Part 2: The Dead Man’s Watch
Allegra lasted precisely eleven minutes into the reception before cornering her husband.
“Your watch.”
Edoardo looked down. “It tells the time. Quite revolutionary.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Come with me.”
“I’d rather have an answer.”
“You’ll have both.”
He led her into his study, a room of dark shelves, leather chairs and a painting of a falcon that looked as though it disapproved of everybody.
He removed the watch and set it on the desk.
Allegra turned it over.
For our Antonio.
The engraving blurred.
“My mother gave him this,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“Then you knew him.”
“Yes.”
“And you took this from his body.”
“No.”
She looked up. “Don’t lie to me.”
Edoardo didn’t flinch. “Antonio gave it to me himself.”
“My father died six years ago.”
“Your father was shot six years ago.”
“Don’t play games.”
“I’m not.”
He slid a photograph towards her. It showed Antonio standing outside the restaurant with Edoardo and another man, a fair-haired stranger with a scar along his jaw.
“Marco Bellandi,” Edoardo said, indicating the stranger. “Federal prosecutor. Public champion of organised-crime investigations. Privately, the man who helped move dirty money through legitimate businesses.”
“That’s an accusation.”
“It’s a fact I haven’t yet been able to prove in court.”
“Why would my father be involved?”
“Because he discovered his restaurant’s suppliers were being used to disguise payments. He started collecting evidence. Bellandi discovered what he was doing.”
Allegra’s hand tightened around the watch.
“You’re saying Bellandi ordered the shooting.”
“I’m saying I suspect him.”
“And I’m supposed to believe you because you’re wearing my father’s property?”
“No. You’re supposed to examine the evidence.”
He handed her a folder.
Inside were company registrations bearing her name, signatures that looked like hers and photographs of a woman who resembled her closely enough to make Allegra’s skin prickle.
“I never signed these.”
“I know. My examiner agrees.”
“Someone stole my identity?”
“Someone has been using it for six years. The accounts have been tied to three deaths and two attempts on your life.”
Allegra remembered her car’s failed brakes. The fire in her apartment building.
“Those were accidents.”
“Neither was.”
For once, she had no reply.
Edoardo watched her carefully.
“I married you because whoever is behind this believes I control the evidence Antonio gathered. Having you under my protection makes it harder for them to reach you.”
“And easier for you to watch me.”
“Yes.”
“At least you’re occasionally honest.”
“Only when it irritates you.”
She opened another document. A company registration had been filed three days after her father’s funeral. Beneath her forged signature was Antonio’s name.
“That signature is his,” she said.
“It appears to be.”
“But the date is wrong.”
“Possibly.”
“Edoardo.”
He hesitated. “I have reason to believe Antonio survived the shooting.”
The room tilted.
“No.”
“I can’t prove where he is. I can’t even prove he’s alive today. But I have a verified hospital transfer record from the night he was shot. Someone moved him before the police recorded his death.”
Allegra stared at the paper.
“Why didn’t you tell me before the wedding?”
“Because I didn’t know whether the source was genuine. And because you’d have gone looking alone.”
“You don’t get to make that decision.”
“No,” he said quietly. “I don’t.”
That answer surprised her more than another argument would have.
She placed the watch on the desk.
“If my father is alive, I’ll find him. If he’s dead, I’ll find the person responsible. And if you’ve lied to me, Edoardo, you’ll regret this marriage.”
He met her eyes.
“I suspect I’ll regret it regardless.”
She should have hated the hint of a smile.
Instead, she hated that she wanted to return it.
