Chapter 1
PART 2: The Room They Had Kept Locked for Ten Years 019
The Russo estate appeared through the clouds just after midnight.
Its stone towers rose from the dark hills like something preserved in a winter photograph—beautiful, distant, and untouched by time. Christmas lights traced the long driveway. Evergreen wreaths hung from every window. Beyond the glass walls of the central hall, I could see the warm movement of people gathering around the dining room.
For one brief moment, I saw the house as I had once known it.
A place where I had believed love could survive anything.
Then the helicopter settled onto the landing field, and the memory disappeared beneath the cold rush of wind.
Alexander stepped down first. He turned and offered me his hand.
I looked at it.
Ten years ago, I would have taken it without thinking. Tonight, I climbed down alone.
He lowered his hand slowly.
No argument passed between us. That was almost worse. Alexander had always been most difficult to read when he was trying not to show concern.
The six men who had arrived with him remained near the helicopter.
I glanced toward them.
“Are they coming inside?”
“They’ll stay outside.”
“For a family dinner?”
“For my security.”
I gave him a tired smile. “You’ve always needed more guards than answers.”
His expression changed, but only for a second.
The main doors opened before either of us reached them.
Ethan stood at the top of the steps.
He had grown taller than I expected. His dark hair fell over his forehead in the same careless way Alexander’s did when he was thinking. But his eyes were mine—or perhaps I only wanted them to be.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
He wore a navy sweater and held one hand against the doorframe. He looked older than seventeen and younger than the ten years between us.
Then he came down the steps.
“Mom?”
The word crossed the space between us with a trembling softness.
I had imagined hearing it in a thousand different ways. Angry. Accusing. Joyful. Cold.
I had never imagined it sounding afraid.
I opened my arms.
Ethan stopped just short of me, as though he wasn’t sure he had permission.
“May I hug you?” he asked.
My heart broke in a quiet, private place.
“You never have to ask.”
He stepped into my arms.
He was no longer a baby, but I recognized the weight of him instantly—the way he leaned forward, the way his breath caught before he settled. I held him carefully, afraid of holding too tightly, afraid that if I released him, another decade might pass before I touched him again.