Chapter 5 - A Marriage Built on Lies
Finley did not sleep.
At 2:17 a.m., she stood beside the window of the guest bedroom and watched rain slide down the glass. The room was larger than the apartment she had shared with Simon, with cream-colored walls, a four-poster bed, and a private sitting area overlooking the garden.
A fresh nightgown had been left on the bed.
A glass of water stood on the bedside table.
Someone had even placed a small vase of white roses near the window.
The thought made her uncomfortable.
White roses had been Simon's favorite flowers. He had sent them to her office during the early years of their relationship, when he still believed that a romantic gesture could repair any argument.
She had kept the first bouquet until the petals turned brown.
She had thrown the last one away without opening the card.
Now she stared at the roses in Dominic Russo's guest bedroom and wondered whether the universe had a particularly cruel sense of humor.
A knock sounded at the door.
Finley turned.
“Come in.”
Dominic stood in the doorway wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. He had removed his jacket and watch. Without them, he looked less like the untouchable man who had silenced a ballroom and more like someone who had spent the last several hours fighting a battle he could not afford to lose.
“You're awake,” he said.
“So are you.”
“I wasn't under the impression that we had established a curfew.”
“Perhaps you should add one to your household rules.”
“I'll consult Elena.”
He glanced at the roses.
“Do you want them removed?”
Finley looked at him.
“How did you know?”
“You've been staring at them for five minutes.”
“I thought you were the man who noticed everything.”
“I am. That's why I'm asking.”
She hesitated.
“Yes, please.”
Dominic picked up the vase and carried it toward the door.
“Anything else?”
Finley looked at the room.
At the expensive furniture.
At the locked-looking cabinets.
At the telephone on the bedside table.
At the man who had brought her into his home without knowing whether she could be trusted.
“Why did you let me stay here?”
He stopped.
“Because you needed somewhere safe.”
“You could have sent me to a hotel.”
“Yes.”
“Or had one of your people take me somewhere else.”
“Yes.”
“But you brought me here.”
Dominic set the vase on a console table in the hallway.
“This house has security. I know everyone who works here. If someone comes looking for you, I'll know before they reach the front door.”
“That explains the security. It doesn't explain you.”
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, “Because when you asked me whether you were in danger, you deserved an honest answer. And because I wasn't going to send you into the night with a problem you never asked to have.”
Finley looked down.
She wanted to believe that his concern was genuine.
She also knew that genuine concern could become dangerous when it came from a man with power over other people's lives.
“Do you bring every woman who gets caught in your business home?”
“No.”
“Why me?”
His eyes held hers.
“Because you looked at me tonight as if you were afraid of what I might do, but you asked me to tell you the truth anyway.”
“That seems like a poor reason to trust someone.”
“I didn't say I trusted you.”
The answer stung more than she expected.
Dominic noticed.
“I said I wanted to know you.”
The correction was quiet.
It was also more intimate than any compliment he could have offered.
Finley folded her arms.
“You barely know anything about me.”
“I know you don't leave a room when someone humiliates you. I know you ask difficult questions when you're frightened. I know you were prepared to defend a man who treated you badly because you don't want to believe that five years of your life were wasted.”
Her throat tightened.
“And I know,” he continued, “that you haven't eaten enough tonight.”
She looked away.
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Making me feel as though you're looking straight through me.”
Dominic's expression softened.
“I'm sorry.”
She had not expected the apology.
It left her momentarily without a response.
He took a step backward.
“I'll have the roses removed. Try to sleep.”
He turned toward the door.
“Dominic.”
He stopped.
“Will you tell me something about yourself?”
“What would you like to know?”
“Anything that isn't connected to money, weapons, or people who want to kill you.”
He considered the request.
“My mother loved the sea.”
Finley blinked.
It was so ordinary that she almost laughed.
“Your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about her.”
“She died when I was seventeen.”
The humor vanished from her face.
“I'm sorry.”
He nodded once.
“She grew up near Naples. She used to say that the sea was the only place where people could be powerful without owning anything.”
Finley sat on the edge of the bed.
“What happened to her?”
Dominic's gaze shifted toward the window.
“My father made enemies. One of them decided that my mother was an easier target than he was.”
He did not elaborate.
He did not need to.
Finley understood enough to feel the weight of the story.
“I'm sorry,” she repeated.
This time, he looked directly at her.
