Saint Agnes Keeps Its Secrets

Chapter 07 - Saint Agnes Keeps Its Secrets

The nurse did not run fast enough.

Dominic caught up with her at the service stairwell without touching her. He simply stepped in front of the door, large and silent, and the woman stopped as if she had run into a wall.

Claire arrived a second later, breathless, Mr. Buttons clutched against her chest.

The nurse was young, perhaps twenty-five, with a face gone gray from fear.

“I don’t know anything.”

Dominic’s voice was calm.

“That is never true.”

Claire stepped between them—not fully, not foolishly, just enough for the nurse to see another woman before she saw the man everyone feared.

“We’re looking for Alessandro Valenti,” Claire said. “He may be very sick. He may not be using that name.”

The nurse looked at the rabbit.

Her eyes filled.

“He talked about that toy.”

Claire’s legs nearly gave.

Dominic gripped the railing until his knuckles whitened.

“Where is he?”

The nurse swallowed.

“Fourth floor. East wing. Room 412.”

Rocco, arriving behind them with two men, whispered, “They told me that wing was closed.”

“It is closed,” the nurse said. “On paper.”

Dominic leaned closer.

“Who pays for it?”

She looked at Claire, not him.

“Saint Agnes Charitable Trust.”

Valentina.

The name passed through everyone without being said.

The elevator required a key card. The nurse’s hand shook so badly she missed the slot twice. Dominic did not snap at her. Claire noticed.

People revealed themselves under stress. Some became cruel because fear gave them permission. Dominic became quieter.

On the fourth floor, the hallway smelled of disinfectant, old radiator heat, and secrets.

Only three rooms had lights on.

At room 412, the nurse stopped.

“He won’t know you at first.”

Claire’s throat closed.

“Why?”

“They keep him medicated.”

Dominic’s face went murderous.

The nurse flinched.

Claire put a hand on the door.

“Let us in.”

Inside, a man lay asleep beneath a thin blanket.

Machines whispered around him, not the urgent machines of emergency rooms, but the patient, monotonous equipment of hidden suffering. He was thinner. Beard longer. Hair threaded with more gray than Claire remembered possible in three years.

But it was Andrew.

Alessandro.

Sophie’s father.

Claire made it two steps before her body forgot how to work.

Dominic caught her elbow, then released it as soon as she steadied.

She appreciated both things.

The man in the bed stirred.

His eyes opened slowly.

For a moment, they held nothing. Then pain. Then confusion. Then the terrible effort of a mind climbing through fog.

Dominic moved into his line of sight.

“Alessandro.”

The man blinked.

A tear slid sideways into his hair.

“Dom?”

Dominic’s face crumpled and restored itself so quickly that only Claire, watching for fractures now, saw it.

“Yes.”

Alessandro’s gaze wandered.

Claire stepped forward.

His breathing changed.

“Claire?”

She wanted to ask a hundred questions. Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you leave? Did you know about Sophie? Did you try to come back? Did you love me or only use me as a place to rest between lies?

But the man before her looked as though survival itself had been rationed.

So she said the only thing mercy allowed.

“She’s beautiful.”

Alessandro closed his eyes.

A sound escaped him.

“My baby?”

“Yes.”

“Girl?”

“Yes. Sophie.”

His lips moved around the name like prayer.

“Sophie.”

Claire placed Mr. Buttons beside his hand.

His fingers twitched toward it.

“I kept trying,” he whispered. “Letters. They took them.”

Dominic turned toward the nurse.

She began crying.

“I only started last month. I swear. I thought he was a protected witness or—”

Rocco spoke from the doorway.

“You thought a man kept drugged under a charity alias was protected?”

The nurse covered her face.

Alessandro’s eyes found Rocco.

Fear went through him so sharply that even sedatives could not soften it.

“No,” he whispered. “Don’t let him—”

Rocco stepped back as if struck.

Dominic moved between them.

“He won’t touch you.”

Alessandro tried to sit up. Machines complained.

“Dom. It wasn’t Rocco.”

Rocco froze.

Dominic leaned closer.

“Who?”

Alessandro swallowed. His eyes rolled once, fighting the medication.

“Valentina… and Paolo.”

Dominic’s head lifted.

Claire did not know the name, but everyone else did.

Rocco whispered, “Paolo died nine years ago.”

Alessandro’s mouth twisted.

“No.”

Dominic’s voice was barely audible.

“Our father’s consigliere?”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Bell’s words from earlier returned to Claire: Your father built a house. You turned it into a courtroom.

Apparently someone else had built the gallows.

Alessandro gripped Mr. Buttons with surprising strength.

“Paolo is running it. Valentina hides him.”

Dominic’s phone vibrated.

Marco’s name.

He answered.

For the first time all day, Marco sounded shaken.

“Boss, Valentina came to the mansion.”

Dominic’s face went still.

Marco continued.

“She asked to see the child.”

Claire’s blood turned to ice.

Dominic looked at her.

In the bed, Alessandro began fighting the blankets.

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“Sophie,” he gasped.

Then the lights went out.