Chapter 2 - THE MAN THEY CAME TO TAKE AWAY|
For thirty-seven years, Rosa Alvarez had protected the Santoro family without ever asking for anything in return.
Now she stood beneath the chandeliers of Nico Santoro's engagement dinner, trembling as she revealed that his fiancée had arranged to have his elderly father declared mentally incompetent.
And the most dangerous man in New Jersey wasn't looking at his fiancée anymore.
He was looking toward the staircase.
"Where is my father?"
Nico's voice was so quiet that everyone at the table stopped breathing.
Mrs. Ellis clasped her hands together.
"Upstairs, sir."
"Is he alone?"
"His nurse is with him."
"And the two men?"
Mrs. Ellis hesitated.
"They're still waiting outside his bedroom."
Nico turned toward the doorway.
"Anthony."
A broad-shouldered man in a dark suit appeared immediately.
"Yes, boss?"
"Nobody takes my father out of this house."
Anthony nodded.
"Understood."
"And I want the names of everyone who authorized this transfer."
Victoria stepped forward.
"Nico, please don't turn this into something ugly."
He looked at her.
"Ugly?"
She lowered her voice.
"Your father needs specialized care."
"Then why wasn't I consulted?"
"Because you never have time to discuss these things."
Nico stared at her.
"My father is not a scheduling inconvenience."
Victoria's expression tightened.
"You know what I mean."
"No, Victoria."
He stepped closer.
"I don't think I do."
I stood beside Rosa, still holding the dinner plate she'd never been allowed to eat.
My hands were shaking so badly that the silver fork rattled against the porcelain.
Nico noticed.
"Sophie."
I looked up.
"Yes, sir?"
"Help Rosa sit down."
I pulled out the nearest chair.
Rosa lowered herself into it, her face pale.
Then Nico looked toward Mrs. Ellis.
"Have someone bring Rosa fresh food."
Victoria let out an irritated breath.
"Are we seriously continuing this performance?"
Nico turned slowly.
"One more word about Rosa, and you'll leave this room."
Victoria went silent.
I had never seen her look genuinely uncertain before.
Normally, she moved through the mansion as though she owned every hallway, every servant, and every person who worked beneath its roof.
Tonight, that certainty was beginning to crack.
Nico turned to Anthony.
"Come with me."
He started toward the staircase.
But Rosa suddenly reached for his sleeve.
"Nicky."
He stopped immediately.
"Yes?"
Her eyes filled.
"Please don't frighten your father."
Something changed in Nico's face.
He knelt beside her chair.
"I won't."
Rosa touched his cheek.
"He's been frightened enough."
Nico closed his eyes briefly.
Then he stood and continued toward the stairs.
I thought I should remain in the dining room.
I was only a housemaid.
Nobody had asked me to become involved.
But Rosa caught my wrist.
"Sophie."
"Yes?"
"Go with him."
I frowned.
"Mrs. Alvarez?"
"His father trusts you."
I looked toward the staircase.
She continued.
"He's been asking for you since this afternoon."
My stomach tightened.
"Why?"
Rosa shook her head.
"I don't know."
Then she whispered something that made my chest go cold.
"But whatever Victoria is planning, it didn't begin tonight."
I set the plate on the sideboard.
Then I followed Nico upstairs.
The second floor was strangely quiet.
Music from the engagement party drifted faintly through the hallway.
A chandelier cast soft golden light across the polished wooden floor.
At the far end, outside Mr. Santoro's bedroom, stood two men wearing dark blue medical uniforms.
Between them was an empty wheelchair.
Nico stopped.
"Who are you?"
The taller man straightened.
"Mr. Santoro?"
"Answer the question."
"My name is Patrick Sloan."
He reached into his pocket.
"We're from Briarwood Residential Care."
Nico looked at the wheelchair.
"Who requested your services?"
The man hesitated.
"We were informed that a transfer had been approved."
"By whom?"
"Miss Ashford."
Nico's jaw tightened.
"Did you speak to my father's physician?"
"We were provided authorization paperwork."
"Show me."
Patrick exchanged a glance with his colleague.
Then he removed a folder from his bag.
Nico opened it.
I stood close enough to see the heading.
VOLUNTARY RESIDENTIAL CARE ADMISSION.
Underneath was the name of Nico's father.
ANTONIO SANTORO.
Age seventy-nine.
I had helped Mr. Antonio with his medication schedule for months.
He was physically weak and needed assistance walking.
But he was perfectly capable of recognizing people, expressing preferences, and making ordinary decisions.
The report described him differently.
"Severe cognitive impairment," Nico read.
His voice became flat.
"Persistent disorientation."
He turned another page.
"Unable to participate meaningfully in financial or residential decisions."
He looked toward Patrick.
"Who wrote this?"
The man swallowed.
"Dr. Frederick Vale."
Nico stared.
"Vale isn't my father's doctor."
Patrick frowned.
"Sir?"
"My father's physician is Dr. Helen Mercer."
Nobody answered.
Nico turned the final page.
Then he stopped.
I saw the signature before he spoke.
It was his.
Or rather, it was an attempt to imitate it.
NICO SANTORO.
Nico slowly lifted the paper.
"Who signed this?"
Patrick looked confused.
"According to our office, you did."
