Chapter 4 - Ghosts in the Gallery
Three weeks passed, and the Bellandi estate became my world.
I learned the rhythm of the house. I learned that the third step on the grand staircase creaked, that the library smelled of beeswax and dried cloves, and that Dante Bellandi rarely slept. Often, in the dead of night, I would look out my window and see the glow of his cigarette in the frosted gardens, a solitary figure pacing the stone paths like a caged beast.
The children had accepted me in the quiet, fierce way children of trauma do. Leo no longer tested me with Latin; instead, he brought me his history essays, waiting silently for my corrections with an intensity that broke my heart. Nico would sit beside me for hours while I mended their clothes, his head resting against my thigh, his sketchbook always open. And Mia... Mia had decided that my lap was her personal property.
For a woman who had been told she was too large, too clumsy, and too much to love, their touch was a healing balm. They did not care that my waist was not tiny or that my face was round. To them, my size was safety. My soft edges were a place to hide.
But the outside world has a way of breaking through even the thickest stone walls.
It happened on a Tuesday. Enzo had asked me to take the children to the conservatory on the south side of the estate to gather fresh white roses for the dining room.
We were laughing—Mia was trying to balance a plastic bucket on her head while Nico made frog sounds—when the heavy iron gates of the estate groaned open.
A sleek, silver sports car purred up the driveway.
My breath caught in my throat. I knew that car. I knew the custom license plate. I knew the sound of the engine.
Sebastian.
"Evelyn?" Leo asked, his sharp eyes instantly picking up on my sudden stillness. "Who is that?"
"Nobody," I said, my voice tight. "Go inside with Nico and Mia. Go to Enzo."
"But—"
"Leo, please," I said, and the urgency in my voice must have frightened him, because he didn't argue. He grabbed Nico’s hand, took Mia by the shoulder, and ushered them toward the side entrance of the house.
I stood in the center of the gravel path as the silver car came to a stop.
The door swung open, and Sebastian Crane stepped out. He looked exactly as he had the day he ruined my life—immaculately groomed in a tailored gray suit, his blond hair perfectly styled, a look of lazy, arrogant amusement on his face.
"Well, well," Sebastian said, stepping onto the gravel. He looked around the estate, his eyes lingering on the security cameras, then on the massive stone pillars. "I must admit, Evelyn, when my lawyer told me you had vanished from the shelters, I didn't expect to find you playing maid in a mafia fortress. You always did have a dramatic streak."
"What are you doing here, Sebastian?" I asked, my voice cold. I folded my hands in front of my blue dress, forcing my shoulders back.
"I came to deliver a message from my mother," he said, walking slowly toward me. He stopped a few feet away, his gaze moving over my body with that familiar, critical squint. "She realized you kept the silver comb she gave you for our second anniversary. The family heirloom. We want it back."
"I don't have it," I said. "I left everything. You know that."
"Do I?" Sebastian chuckled, a sound that made my stomach turn. "You were always greedy, Evelyn. Always trying to squeeze yourself into a life that was too small for you. Look at you. You've put on weight. This... domestic look doesn't suit you. You look like a peasant."
He reached out, his hand moving to grab my chin, just as he used to do when he wanted to force me to look at him while he lectured me about my weight.
"Don't touch her."
The voice didn't come from behind me. It came from the side garden.
Sebastian froze, his hand hovering in the air.
Three small figures stepped out from behind the boxwood hedges.
Leo stood in the center, his hands shoved into his pockets, his young face completely devoid of childhood. Beside him, Nico held a heavy iron garden trowel like a weapon, his knuckles white. Mia stood slightly behind them, her small fist clutching a stone she had picked up from the path.
"Who are you kids?" Sebastian sneered, though he stepped back a inch. "Get lost. I'm talking to my wife."
"She is not your wife," Leo said. His voice was a chilling imitation of Dante’s—cold, precise, and completely without fear. "She belongs to this house. And if you touch her, my father will bury you under the driveway."
Sebastian’s face flushed red with anger. "You little brat—"
He took a step toward Leo.
Before he could lay a hand on the boy, the front doors of the mansion flew open.
Four guards in black suits descended the steps, their hands already moving inside their coats. Behind them walked Dante Bellandi. He wasn't wearing his coat. He was in his shirtsleeves, his cuffs rolled up, his silver-and-black rosary wrapped tightly around his fist.
The air in the garden instantly turned to ice.
"Mr. Crane," Dante said. His voice was very quiet. "You are trespassing on my property."
Sebastian turned, his arrogance faltering for a fraction of a second before he pulled his shoulders back, trying to match Dante’s height. "Bellandi. I didn't realize you hired harbor trash to watch your kids. I came to collect my property."
Dante didn't look at Sebastian. He walked straight to where I stood, stepping directly between me and my ex-husband. He looked down at my face, checking my eyes, then looked at the children.
"Leo," Dante said. "Did he touch her?"
"He tried," Leo said. "We stopped him."
"Good," Dante murmured. He turned slowly to face Sebastian.
There was no anger in Dante’s face. That was the most terrifying part. There was only a cold, methodical calculation.
"The Crane family has three cargo ships arriving in the port of Chicago next week," Dante said softly. "They are carrying high-end textiles from Italy. Uninsured."
Sebastian paled. "What does that have to do with—"
"If you or any member of your family ever enters this street again," Dante continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carried across the quiet garden, "those ships will burn at the dock. And then, Mr. Crane, I will begin looking at your personal assets. Your house. Your cars. Your sister’s gallery."
"You can't threaten me," Sebastian stammered, his voice rising in panic. "The police—"
"The police do not enter this gate," Dante said. "But my men enter yours. Leave. Now."
Sebastian looked at Dante, then at the four armed guards, and finally at me. For the first time in his life, he looked small. He looked weak.
He scrambled back into his silver car, the tires screeching on the gravel as he reversed down the driveway, the gates slamming shut behind him with a heavy, final clang.
Dante stood watching the gates for a moment, then turned to me.
Before he could speak, Mia ran forward and threw her arms around my knees. Nico dropped his garden trowel and buried his face in my skirt. Leo walked over, his small hand reaching up to touch my arm.
"Are you okay, Evelyn?" Leo asked quietly.
I looked at the three children who had stood between me and the man who had destroyed me. Tears pricked my eyes, but for the first time, they were not tears of sadness.
"I am," I whispered, kneeling down to wrap my arms around all three of them. My large, soft body felt like a fortress protecting them, and their small arms felt like a shield protecting me. "I am perfectly okay."
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Over their heads, I looked up at Dante.
He was watching us, his gray eyes no longer cold. They were bright, burning with a fire that I realized, with a sudden, breathless jolt, was meant entirely for me.
