Chapter 5 - THE SECRET ISABELLA TOOK TO HER GRAVE
Gabriel didn't answer immediately.
He walked to the window.
For several seconds, he watched the city.
Then he turned.
“Your mother wasn't just collecting evidence against Sorelli.”
I waited.
“She was helping people escape him.”
My chest tightened.
“What people?”
“Witnesses. Employees. Families who wanted out.”
Gabriel explained that Isabella had quietly worked with a small network of attorneys and journalists.
She used her restoration business as cover.
Paintings traveled between galleries.
Frames crossed borders.
Documents moved inside them.
She helped preserve evidence that powerful men wanted destroyed.
“She was brave,” Gabriel said.
I stared.
“She was terrified.”
He nodded.
“Both.”
Then he told me about Daniel Brooks.
My father.
He had been a financial investigator hired by a legitimate shipping company.
He discovered suspicious transactions linked to Sorelli.
He met Isabella while examining an art shipment.
They fell in love.
Together, they began gathering evidence.
“Was he killed because of her?” I whispered.
Gabriel shook his head.
“He was killed because he refused to stop investigating.”
Tears filled my eyes.
I thought about the photograph in my mother's box.
My parents standing beside a lake.
Young.
Smiling.
Unaware of how little time they had.
Gabriel continued.
“After Daniel died, Isabella disappeared. She changed her name. She raised you alone.”
I wiped my face.
“And you let her?”
He looked at me.
“She asked me to.”
“Why?”
“Because she didn't trust the Costa family.”
I stared.
“Did she trust you?”
Gabriel's eyes filled.
“Not enough.”
The answer hurt him.
I could see it.
But I wasn't ready to comfort him.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I sat in the guest room with my mother's sketchbook.
Page after page contained ordinary drawings.
Flowers.
Buildings.
Faces.
Then I found a portrait of a young boy.
He had dark hair and serious eyes.
Beneath it was written:
Luca, age twelve.
Gabriel's younger brother.
The one who died.
I turned the page.
Another sketch.
A boat.
A dock.
A date.
And three initials.
V.S.
R.C.
M.H.
I stared.
Victor Sorelli.
Richard Carrington.
And someone else.
Richard Carrington.
The man Spencer had wanted to impress at the gala.
The man whose portfolio was supposed to finance their penthouse.
My breath caught.
I ran downstairs.
Gabriel was in the study.
He looked up.
“Shantel?”
I held out the sketchbook.
“Richard Carrington was involved.”
Gabriel stared at the initials.
His face changed.
“Where did you find this?”
“My mother's drawings.”
He took the book carefully.
Then whispered:
“Dear God.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
May you like
Gabriel raised his eyes.
“Richard Carrington was the man who arranged Luca's final boat trip.”
