Chapter 9 - GabrielWe took the twins out of preschool that afternoon.
Not dramatically.
No alarms.
No police rushing through the doors.
Victor and I walked in together.
We signed them out.
Mia complained because she hadn't finished painting a dinosaur.
Leo wanted to know whether leaving early meant ice cream.
Neither understood why their father's hand remained against their backs all the way to the car.
We didn't tell them.
They were two.
They deserved to remain two.
Daniel arranged temporary security around the house and bakery.
Victor asked me before agreeing.
I said yes.
Not because fear had defeated me.
Because there was a difference between surrendering your choices and making a choice to be careful.
That evening, Elena brought the letter.
My father's handwriting.
Rose sat in our living room.
Lucia came too.
Seeing the two women together was strange.
Carlo's first wife.
Carlo's second wife.
Two lives separated by decades and secrets.
Lucia approached Rose first.
"I'm sorry."
Rose looked at her.
"You didn't do anything."
"I lived the life you lost."
"No."
Rose's voice was gentle.
"You lived your life."
Lucia's eyes filled.
Victor looked away.
Then Elena handed me the letter.
It was dated February 1995.
Margaret,
Rose delivered the baby.
A boy.
He's healthy.
Anthony found a couple outside Milwaukee.
Their names are Peter and Susan Hart.
No connection to Chicago.
No connection to Giovanni.
Good people.
Teachers.
They've been trying to adopt for years.
Rose agreed.
Carlo cannot know.
Not yet.
Maybe someday.
When it's safe.
I stopped reading.
Victor stared at the page.
"My father never knew his son lived."
Rose shook her head.
"I thought David told him later."
"He didn't."
Lucia looked at her.
"Carlo spent years believing the baby died."
Rose covered her mouth.
"What?"
"He told me."
Her voice broke.
"He said Rose was gone and the baby was gone."
Rose began crying.
Not loudly.
That made it worse.
Victor stood near the fireplace.
His face unreadable.
I went to him.
"Victor."
He looked at me.
"My father died believing his son was dead."
"I know."
"And Gabriel grew up believing someone else was his father."
"We don't know what he knows."
"We need to find him."
Rose looked up.
"Yes."
Victor reached for his phone.
Then stopped.
He looked at me.
"What?"
I asked.
"What do you think?"
Two years earlier, he wouldn't have asked.
I looked around the room.
At Rose.
Lucia.
Elena.
Daniel.
Another generation sitting inside the consequences of people deciding what other people should know.
"We find him," I said. "But we don't storm into his life."
Victor nodded.
"Agreed."
Daniel began searching.
Peter and Susan Hart had lived outside Milwaukee for eighteen years.
Peter died in 2018.
Susan moved to Madison afterward.
They had one adopted son.
Gabriel Hart.
Born August 1995.
Thirty years old.
Architect.
Unmarried.
Currently living in Chicago.
I stared at Daniel.
"Chicago?"
"For four years."
Victor's expression tightened.
"Address?"
Daniel looked at him.
"I'm not giving you the address until we decide what we're doing."
Victor stared at his brother.
Then nodded.
"Good."
Daniel blinked.
"That was surprisingly painless."
"Don't ruin it."
We laughed.
Even Rose.
The sound released something in the room.
Then Daniel became serious.
"There's more."
"What?"
"Gabriel works for Vale Urban Development."
Silence.
Adrian Vale's company.
Victor's face changed.
"That's not coincidence."
"No," Daniel said. "Probably not."
"Does Gabriel know who Adrian is?"
"Unknown."
"Does Adrian know who Gabriel is?"
"Also unknown."
I thought about the photograph outside my bakery.
"Maybe Adrian wasn't watching the twins."
Victor looked at me.
"What?"
"Maybe he was watching the bakery because Gabriel comes there."
"He doesn't."
"Not that I've seen."
Rose frowned.
"Maybe Gabriel knows about the bakery."
I looked toward the old photograph on the table.
Three families.
One building.
Too many secrets.
The next morning, I opened Three Families as usual.
Victor hated the idea.
He didn't say I couldn't.
He said, "I would prefer you didn't."
That distinction mattered.
"I can't close every time I'm frightened."
"I'm aware."
"There are guards."
"Two."
"Two is enough."
"Four would be better."
"Victor."
"Three?"
"Two."
He sighed.
"Marriage is compromise."
"Exactly."
"I've compromised from four to two."
"You started at twelve."
"That information was private."
I kissed him.
"Go to work."
He didn't.
He took a table near the window and opened his laptop.
"You're impossible."
"I'm working."
"In my bakery."
"Coffee shops are accepted workplaces."
"You own an office building."
"The coffee is worse."
"You're sleeping on the couch."
"We don't have a couch in our bedroom."
"I'll buy one."
He smiled.
At ten thirty, the bell rang.
A man entered.
Tall.
Dark hair.
Gray coat.
He looked around.
Then his eyes landed on the old sign.
For the families we choose.
Something in his face changed.
Victor saw him too.
The entire room seemed to narrow.
The man approached the counter.
"Hi."
"Hi."
