Chapter 5 - THE MAFIA BOSS BROUGHT THE SCARRED MAID TO BOSTON'S MOST EXCLUSIVE CHARITY BALL—BUT WHEN HER STEPMOTHER CALLED HER UGLY, THE ENTIRE ROOM HEARD WHAT REALLY HAPPENED TO HER MOTHER
The photograph on Luca's phone changed everything about Adelaide's sense of safety.
Someone had followed her to the attorney's office. Someone knew she was asking questions. And someone had chosen to taunt her with the possibility that her mother's final hours had been deliberately concealed.
Mateo wanted to put additional guards around her immediately.
Adelaide refused to let fear make every decision.
"I'll accept reasonable security," she told him, "but I will not spend the rest of my life hiding in a locked room."
He stood by the library window, broad shoulders tense beneath his black shirt. "I won't ask you to."
"You were about to."
"I was about to ask what would make you feel safe."
She raised an eyebrow.
Mateo sighed. "Fine. I was about to tell you what would make me feel safe."
Adelaide laughed despite the knot in her stomach. "That's more accurate."
They agreed on a driver for appointments, secure communication with Hannah, and a police report about the surveillance photograph. Mateo did not insist on reading her messages or choosing whom she could meet. That mattered more to Adelaide than the guards at the gate.
The next morning, Hannah obtained the old hospital records through a court-authorized request. The papers revealed that Margaret Jones had survived the initial accident and undergone emergency surgery. Her condition had stabilized briefly before a sudden deterioration two days later.
The discharge authorization was signed by Rockford Jones.
But the form was not a discharge home.
It was a transfer request to a private medical facility.
"Why would he move her?" Adelaide asked.
Hannah spread the documents across her desk. "We don't know yet. The facility's records are incomplete, and the signature on the transfer order needs examination."
"Was she alive when she left the hospital?"
"According to the chart, yes."
Adelaide gripped the edge of the desk. "He told me she died that night."
Hannah met her eyes. "That statement appears inconsistent with these records."
For fifteen years, Adelaide had pictured her mother dying beside the wrecked car. She had imagined the cold road, the broken glass, the helplessness of arriving too late. Now there were two missing days and a private facility nobody had mentioned.
She went outside and called Mateo.
"I need you to listen," she said when he answered. "Please don't tell me you're going to fix it."
"I'll listen."
She told him about the transfer.
For a long moment he was silent.
"Do you want me to come get you?"
"Yes."
"I'm on my way."
He arrived without a convoy, driving himself. Adelaide climbed into the passenger seat and cried for the first time since Luca's revelation. Mateo handed her a clean handkerchief and waited.
"I don't know what to believe," she whispered.
"Then don't decide today."
"What if I never know?"
He looked at her. "Then we keep looking for what can be proved. And you don't have to do it alone."
Adelaide leaned her head against the seat.
The following afternoon, the Moretti Foundation's annual charity gala was scheduled at a hotel overlooking Boston Harbor. Mateo had planned to attend only long enough to make a donation and leave. Now Elena Ruiz told him that Rockford Jones would be there, along with Evelyn, Chloe, and several trustees connected to the Blackstone Preservation Foundation.
"It's an opportunity to observe who speaks to whom," Elena said. "Not an opportunity to threaten anyone."
Mateo gave her a dry look. "You say that as though I need reminding."
"You do."
Adelaide, listening from the doorway, smiled.
She decided to attend.
Mateo turned toward her. "You don't have to."
"I know. That's why I want to."
Mrs. Bell helped her choose a midnight-blue gown with a simple neckline and long sleeves. Adelaide wore her hair swept back from her face. The scar from her temple to her jaw remained visible.
When she saw herself in the mirror, she nearly reached for her hair to hide it. Then she remembered Chloe laughing about how Mateo would reject her.
She let her hair stay where it was.
Mateo waited at the foot of the Moretti mansion's grand staircase. He wore a black tuxedo, the edge of a tattoo visible above his collar. When Adelaide appeared, he stopped speaking.
She braced herself.
"What?" she asked.
