Chapter 15: The Coat in the Dining Room

Sandro's POV

She walked out of the study with the photograph and the drive, and she did not slam the door.

I would have preferred the slam.

I stayed at the desk until the whiskey in my glass was warm.

I never drank it.

I poured my own drink every night of my life, because I know what can go into a glass.

The study camera in the corner of the ceiling kept its small red light on me.

I had told her about it myself, an hour ago, as proof that I was done lying.

Now I wanted to put my fist through it.

I got up and opened the safe behind the portrait.

The ledgers were there, and the cream envelope lay flat on top of them, with its seal broken by her hand.

I did not take it out.

I only put two fingers on it, the way you touch a sleeping dog.

My brother's handwriting leaned to the right, and it still looked friendly.

For three years I had thought the worst thing in this house was what I did at the Harbor Grand.

It was not.

The worst thing was the woman who had carried my glass for me without knowing it.

I had bought up every print of her I could find, over eight months and a lot of money.

I had burned the fifth myself, the night after the wedding.

I had learned her name from a pharmacy girl called Molly, who needed rent money.

I told myself I wanted to watch the only person alive who could place a waiter at that tray.

Keep reading free with an account. Start I Married the Mafia Heir to Bury My Secret from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.