The green ledger disappeared the next morning.
I discovered it at 6:12.
My bedroom door was still locked.
My windows were shut.
Nothing else had been disturbed.
My purse remained on the chair.
My jewelry sat untouched.
My mother’s ledger, which I had placed beneath two sweaters inside the bottom drawer of my dresser, was gone.
I ran downstairs barefoot.
Nicholas was already awake.
He stood near the kitchen windows holding a cup of coffee while speaking quietly to Marco.
“Where is it?”
Both men turned.
Nicholas took one look at my face.
“What happened?”
“The ledger.”
His cup hit the counter.
“Missing?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be asking you.”
Within two minutes, the house transformed.
Doors locked.
Phones came out.
Security footage was pulled up.
Marco checked windows.
Luca arrived twenty minutes later looking as if he had dressed while running.
Rosa stood in the kitchen holding a wooden spoon like she intended to beat the burglar personally.
Nicholas came upstairs with me.
He stopped outside my bedroom.
“May I?”
Even now.
“Yes.”
He entered.
I showed him the drawer.
He examined the room without touching much.
“The door was locked?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone else have a key?”
“You said no.”
“I don’t.”
“Then somebody came through the window?”
“Third floor.”
“People climb.”
“So do burglars.”
He looked toward the dresser.
“No.”
“What?”
“This wasn’t a burglary.”
“How do you know?”
“Because a burglar would make it look like one.”
That made my stomach sink.
“This person knew exactly what they wanted.”
“Yes.”
“Someone inside the house.”
“Or someone with access.”
Salvatore had access.
He had been inside twice since our wedding.
Nicholas apparently read the thought on my face.
“Too easy.”
“What does that mean?”
“If Salvatore wanted the ledger and knew we suspected him, stealing it now would be reckless.”
“Unless he’s desperate.”
Nicholas nodded reluctantly.
“Unless he’s desperate.”
Security footage showed nothing.
No stranger entered.
No one climbed a wall.
No unexplained vehicle stopped outside.
Then Marco found eleven missing minutes.
Someone had disabled the internal cameras between 2:08 and 2:19 in the morning.
Only four people knew the security system well enough to do it.
Nicholas.
Marco.
Luca.
Salvatore.
I stared at the list.
“Wonderful.”
Nicholas looked grim.
“It could still be someone who obtained the codes.”
“From one of those four.”
“Yes.”
I folded my arms.
“Do you trust Marco?”
“Yes.”
“Luca?”
“With my life.”
“You trusted Salvatore too.”
That landed.
Nicholas looked away.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“You’re right.”
There was no defensiveness in his voice.
No anger at being challenged.
That made me feel worse.
Sam had spent his last days surrounded by secrets.
Now those secrets were poisoning everyone who remained.
I went to the flower shop because sitting in Nicholas’s house while men examined security footage would have driven me insane.
Marco followed at a respectable distance.
I pretended not to notice.
At noon, Aunt Margaret called.
“How is married life?”
“Complicated.”
“That is marriage.”
“Apparently everybody older than fifty has memorized that line.”
She laughed.
Then her voice changed.
“Are you all right, sweetheart?”
I nearly told her everything.
Instead, I stared at an arrangement of blue hydrangeas.
“Aunt Margaret, did Sam ever give you anything before he died?”
Silence.
“Why?”
“Just answer.”
“He gave me your mother’s sewing box.”
I straightened.
“When?”
“A week before the accident.”
“Why?”
“He said you’d probably throw it out because you never sew anymore.”
“That sounds like him.”
“Clara.”
“What?”
“He also said something strange.”
My heart started pounding.
“What?”
“He told me if you ever asked about the green book, I should tell you your mother never trusted bindings.”
I stopped breathing.
“What does that mean?”
“I assumed it was one of his jokes.”
It wasn’t.
I closed the shop immediately.
Marco drove because my hands were shaking too badly.
Aunt Margaret lived three hours away in Vermont, so I called Nicholas.
“I know where the real evidence might be.”
He answered after one ring.
“Where are you?”
“On my way home.”
“Good.”
“Sam left a message with Margaret. He said Mom never trusted bindings.”
Silence.
Then Nicholas understood.
“The spine.”
“Yes.”
My mother had repaired books.
Badly.
Whenever a cookbook fell apart, she would cut away the spine and rebuild it using florist tape, glue, and whatever cardboard she found.
Sam and I teased her relentlessly.
If he had hidden something inside the ledger’s binding—
The thief might have stolen the book without discovering it.
Unless the object had already fallen out.
I remembered keeping the ledger in the cabinet for months before ever opening it carefully.
Then I remembered something else.
The cabinet.
My mother’s old flower-shop cabinet had a gap behind the lowest drawer.
I made Marco turn around.
We reached Whitaker Flowers at 2:07.
I went straight behind the register.
Pulled open the bottom cabinet drawer.
Removed it completely.
Dust.
Old invoices.
A dried eucalyptus leaf.
Then something glinted.
A tiny black memory card.
I stared at it.
Marco immediately called Nicholas.
Twenty minutes later, Nicholas arrived with a laptop that had never been connected to the internet.
We locked the shop.
Closed the blinds.
Inserted the card.
There were seven files.
Six spreadsheets.
One audio recording.
The spreadsheets showed transfers.
Corsetti money.
DeMarco money.
Shell companies.
Container numbers.
Payments routed through a company called Bell Maritime Consulting.
My blood went cold.
