Chapter 2 - His “Mistress” Was Hiding a Deadly Secret—and Someone Inside the Blackwood Family Wanted Claire Gone
I didn't call Adrian that night.
Or the next morning.
I stared at his card until the numbers became meaningless.
Nicholas had questions.
Hundreds of them.
“Is he rich?”
“Yes.”
“How rich?”
“Very.”
“Does he really have horses?”
“Yes.”
“Is Atlas real?”
“Probably.”
“Why didn't he know about me?”
That one was harder.
I sat beside Nicholas on the bed in our rented room.
“Because I didn't tell him.”
“Why?”
“I thought leaving was the safest thing.”
“For you?”
“For both of us.”
“Was it?”
Children had a cruel way of asking questions adults spent years avoiding.
“I don't know anymore.”
Nicholas picked at a loose thread on the blanket.
“Do you hate him?”
“No.”
“Does he hate you?”
“I don't think so.”
“Do you love him?”
I looked away.
Seven years was a long time.
Long enough to build walls.
Not always long enough to kill what lived behind them.
“I used to.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
I smiled sadly.
“No, it isn't.”
That afternoon, Margaret called from Vermont.
I had told her almost everything over the years.
Not Adrian's name at first.
Eventually, yes.
She listened quietly.
Then said:
“You need to hear his explanation.”
“I don't owe him that.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because you owe yourself the truth.”
That night, I called.
Adrian answered before the first ring finished.
“Claire?”
His voice made my chest ache.
“We need to talk.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere public.”
“Name it.”
“No guards.”
A pause.
“All right.”
“And don't follow me afterward.”
Another pause.
“All right.”
“Adrian?”
“Yes?”
“If you're lying—”
“I'm not.”
“You don't know what I was going to say.”
“Yes, I do.”
The next morning, we met in a small restaurant outside Albany.
Adrian was already seated.
Alone.
No expensive suit.
Dark sweater.
Black coat.
He looked less like a Mafia Boss.
More like the man I remembered stealing food from my plate.
That was somehow worse.
I sat opposite him.
“Start talking.”
He did.
“Victoria Ashton was married to Gabriel Ashton.”
“I know.”
“What you don't know is Gabriel wasn't only connected to my organization. He was investigating it.”
I frowned.
“For whom?”
“Himself.”
Adrian folded his hands.
“Gabriel discovered money disappearing from Blackwood companies. Weapons moving through warehouses I had forbidden anyone to use. Payments to men I had never approved.”
“You expect me to believe you had moral limits?”
“No.”
That answer stopped me.
Adrian's expression remained steady.
“I expect you to believe I had rules. You knew that.”
I did.
His world had never been clean.
But Adrian had prohibited certain things.
Drugs near schools.
Trafficking.
Violence against families.
Children.
“Gabriel discovered someone was using my name without my knowledge.”
“Who?”
“My uncle, Richard.”
I remembered Richard Blackwood.
Adrian's father's younger brother.
Polished.
Charming.
Always smiling.
The man who gave a speech at our wedding about loyalty.
“He was moving weapons through our shipping routes,” Adrian continued. “Gabriel found proof. Before he could bring it to me, he died.”
“How?”
“Officially? Car accident.”
“And actually?”
“Brake line.”
My stomach tightened.
“Victoria knew?”
“She found Gabriel's files.”
“So she came to you.”
“Yes.”
“Why secretly?”
“Because Richard had people inside my security.”
I remembered the empty corridor outside the library.
No guards.
“Those men outside your library…”
“I sent them away because I didn't know who was loyal.”
“And Victoria?”
“She'd been receiving threats.”
I looked at him.
“Why were you holding her?”
Adrian closed his eyes briefly.
“Because she had just received photographs of her six-year-old niece leaving school.”
My anger faltered.
“She was terrified.”
“Yes.”
“She was crying.”
“Yes.”
“And you…”
“I was trying to stop her from collapsing.”
I stared at the table.
Seven years.
Seven years built around one image.
Adrian holding Victoria.
Victoria against his chest.
“It still doesn't explain the lies.”
“No.”
My head lifted.
He didn't defend himself.
“You lied when I asked if you were in danger.”
“Yes.”
“You shut me out.”
“Yes.”
“You made me feel insane for noticing something was wrong.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I was arrogant.”
I hadn't expected that.
“I thought if you didn't know, you couldn't be used against me.”
“You don't get to decide what I can survive.”
“I know that now.”
“Convenient.”
“Painfully.”
I looked toward the window.
“What happened after I left?”
Adrian became still.
“I found your ring.”
His voice changed.
“And your letter.”
I swallowed.
“I read it fourteen times before sunrise.”
My eyes burned.
“I searched your room. You'd taken almost nothing. That terrified me because it meant you hadn't left impulsively.”
“I hadn't.”
“I searched every station, airport, hospital, hotel.”
“I know.”
“You knew?”
“Newspapers reported that Blackwood men were everywhere.”
His jaw tightened.
“I thought someone had taken you.”
“No.”
“For three days I didn't sleep.”
I looked at him.
“Then Victoria disappeared too.”
“What?”
“Richard found her.”
My blood went cold.
“Did he kill her?”
“No. He tried.”
Adrian pulled an envelope from inside his coat.
Placed it between us.
I didn't touch it.
“What is that?”
“Victoria's statement.”
“She's alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Federal protection.”
I stared.
“She testified against Richard's people five years ago.”
“Then where is Richard?”
Adrian's expression hardened.
“Missing.”
“Since when?”
“Six years and eleven months.”
My body went cold.
One month after I disappeared.
“He ran?”
“We thought so.”