He looked at the pastries.
"What's good?"
"Everything."
He smiled.
"Biased?"
"Deeply."
He pointed.
"One almond croissant."
I reached for a plate.
Then I noticed his eyes.
Gray.
Carlo's eyes.
Victor's eyes.
Mia's eyes.
My hand stopped.
The man noticed.
"Everything okay?"
"Yes."
I put the croissant down.
"Coffee?"
"Black."
Victor stood.
Slowly.
The man turned.
Their eyes met.
I watched recognition happen without understanding.
Not recognition of a person.
Recognition of resemblance.
Gabriel stared at Victor.
Victor stared back.
"Do I know you?" Gabriel asked.
Victor's voice was steady.
"No."
Gabriel looked at me.
Then back at Victor.
"This is weird."
"Yes."
"Victor."
I said his name softly.
Gabriel's face changed.
"Victor Rinaldi?"
Victor went still.
"You know my name."
Gabriel laughed once.
"Everyone in Chicago business knows your name."
Reasonable.
But something felt wrong.
Victor approached.
"Gabriel Hart?"
Now Gabriel froze.
"How do you know mine?"
There it was.
The moment.
The decision.
Tell him everything?
Hide it?
Protect him?
Control him?
Victor looked at me.
I shook my head slightly.
Not here.
Not like this.
Victor understood.
"Someone we both know mentioned you."
Gabriel's expression sharpened.
"Who?"
Before Victor could answer, the front window shattered.
The sound was enormous.
Customers screamed.
Victor moved before I did.
He threw himself toward me.
Glass exploded across the counter.
Daniel's security guard rushed through the side door.
"Down!"
I hit the floor.
Victor covered me.
For half a second, I thought gunshot.
Then I saw the brick.
A brick had come through the window.
Wrapped around it was paper.
No bullet.
No weapon.
Just a message.
Gabriel stood frozen.
The guard moved outside.
Another secured the door.
Victor lifted his head.
"Nora?"
"I'm fine."
He checked my face.
Hands.
Arms.
"I'm fine."
Gabriel had a cut near his cheek.
"You're bleeding."
He touched it.
Looked at the blood.
Then at the brick.
Victor reached for the paper.
I grabbed his wrist.
"Gloves."
He looked at me.
Then nodded.
The police arrived twenty minutes later.
The message contained only one sentence.
THE DEAD SHOULD STAY DEAD.
Rose.
Or Gabriel.
Maybe both.
Gabriel sat at table six while a paramedic cleaned his cut.
He looked furious.
And frightened.
"Someone needs to tell me what's happening."
Victor looked at me.
I nodded.
We closed the bakery.
Then we told him.
Not every detail.
Enough.
Rose Bellamy.
Carlo.
The pregnancy.
The adoption.
Peter and Susan Hart.
My father.
Gabriel didn't interrupt.
That frightened me more than shouting would have.
When Victor finished, Gabriel looked at him.
"So you're saying Carlo Rinaldi was my biological father."
"Possibly."
"Possibly?"
"We'd need DNA."
Gabriel laughed.
It was harsh.
"My parents are dead."
"I'm sorry."
"My mother died six months ago."
Victor's face changed.
"We didn't know."
"Of course you didn't."
He stood.
"I need to leave."
Victor didn't stop him.
That mattered.
At the door, Gabriel turned.
"Did Rose know where I was?"
"No," I said.
"Did you?"
"Not until yesterday."
He looked at Victor.
"And you expect me to believe that?"
Victor's voice remained quiet.
"No."
Gabriel frowned.
"I expect you to decide what you believe after you have the information."
He left.
Victor stood motionless.
I touched his arm.
"You did the right thing."
"I wanted to stop him."
"I know."
"I wanted to make him listen."
"I know."
He looked at me.
"I hate this."
"I know."
That night, Gabriel called.
Not Victor.
Me.
"I don't know why I'm calling you."
"You bought a croissant before someone threw a brick at you. We have a bond."
Silence.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Yes."
"What's Victor like?"
I looked toward the living room.
My husband was on the floor assembling a wooden puzzle with Mia.
Badly.
Leo was sitting on his back.
"Complicated."
"That's reassuring."
"He used to think fixing problems was the same thing as loving people."
"And now?"
"Now he still wants to fix everything."
I watched Victor deliberately place a puzzle piece in the wrong hole so Mia could correct him.
"But he's learning to ask first."
Gabriel was quiet.
"Was Carlo like him?"
"I barely knew Carlo."
"Rose said you knew things about the families."
"My parents did."
Another silence.
Then:
"I found something in my mother's belongings."
"What?"
"A box she told me never to open until she died."
My heart tightened.
"What's inside?"
"Letters."
"From whom?"
"I don't know yet."
"Gabriel—"
"There's one addressed to Carlo Rinaldi."
I stood.
"Have you opened it?"
"No."
"Why call me?"
"Because there's another one."
"Addressed to whom?"
He hesitated.
Then said:
"David Bennett."
My father.
The past had found us again.
May you like
But this time, it wasn't hidden in our house.
It was waiting in Gabriel's.
