Chapter 3 - THE MAN WITH THE SERPENT RING
Roman Bellandi had seen the serpent ring before.
He had been twenty-four when his younger sister disappeared.
Their father, Vittorio Bellandi, was still alive then, still ruling Chicago's waterfront through a combination of legitimate shipping contracts and arrangements nobody discussed in daylight.
Vittorio had three trusted lieutenants.
One of them was Carlo Vescari.
Carlo wore a silver serpent ring on his right hand.
He called it a family heirloom.
Roman remembered the way it caught the light whenever Carlo reached across a table to shake someone's hand.
But Carlo had died eleven years earlier.
At least, that was what everyone believed.
Roman looked at Norah.
“Are you certain about the ring?”
She nodded.
“I remember because it scratched my wrist when he took the little girl.”
“Did he speak?”
“He said, ‘I've got her. Get yourself out.’”
Roman's jaw tightened.
“Anything else?”
Norah hesitated.
“He called her Lucy.”
Teresa made a small sound.
Nobody outside the family called Lucia that.
Except her father.
And Carlo Vescari.
Roman turned toward the window.
The dark lake reflected the ballroom lights.
For thirteen years, he had believed Lucia died in the fire.
He had personally identified a small body at the morgue, though the remains were so badly damaged that the identification had depended heavily on clothing and a pendant found nearby.
He remembered the pink sweater.
The little silver angel.
His mother's collapse.
His father's rage.
And Carlo standing beside them, offering condolences.
Roman felt something cold move through him.
“Mother,” he said, “we need to reopen everything.”
Teresa gripped his arm.
“Do you think she's alive?”
He wanted to say yes.
He wanted to give her the one word she had been waiting thirteen years to hear.
But hope could be cruel when offered without evidence.
“I think we were lied to,” he said. “I don't know what happened afterward.”
Norah looked between them.
“I'm sorry.”
Teresa turned.
“For what?”
“I should have stayed conscious. I should have asked where he was taking her.”
Teresa crossed the room.
Then she did something Norah had not expected.
She embraced her.
Norah froze.
“You were nineteen,” Teresa whispered. “You ran into a burning building for a child you didn't know.”
Tears slipped down Norah's face.
“I didn't save her.”
Teresa held her tighter.
“You tried.”
Roman watched them.
For the first time in years, he felt the weight of his family's history as something other than an inheritance.
It was a debt.
And somewhere inside that debt was a little girl who might have been stolen from her mother.
His phone vibrated.
A message from his security director, Gabriel Russo.
Vanessa has left the property. She made three calls from the driveway. One was to her father.
Roman stared at the screen.
Vanessa's father was Anthony Caruso, a businessman whose family had been trying to enter Chicago's shipping market for years.
The engagement had been presented as a romantic union.
In reality, it had also been a business alliance.
Roman had never loved Vanessa the way she expected.
He had admired her intelligence, her confidence, and her ability to navigate the dangerous social world surrounding his family.
But admiration was not love.
And tonight, she had shown him something he could no longer ignore.
He called Gabriel.
“Find every record of Carlo Vescari's death.”
Gabriel hesitated.
“Boss, that was eleven years ago.”
“I know.”
“What's changed?”
May you like
Roman looked at his mother holding Norah.
“Everything.”