“You don't anymore.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Adrian looked at me.
“Because three weeks ago one of his old accounts became active.”
I stopped breathing.
“Before you found me?”
“Yes.”
“So finding us yesterday…”
“Was an accident.”
I almost laughed.
Seven years of hiding.
Destroyed by a broken wheel.
“But someone may have seen you.”
“Yes.”
“And Nicholas.”
“Yes.”
Fear rose.
Adrian leaned forward.
“Claire, listen carefully. I will not take Nicholas from you.”
My eyes snapped toward him.
“I wasn't—”
“Yes, you were.”
I said nothing.
“I saw your face yesterday. I know what you think my family might do.”
“Would they?”
“The old family?”
He paused.
“Yes.”
Honesty hurt.
“But I won't.”
“How do I know?”
“You don't.”
That answer again.
No manipulation.
No demand for trust.
“You watch what I do next and decide.”
I looked at him.
“Do you want custody?”
Pain crossed his face.
“I want my son.”
My muscles tightened.
“But wanting him and owning him aren't the same thing.”
He swallowed.
“I lost seven years. I want to scream about that. I want to ask how you could look at our child and never tell me.”
My eyes filled.
“But I also know why you were afraid.”
Silence.
“And if I use my money or name to punish you for that fear, then I prove you were right.”
I looked away because tears had started.
Adrian continued.
“I want to know him.”
“He might not want to know you.”
“I'll accept that.”
“Would you?”
“No.”
A sad smile.
“But I'll respect it.”
We sat silently.
Finally I touched Victoria's envelope.
Inside were photographs.
Financial records.
A handwritten letter.
Victoria's handwriting.
Claire, if you ever read this, I owe you an apology. Adrian never touched me romantically. I knew how our meetings looked, and I let you believe the worst because keeping Richard convinced that Adrian and I were having an affair gave us cover. I told myself your jealousy was a small price compared to keeping you alive. I was wrong. We protected your body while destroying your trust.
I stopped.
Adrian watched me.
“She wrote that six years ago.”
“Why didn't you find me and show me?”
“I couldn't find you.”
“You're Adrian Blackwood.”
“Apparently you're very good at disappearing.”
A tearful laugh escaped me.
He almost smiled.
Then his phone vibrated.
Adrian looked at the screen.
His expression changed instantly.
“What?”
He stood.
“We need Nicholas.”
My chair scraped backward.
“What happened?”
“Someone entered your Vermont house.”
My heart stopped.
“How do you know where I live?”
“Claire—”
“You followed me!”
“No. I had Marco check every address connected to the alias after yesterday.”
“You promised—”
“I know.”
“You promised!”
“And I'm breaking that promise because someone broke into your home twenty minutes ago.”
My anger collided with fear.
“What did they take?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why—”
“They left something.”
“What?”
Adrian turned his phone.
A photograph from Margaret.
My kitchen table.
On it sat a black rose.
And a card.
WELCOME BACK, CLAIRE BLACKWOOD.
My blood froze.
Richard.
Adrian called Marco.
“Bring Nicholas inside.”
I stared.
“What do you mean bring him inside?”
Adrian's eyes met mine.
“Nicholas is across the street with two of my men.”
Rage exploded.
“You brought guards?”
“I put them there after the break-in.”
“You had no right!”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that!”
“Because I'm choosing between breaking your trust and letting someone shoot my son!”
The restaurant fell silent.
Adrian lowered his voice.
“My son.”
It was the first time he'd said it with anger.
Not at Nicholas.
At seven stolen years.
At himself.
At me.
At the world.
He closed his eyes.
“I'm sorry.”
I couldn't answer.
Then the restaurant window shattered.
Adrian hit me before I heard the gunshot.
We fell.
People screamed.
A second bullet struck the wall.
Adrian covered my body with his.
“Stay down!”
Men rushed inside.
Marco.
Security.
Adrian looked toward the window.
Then across the street.
“Nicholas.”
He ran.
I followed.
“Adrian!”
A black SUV accelerated away.
Across the street, one Blackwood guard lay bleeding.
The second was on his knees.
Marco grabbed him.
“Where's the boy?”
The man's face was white.
“They took him.”
Everything inside me died.
“No.”
Adrian turned.
For one second, the Mafia Boss disappeared.
There was only a father.
Terrified.
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
Adrian answered.
Richard Blackwood's voice came through the speaker.
“Hello, nephew.”
Adrian's face became stone.
“If you touch him—”
“You'll what?”
Richard laughed.
“Start a war?”
Adrian said nothing.
“You already lost that war seven years ago.”
My heart stopped.
“What do you want?” Adrian asked.
“Victoria's evidence.”
“It was turned over years ago.”
“Not all of it.”
Adrian looked at me.
“What are you talking about?”
Richard laughed again.
“Ask your wife.”
I shook my head.
I knew nothing.
Then Richard said:
“Ask Claire what was hidden inside the three-page love letter she left on your desk.”
Adrian slowly turned toward me.
I stared back.
Because suddenly I remembered something I had forgotten for seven years.
The paper.
My letter.
I'd bought it from a little stationery shop near Grand Central.
Heavy cream paper.
But the morning after I purchased it, Victoria had visited the estate.
She had been alone in the library for almost an hour.
And when I wrote my goodbye letter that night, one page had felt thicker than the others.
At the time, I'd thought nothing of it.
Now Adrian whispered:
“Claire?”
My blood went cold.
May you like
Because if Richard was right, then the evidence everyone had killed for might have been sitting beneath my wedding ring the entire night.
And somewhere in New York, our seven-year-old son was now paying the price for secrets neither of his parents had understood.
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