He Made Us His Secret, So We Disappeared novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Mr. Ferraro

Marcello signs without reading, moves Chiara in, and asks his wife and son to leave. Miles calls him Mr. Ferraro.

Marcello picked up the papers and started to turn back to the first page.

He had taught every associate at his firm the same rule: you never sign what you have not read.

Then his phone rang, and he saw the name on the screen.

It was Chiara.

He answered, and her voice came out of the speaker, thin and frightened.

"Marcello, someone followed me home. I'm outside my building and I'm scared. Can you come get me?"

His face changed.

"Stay inside. I'm coming."

He hung up and did not look at the papers again.

He took the pen, signed on the line where my finger had been, and capped it.

"Anything else?"

"No."

He pushed the folder back across the table, took his coat and left.

I looked at the last page.

Marcello Ferraro.

The signature was clean and steady, the one he put on court filings every day.

One of the best attorneys in New York had just signed a stack of paper without reading a word, because Chiara called.

He had no idea what it was.

It was the last page of our divorce agreement, hidden under a parenting agreement and his written consent for me to take Miles out of state.

I closed the folder.

That evening, I was packing Miles's clothes when Marcello stopped in the bedroom doorway.

"Chiara is going to stay here for a few days."

"Here?"

"Someone followed her home today. She'll be safer in this house."

Then he added, "You and Miles can use one of the other apartments for now."

I looked at him.

"So Chiara moves in, and we move out?"

"It's temporary."

"Why do we have to go?"

"Our marriage isn't public. I don't want her asking questions."

I almost laughed.

After eight years as his wife, I was being sent out of my own home so another woman would not learn I existed.

Marcello could stand in a courtroom and argue that a stranger deserved her house, her children and her dignity.

In his own home, his wife and son were the easiest people to move.

"Fine."

He blinked. He had braced for a fight.

"I'll bring you back in a few days," he said. "I know it's inconvenient. I'll make it up to you."

Once I would have asked how many more years we were supposed to hide.

Once I would have told him that Miles was getting older and understood more than he thought.

Now there was no point.

"Okay."

I went on packing. I had already planned to leave New York, so leaving a few days early cost me nothing.

Miles stood by the closet with his medal in his hand.

"Mom, are we in trouble?"

"No, baby. We're going on a trip."

"Is Dad coming?"

I zipped his bag shut.

"Not this time."

He nodded slowly and put the medal in his pocket.

An hour later, Miles and I were halfway down the stairs when the front door opened.

Chiara walked in dragging two suitcases.

Marcello crossed the hall in three steps and took the nearest one.

"I told you I'd send a driver. Why did you carry these yourself?"

"I didn't want to wait."

Then she saw us.

"Naomi? What are you doing at Marcello's house?"

I opened my mouth, but Marcello spoke first.

"She and her son needed somewhere to stay. I let them use the house for a while."

His wife of eight years and his own child had just become guests.

Not his wife.

Not his son.

A woman and her boy he had allowed in for a few nights.

"Oh," Chiara said. "I see."

Her voice was soft, and her eyes went from me to Miles and back.

She did not ask Miles how his birthday had gone.

I noticed it, and I let it go.

I tightened my grip on Miles's hand.

"We were just leaving."

Miles kept his head down all the way to the door. When we reached Marcello, he stopped.

He looked up.

"Thank you for letting us stay here, Mr. Ferraro."

Marcello went completely still.

For seven years Miles had called him Dad whenever they were alone.

Through every missed birthday and every empty chair, he had kept believing that this man was his father.

Now he had used the name Marcello had taught him to use in front of other people.

Mr. Ferraro.

Miles took my hand and walked toward the door.

Marcello turned on his heel.

"Wait."

His voice was unsteady for the first time since I had known him.

"What did Miles just call me?"

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