have died in the river,” Vincenzo said in the dialect, staring directly into Chloe's eyes. “If I find out she left him anything, I will bury you next to her.”
Chloe’s blood ran ice-cold. She didn't think. She just reacted.
“My mother wasn't afraid of you,” Chloe replied in perfect, flawless Sicilian dialect. “And neither am I.”
The room dead-stopped.
Vincenzo’s arrogant smirk vanished. His knuckles turned white on his gold cane. Gabriel turned to stare at Chloe, utter shock radiating from his features. Even Tony took a step back.
"You speak the mountain tongue," Vincenzo breathed, genuinely unnerved.
"Get out," Gabriel said, his voice no longer a warning, but a promise of violence.
Vincenzo slowly backed away, his eyes never leaving Chloe. "This isn't over, little girl. Elena's debt is now yours." He turned and disappeared into the hallway.
Chloe’s knees suddenly gave out. Gabriel caught her before she hit the floor, his strong arms holding her steady. He guided her to a chair, his eyes searching her pale face.
"Chloe. Look at me," Gabriel commanded gently. "What did he say to you?"
Chloe looked up, her breathing shallow. "He said... he said something about a bastard child. That they should have died in the river."
Gabriel’s brow furrowed in deep confusion. "I am my parents' only child."
Across the room, Beatrice began to weep silently. She walked over to the grand fireplace, her trembling hands reaching for a loose brick near the mantle. She pulled it away, revealing a small, dark cavity.
She reached inside and pulled out a faded, dust-covered photograph. She walked over and placed it on the table in front of Chloe and Gabriel.
It was a picture of Elena, Chloe’s mother. She looked terrified. She was holding a tiny newborn baby wrapped in a Costello family blanket. And standing next to her, looking absolutely heartbroken, was Beatrice.
Answer One, Open Two. Chloe’s mother was a maid who worked for the Costellos. But who was the baby?
Gabriel stared at the photograph, his breathing stopping completely. He pointed a shaking finger at the date stamped on the bottom corner of the Polaroid.
October 14th, 2000.
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"That's twenty-six years ago," Gabriel whispered, looking at his mother. "Ma... I was already ten years old."
Beatrice looked at Gabriel, tears streaming down her face, and raised her hands.You had a brother. He was born deaf. Your father ordered him drowned.