Nico gave a short, humorless laugh.
"Interesting."
He held the paper closer to the light.
"I wasn't even in the country on the date shown."
Patrick's face went pale.
At that moment, a frightened voice came from inside the bedroom.
"Nico?"
The door stood partly open.
Nico pushed past the men.
"Dad?"
I followed.
Antonio Santoro sat in his leather armchair beside the window.
He wore dark trousers, slippers, and the pale blue cardigan Rosa had knitted for him the previous Christmas.
His silver hair was neatly combed.
But his hands were gripping the arms of the chair.
Beside him stood his nurse, Emily Carter.
She looked relieved when she saw Nico.
"Mr. Santoro, thank goodness."
Antonio tried to rise.
Nico hurried forward.
"Dad, don't get up."
His father reached for him.
"Nicholas."
Nico knelt.
"I'm here."
Antonio's eyes filled.
"They said..."
His breathing became uneven.
"They said you wanted me gone."
Nico's face changed.
"No."
Antonio searched his son's eyes.
"They said I was becoming a burden."
I pressed my lips together.
Nico gripped his father's hands.
"Dad, listen to me."
Antonio stared at him.
"You're not going anywhere."
A tear slipped down the elderly man's cheek.
"Promise?"
Nico leaned closer.
"I promise."
Antonio began crying.
And I realized that the man who had built this mansion, raised his son, and once commanded an entire room with a glance had spent the evening believing his own child no longer wanted him.
Nico embraced him carefully.
"I'm sorry I didn't know."
Antonio held on tightly.
Then he whispered something.
"Rosa."
Nico nodded.
"She's downstairs."
"She tried."
Nico pulled back.
"Tried what?"
Antonio swallowed.
"To stop them."
Emily stepped forward.
"Mr. Santoro, I need to tell you something."
Nico looked at her.
"Go ahead."
"Miss Ashford instructed me to administer an additional sedative this afternoon."
I went cold.
Nico stood slowly.
"What sedative?"
Emily shook her head.
"It wasn't part of his usual prescription."
"Did you give it to him?"
"No."
She swallowed.
"I called Dr. Mercer to verify the order, but Miss Ashford told me not to."
Nico's expression became dangerous.
"And?"
"I refused."
Antonio reached toward her.
"Good girl."
Emily's eyes filled.
Nico looked at the folder.
"Did Dr. Vale examine my father?"
Emily shook her head.
"Not while I was present."
The room fell silent.
Then Antonio suddenly caught Nico's wrist.
"Your mother."
Nico frowned.
"What about Mom?"
Antonio looked toward the wardrobe.
"Her box."
I followed his gaze.
A small wooden chest sat on the top shelf.
I'd seen it before.
It was made of dark walnut, with a brass lock shaped like a rose.
Antonio had once told me that Nico's mother kept her most precious letters inside.
Nico noticed where his father was looking.
"What about the box?"
Antonio struggled.
"Victoria."
He took a breath.
"Found it."
Nico went still.
"When?"
"Yesterday."
Antonio's fingers tightened.
"She took..."
His voice faltered.
I stepped closer.
"Mr. Antonio, would you like some water?"
He nodded.
I brought him a glass and waited while he drank.
Then he looked directly at me.
"Paper."
I frowned.
"What paper?"
He reached into the pocket of his cardigan.
His hand trembled.
After several seconds, he pulled out a small folded envelope.
It had been torn along one edge.
He placed it in my hand.
"Keep."
Nico looked at me.
I carefully opened it.
Inside was an old photograph.
A young woman stood outside a garden cottage holding a baby.
Beside her was Rosa Alvarez, much younger, smiling brightly.
On the back, someone had written:
"FOR ROSA, WHO KNOWS WHAT REALLY HAPPENED."
Nico stared at the words.
He turned toward his father.
"Who wrote this?"
Antonio's eyes filled.
"Your mother."
Nico looked stunned.
"My mother?"
Antonio nodded.
Nico studied the photograph.
The baby looked no older than six months.
Then he frowned.
"That's not me."
Nobody spoke.
Antonio lowered his eyes.
Nico looked toward the photograph again.
"Dad, whose baby is this?"
Before Antonio could answer, footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Victoria appeared at the bedroom door.
Her face changed when she saw the photograph.
"Where did you get that?"
Nico slowly turned.
"Why?"
Victoria stared at Antonio.
Then at me.
"That belongs to me."
I tightened my grip on the envelope.
Nico stepped between us.
"How?"
She swallowed.
"It's personal."
"My mother wrote on it."
Victoria's expression faltered.
"Nico, please."
He held out his hand.
"Then explain whose child is in the photograph."
Victoria said nothing.
Antonio suddenly began shaking.
His eyes remained fixed on the picture.
"Don't," he whispered.
Nico knelt beside him.
"Dad?"
Antonio looked up.
"Don't let her."
Victoria moved toward the bed.
"He's confused."
Nico stood.
"Stay where you are."
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Antonio reached for Rosa's old photograph again.
His voice was weak.
But every word was unmistakable.
"That child..."
He struggled for breath.
Nico leaned closer.
"What child, Dad?"
Antonio looked directly at Victoria.
May you like
Then whispered the words that changed everything.
"That child is why your mother died."