He smiled slowly. "You look like someone who knows exactly who she is."
Adelaide felt warmth spread through her chest.
"That's better than beautiful?"
"Much better."
Then he added, "You're also beautiful."
At the gala, the ballroom glowed beneath chandeliers almost as large as those in the Jones mansion. Guests in expensive suits and glittering dresses turned as Mateo entered with Adelaide on his arm.
She heard the whispers.
"Is that Rockford's daughter?"
"The scarred one?"
"I thought she worked as a maid."
Mateo glanced down. "Do you want to leave?"
"No."
They crossed the room together.
Chloe spotted them first. Her champagne glass paused halfway to her mouth. She wore a silver gown and an expression of disbelief.
"Adelaide?"
"Hello, Chloe."
Chloe's gaze moved over the blue gown, the diamond earrings Mrs. Bell had lent Adelaide, and Mateo's hand resting lightly at her back.
"Well," Chloe said, recovering. "I suppose money can improve almost anything."
Adelaide smiled. "Not manners, apparently."
A nearby guest coughed into his drink.
Evelyn arrived moments later, her expression carefully arranged.
"Adelaide, darling. We were worried."
"Were you?"
"Of course. You left without a proper goodbye."
"You sent me to a man you thought might kill me."
Evelyn's smile tightened. "You misunderstand."
"I heard the conversation."
Several guests nearby grew quiet.
Evelyn leaned closer. "Don't embarrass yourself."
Adelaide felt the old instinct to apologize. It rose like a reflex and then faded.
"I'm not embarrassed," she said.
Chloe laughed sharply. "You should be. You can wear all the designer clothes you like, Adelaide, but everyone can still see that awful scar."
The words carried farther than Chloe intended.
Conversation stopped around them.
Adelaide stood perfectly still. Her scar felt suddenly hot, but she did not cover it.
Mateo turned toward Chloe. His expression was cold.
"Say that again," he said.
Chloe's smile faltered. "I didn't mean—"
"You meant every word."
Rockford appeared at the edge of the circle. "Mateo, this is a family matter."
Mateo looked at him. "Then perhaps you should have behaved like a father."
The silence deepened.
Adelaide touched Mateo's sleeve. He looked at her immediately.
"Let me," she whispered.
He stepped back.
Adelaide faced her sister. "This scar is what I have left from the night my mother died. You used it to make me feel small because you thought I had nowhere else to go. But I don't need your permission to stand in this room."
Chloe's cheeks flushed.
Evelyn reached for Adelaide's arm. "Enough."
Adelaide moved away. "Don't touch me."
Rockford looked around at the watching guests. "Adelaide, we'll discuss this privately."
"No," she said. "You had fifteen years to speak to me privately."
A woman near the champagne tower began to clap. Another guest joined her, then stopped when she realized the moment was not a performance.
Adelaide did not need applause. She needed to leave the circle with her dignity intact.
She turned to Mateo. "I'd like some air."
He offered his arm. "Of course."
They walked onto the terrace overlooking the harbor. The cold air stung Adelaide's cheeks.
"Was that terrible?" she asked.
"No."
"I was shaking."
"You can be brave and shake."
She looked at him. "You always know what to say?"
"Absolutely not. Elena reminds me of that daily."
Adelaide laughed.
Inside, the gala resumed, but their confrontation had already reached half the room. A trustee named Bernard Cole approached the terrace door. He was an elderly man with white hair and a cautious expression.
"Miss Jones," he said, "may I have a word?"
Mateo stepped closer. "About what?"
"Margaret."
Adelaide's heart jumped.
Bernard looked ashamed. "I was on the board of the private clinic where your mother was transferred. I saw her name in the records. I believed your father when he said the transfer was for her safety."
"Did you see her?" Adelaide asked.
"Once. She was awake. She asked for her daughter."
Adelaide pressed a hand to her mouth.
"What happened after that?"
Bernard swallowed. "A doctor told me she was too ill to receive visitors. The next morning, I was informed she had died."
"Who told you?"
"Rockford Jones."
Mateo's jaw tightened.