“Don't be. You didn't know her.”
“That's not why I'm sorry.”
For several seconds, they stood in silence.
Then Dominic looked at the vase in the hallway.
“I should let you sleep.”
“You should sleep too.”
“I'll consider it.”
“That's what people say when they have no intention of doing something.”
His mouth curved faintly.
“Good night, Finley.”
“Good night, Dominic.”
He left the door slightly open.
She watched him disappear down the corridor.
For the first time that evening, the mansion did not feel entirely unfamiliar.
It felt like a place filled with secrets that had belonged to other people long before she arrived.
And perhaps that was what frightened her most.
She was beginning to care about the man who lived among them.
***
At 8:30 the next morning, Finley entered the breakfast room to find Dominic seated at the far end of a long oak table.
He was reading a report while drinking black coffee.
Elena stood near the kitchen doors, giving instructions to a young housekeeper.
When Finley entered, Dominic looked up.
“Good morning.”
“Is it?”
“Technically.”
She sat opposite him.
A plate of eggs, toast, and fruit appeared almost immediately.
Finley stared at the food.
“Does everyone in this house get treated like a visiting diplomat?”
“Only the guests who arrive unexpectedly with criminal complications.”
“I'll try to make my next visit less troublesome.”
“I would appreciate that.”
Elena placed a pot of tea beside her.
“Don't encourage him, Miss Finley. He'll start believing he has a sense of humor.”
Finley smiled.
Dominic returned to his report.
For several minutes, they ate in relative silence.
Then his telephone vibrated.
He read the message and placed the device on the table.
“Arthur Bell has requested a meeting.”
“Already?”
“He says he wants to discuss a misunderstanding.”
“That's a remarkably polite phrase for a man who may be involved in financial crimes.”
“Politicians use it frequently.”
“Is he a politician?”
“Not officially.”
Finley set down her cup.
“Can I come?”
“No.”
She raised an eyebrow.
Dominic exhaled.
“I expected that reaction.”
“Then why give me the answer you knew I wouldn't accept?”
“Because I wanted to see whether you would ask.”
“That is an appalling reason to make a decision.”
“I know.”
He pushed his plate aside.
“The meeting will take place at a private office downtown. Calder will accompany me. You'll remain here with Elena and a security team.”
Finley studied him.
“You're trying to protect me.”
“Yes.”
“From Bell?”
“From anyone who might decide that your connection to me makes you useful.”
She looked down at her hands.
“And if I don't want to spend my life hiding behind locked doors?”
“Then you shouldn't.”
His answer was immediate.
She looked up.
Dominic continued, “But independence isn't the same as walking into a dangerous room without understanding who's waiting inside. If you want to participate, we'll prepare you. We'll establish what you know, what you don't know, and what questions need answering.”
Finley felt the familiar resistance rising in her chest.
She had spent years being told that she was too emotional, too cautious, too sensitive, or too inexperienced to understand the decisions other people made.
She did not want another man deciding that her safety required her silence.
But Dominic was not asking her to be silent.
He was asking her to be prepared.
The distinction mattered.
“Fine,” she said. “I won't attend the meeting.”
“Thank you.”
“However, I want to review every document you have connected to Bellmont Capital.”
Dominic paused.
“Every document?”
“Every document you're legally able to show me.”
He studied her for several seconds.
Then he smiled.
“You're negotiating.”
“I'm learning from a professional.”
“Careful. That's how people end up working for me.”
“I'd rather eat glass.”
“An understandable career preference.”
Elena, who had been pretending not to listen, made a small noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
***
The documents arrived in the library at 10:15 a.m.
Calder brought three boxes and placed them on the long table.
Finley stared at them.
“You said documents. I didn't realize you meant the entire history of modern finance.”
“Mr. Russo believes in thoroughness,” Calder replied.
“Does he believe in indexing?”
“Occasionally.”
“Does he believe in explaining why three boxes of paperwork should be considered a reasonable morning activity?”
Calder looked toward the door.
“I wouldn't recommend asking him that.”
Finley laughed.
The sound surprised the security chief.
Then he smiled faintly.
It was the first time she had seen any of Dominic's men relax around her.
“Thank you, Calder.”
“Miss Finley.”
He left her with the documents.
For the next two hours, she read.