“Bell,” I whispered.
Nicholas stared at the screen.
“Bellini.”
We opened the audio file.
At first, only static.
Then Sam’s voice.
My brother.
Alive.
I covered my mouth.
“I don’t know if this will matter,” Sam said. “But if Clara finds this, I’m sorry.”
My eyes filled instantly.
Nicholas reached toward me.
Stopped.
Then lowered his hand.
I noticed even through the grief.
Sam continued.
“I took money. I’m not pretending I didn’t. I thought I could take enough to get out, then I found out where the rest was going. Corsetti isn’t the only one stealing.”
Nicholas leaned closer to the laptop.
“Salvatore Bellini has been moving containers through DeMarco contracts for Anthony Corsetti. Weapons, cash, stolen goods. Nicholas doesn’t know. At least I don’t think he does.”
Nicholas closed his eyes briefly.
Sam’s recording continued.
“I stole from both because I needed leverage. Stupid. I know. I was going to return DeMarco’s money after I gave Nicholas proof. Corsetti’s money…”
Sam gave a humorless laugh.
“I was going to use some of that to disappear.”
Tears slid down my face.
That sounded exactly like Sam.
Flawed.
Scared.
Still trying to outsmart people far more dangerous than he was.
Then came the line that changed everything.
“Salvatore knows I’m meeting Nicholas tomorrow.”
Nicholas went completely still.
“He told me to keep quiet. Said he’d handle Corsetti. I don’t believe him anymore. If something happens, Sal was part of it.”
The recording ended.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Marco stared at the floor.
Nicholas looked as if someone had struck him.
“Now we know,” I whispered.
“No.”
I looked at him.
“No?”
“We know Salvatore betrayed me.”
“And Sam.”
“Yes.”
“But not that he killed him.”
“He may have given Corsetti the information.”
“Does that make him less responsible?”
“No.”
Nicholas’s answer was immediate.
“No, Clara.”
I turned away.
I expected rage.
Instead, Nicholas sat quietly.
The silence frightened me.
“What are you thinking?”
“That I want to kill him.”
I faced him.
He did not pretend otherwise.
“But I won’t.”
“Because I asked you not to?”
“Partly.”
“What’s the other part?”
His eyes met mine.
“Because dead men stop answering questions.”
That evening Salvatore came to dinner.
Nicholas invited him.
I thought he had lost his mind.
“You want him inside this house?”
“I want him comfortable.”
“What if he knows we found the memory card?”
“He doesn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“The ledger thief called Corsetti this afternoon asking for instructions.”
My stomach tightened.
“You know who stole it?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Someone on Luca’s security team. He admitted Salvatore paid him.”
“So why invite Salvatore?”
“Because Sal doesn’t know we know.”
I stared at Nicholas.
“And what exactly am I supposed to do during dinner?”
“Nothing.”
“That will be difficult.”
“I know.”
“Do I have to smile?”
“No.”
“Good.”
At seven, Salvatore entered carrying wine.
Rosa served roasted chicken.
Nicholas discussed shipping contracts.
Salvatore told a story about Nicholas getting arrested at seventeen for punching a man outside Fenway Park.
I sat across from my brother’s suspected killer while he ate potatoes from my wedding china.
At one point, Salvatore smiled at me.
“You’re very quiet tonight, Clara.”
“I’m thinking about Sam.”
His fork stopped for half a second.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you aren’t.”
Nicholas’s eyes moved toward me.
Salvatore leaned back.
“Excuse me?”
I wanted to throw Sam’s recording onto the table.
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I remembered Nicholas kneeling at my feet, asking permission before touching my ankle.
Patience.
Choice.
Control.
So I smiled.
“You said grief makes people search for patterns.”
Salvatore watched me.
“Yes.”
“I think you’re right.”
For the first time, I understood why Nicholas used silence as a weapon.
Salvatore did not know what I meant.
And uncertainty frightened him.
The rest of dinner became painful theater.
Finally, Salvatore stood.
“Excellent meal.”
Rosa did not smile.
Nicholas walked him toward the door.
I remained beside the table.
Then Salvatore stopped behind my chair.
Very quietly, he said, “Your brother should have learned when to stop digging.”
Everything inside me froze.
Nicholas heard him.
So did Rosa.
Salvatore realized his mistake one second too late.
Nicholas turned.
Nobody raised their voice.
That made the moment worse.
“What did you say?” Nicholas asked.
Salvatore smiled.
“I said grief keeps Clara digging.”
“No.”
Nicholas took one step closer.
“You didn’t.”
Salvatore’s eyes changed.
And suddenly, the kind older man disappeared.
The godfather.
The family friend.
The bakery owner.
Gone.
Underneath was someone colder.
Older.
More dangerous.
He looked at me.
“Samuel made choices.”
I stood.
“You killed him.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Nicholas moved between us only when Salvatore took a step toward me.
That was enough.
Salvatore stopped.
Nicholas’s voice was almost gentle.
“You should leave.”
“Nicholas—”
“Now.”
Salvatore stared at the man he had helped raise.
Something final passed between them.
Then he walked out.
The front door closed.
I looked at Nicholas.
“You let him go.”
“For tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s frightened now.”
“And?”
“Frightened men run toward whoever they trust.”
“Corsetti.”
Nicholas nodded.
“We follow him.”
For the first time since Sam died, I felt something stronger than grief.
We were close.
Close enough that the people who had killed my brother were beginning to make mistakes.