Bernard reached into his jacket and handed Adelaide a business card. "I kept copies of board minutes. I never thought they would matter. If your attorney contacts me, I'll provide them."
"Why now?" Adelaide asked.
He looked through the glass at Rockford, who was laughing too loudly with a senator.
"Because I watched you stand up to him. And I realized I've spent fifteen years being a coward."
Adelaide took the card.
"Thank you," she said. "But tell the truth because it's right, not because I impressed you."
Bernard nodded.
Back inside, Chloe was speaking angrily to Preston Whitmore. The senator's son looked uncomfortable. When he saw Adelaide, he approached.
"Your sister says you're trying to ruin the family," he said.
Adelaide met his eyes. "I'm trying to find out what happened to my mother."
Preston hesitated. "I didn't know about the clinic."
"Neither did I."
He glanced toward Chloe. "She told me you were unstable."
Adelaide felt the familiar sting. "She tells people whatever makes them stop asking questions."
Preston looked away. "I'm sorry."
She nodded and continued toward the exit.
At the hotel entrance, Mateo's phone rang. Elena was calling.
"The bank complied with the emergency preservation order," she said. "We have confirmation that the Blackstone account still holds a substantial portion of the fifteen million."
"Good," Mateo said.
"There's more. The transfer authorization bears a witness signature."
"Whose?"
Elena paused.
"Evelyn Jones."
Adelaide heard the name through the speaker.
Her stepmother had not merely mocked her scar. She had helped move the money that belonged to Margaret's trust.
Mateo ended the call and looked at Adelaide.
"Do you want to go home?"
Adelaide thought of the Jones mansion, where she had spent years cleaning rooms she was not allowed to enter as a daughter. Then she thought of the guest room at the Moretti estate, where Mrs. Bell had left fresh flowers and never once demanded gratitude.
"Yes," she said.
Mateo opened the car door.
As they drove away, Adelaide's phone lit up with a message from an unknown number.
A photograph appeared: Margaret Jones lying in a hospital bed, alive, with a newspaper dated two days after the crash.
Below it were the words:
YOUR MOTHER WAS GOING TO TESTIFY. ASK EVELYN WHAT SHE GAVE THE DOCTOR.
Before the gala, Adelaide had also spent an hour with Mrs. Bell learning how to walk comfortably in unfamiliar shoes. The housekeeper balanced a book on her own head, marched the length of the dressing room, and made Adelaide laugh so hard she had to sit down.
"My mother used to do that," Adelaide said.
"Then she was a sensible woman."
"She told me confidence was mostly remembering that everybody else was too busy worrying about themselves to study your mistakes."
Mrs. Bell considered that. "Usually true. Except at charity balls, where people have made studying other people's mistakes into a competitive sport."
Adelaide laughed again. Then she looked at the mirror and fell quiet.
"Evelyn used to say people couldn't help staring," she said. "She said I should be grateful anyone invited me anywhere."
Mrs. Bell stood beside her. "People may notice a scar. That doesn't give them ownership of the story behind it. You decide what you tell them."
Adelaide turned her face toward the light. The line along her cheek was pale and uneven. She remembered children asking about it at school, some curious and some cruel. She remembered her father looking away during family photographs. She remembered her mother before the crash, brushing her hair and telling her she had the bluest eyes in Boston.
"I wish she could see me tonight," Adelaide whispered.
Mrs. Bell squeezed her shoulder. "Perhaps the best way to honor her is to let yourself be seen."
That was why Adelaide kept her hair pinned back. Not to challenge Chloe. Not to impress Mateo. She did it because the little girl who survived the accident deserved to stop being punished for surviving.
Later, when the car approached the harbor hotel, Adelaide asked Mateo whether he had ever attended an event he dreaded. He gave her a sideways look.
"Almost every event I've attended since I inherited the business."
"Then why go?"
"I used to think showing up meant I was in control."
"And now?"
"Now I think sometimes leaving is the stronger decision."
May you like
She considered that as the hotel doors opened ahead of them. For the first time, she understood she could leave whenever she wished. It made walking inside easier.
END OF CHAPTER 5
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