Most of the material was complicated, but she had worked in administrative operations for years. She understood invoices, purchase orders, reconciliation reports, and the small discrepancies that appeared when someone expected nobody to check the numbers.
At first, the documents seemed to confirm Dominic's suspicions.
Money had moved between shell companies. Invoices had been duplicated. Several payments had been authorized under the names of people who claimed they had never seen the transactions.
Then she noticed something.
The dates.
She arranged the pages across the table.
One transaction had been approved on a Monday. A second followed on Wednesday. A third appeared two days later.
Each time money disappeared, a corresponding invoice was created by a different department.
But the invoices had been generated before the payments were approved.
Not after.
Finley checked the records again.
The pattern repeated.
She pulled a notebook toward her and began writing.
At noon, Dominic entered the library.
He had returned from his meeting early.
“What are you doing?”
“Finding something interesting.”
“That usually means trouble.”
She pointed to the documents.
“Your accounting department has been looking at the wrong dates.”
He approached the table.
“Explain.”
“The payments are being investigated in the order they were discovered. But the invoices were created before the payments were authorized. Whoever did this knew which transactions would be approved.”
Dominic bent over the table.
“How far in advance?”
“Between forty-eight and seventy-two hours.”
He examined the pages.
“Could someone have anticipated the payments?”
“Possibly. But look at these authorization codes.”
She placed three records side by side.
“The same internal code appears across different departments. The transactions were processed by separate teams, but they all originated from the same access point.”
Dominic's expression changed.
“Who has access to that point?”
“I don't know. That's your department's job.”
He looked at her.
“You found this in two hours?”
“Two hours and fifteen minutes.”
“Why didn't your previous employers promote you?”
Finley shrugged.
“Because I was very good at making everyone else's job easier, and nobody wanted to lose the person who made the coffee machine work.”
Dominic's gaze sharpened.
“You made the coffee?”
“I also scheduled meetings, prepared reports, corrected invoices, and prevented my former manager from sending confidential documents to the wrong clients. But yes, I made the coffee.”
He was silent for a moment.
Then he pulled out a chair.
“Show me everything.”
Finley did.
They worked through the afternoon, comparing dates, authorization codes, and company names.
The closer they looked, the clearer the pattern became.
Someone had been manipulating the records from inside the network.
Someone with access to several departments.
Someone who knew which transactions would escape routine scrutiny.
At 4:40 p.m., Dominic's telephone rang.
He answered.
“Russo.”
His expression hardened as he listened.
“What do you mean, the file is missing?”
A pause.
“No. Don't recreate it. Preserve the system exactly as it is.”
He ended the call.
Finley looked up.
“What happened?”
“The original Bellmont ledger has disappeared from the secure archive.”
“Can it be recovered?”
“Possibly.”
She looked at the documents scattered across the table.
Then she pointed at the authorization codes.
“Dominic, if the same access point processed these transactions, the person responsible may be able to alter the archive.”
He was already reaching for his telephone.
“Calder. Lock down the records system. Nobody deletes anything. Nobody restores a backup until we've identified the access logs.”
He ended the call and looked at Finley.
“Stay here.”
She stood.
“Don't start.”
“Finley—”
“You don't get to say that every time something becomes complicated.”
His jaw tightened.
Then, unexpectedly, he nodded.
“You're right.”
She blinked.
He continued, “Come with me to the security office. You'll be safer there, and you can help us understand what we're looking at.”
She followed him from the library.
As they walked, Dominic's hand brushed hers.
Neither moved away immediately.
It was a small, accidental contact.
But in the middle of a day filled with suspicious transactions and disappearing records, it felt strangely significant.
They reached the security office.
Calder was waiting beside a wall of monitors.
One screen displayed a list of access logs.
Another showed the archive's most recent activity.
Dominic stepped closer.
“Show me the last successful login.”
Calder brought up the record.
The screen displayed a username, a timestamp, and an access code.
Finley leaned forward.
She recognized the username.
Not because she had seen it in the financial records.
Because she had seen it on the invitation to Simon and Stella's wedding.
The account belonged to Stella Bell.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Finley whispered, “Why does the bride have access to your archive?”
Dominic looked at the screen.
His expression became frighteningly calm.
“That,” he said, “is a very good question.”
May you like
And for the first time since the wedding, Finley realized that Stella might not have been merely the woman who had replaced her.
She might have been the person who had helped Simon hide the truth.
