Page 45 of The Golden Hour

“It’s about your uncle Anthony.”

It’s a miracle I don’t choke on my mouthful of tea. Still, there’s no way Vivian missed the way my shoulders tightened.

“I want to apologize for what happened after he died. When I picked you up from school.”

She looks down, a manicured fingernail sliding along a golden vein on the counter, a disquieting reflection of my own action. Had she been watching me?

“Rafael told me to give you that envelope. I didn’t realize what was in it—I thought it was a letter from your uncle to you or… something. I didn’t know.”

I say the first thing that comes into my mind, “He told you from prison?”

She nods. “He called the night before Anthony died. Enzo brought me the envelope the following morning.”

“And you didn’t look inside?”

Her eyes flicker up, filled with hurt. “In retrospect, I should have. I never would have given it to you. Of course, I was stunned that they were plane tickets. Did you know he was going to take you away from us?”

“No,” I lie. “I was eight. All I knew was that Uncle Ant had been acting odd for months, but nothing that far out of the norm. He was always eccentric.”

“That he was,” she says wryly.

“You’re telling me that Dad had Anthony killed?” My voice is even, my tone mild.

Vivian arches an eyebrow, gaze sharpening with something I’ve never seen her direct toward me. Respect.

“There was a time a conversation such as this would have put you in tears.” She shakes her head. “Obviously I’m not glad you went through what you did, but at the same time, it’s a joy to finally see your potential come to fruition.”

You never thought I had potential.

“Thank you. Are you avoiding answering the question?”

She laughs, throaty and sincere. “Touché.” Sobering, she answers, “Yes, your father was responsible for Anthony’s death.” Before the words—the confirmation of one of my worst fears—can sink in, she adds, “And I want you to help me find out why.”

Reeling, I ask, “What do you mean? Didn’t you just imply it was because he wanted to take me away?” I can’t keep the resentment from my voice. “Even at eight, I understood what those tickets—and their delivery—meant.”

“Again, I’m so sorry. No young girl should have to face a truth like that, and I know Anthony’s death affected you deeply.”

“Yes, it did. It was difficult to understand at the time.”

She cocks her head, blond tresses swinging gently over her shoulder. “But you understand now?”

Tucking away my horror and grief, I nod. “Am I shocked to hear you admit it was Dad who had him killed? Yes, but only because we’ve never had this kind of honest conversation before. I appreciate the truth, Vivian. I’d like more of it.”

She smiles wistfully. “So would I, which is why I’m asking for your help. I think there’s more to why Anthony wanted to disappear with you.”

My heart rate spikes. “Like what, exactly?”

“You spent a lot of time at his ranch,” she says casually, then shrugs. “Maybe there’s something there that might trigger a memory for you. I don’t know… was there a place he used to hide things?”

My scalp tingles. Looking down, I fight to keep my reaction from my face. I don’t believe in serendipity, but the fact our conversation so closely mirrors my earlier thoughts is eerie. And it means I’m on the right track.

Uncle Ant knew something. Maybe kept something. A file. A USB drive. A photograph. And Vivian wants me to find it. Whatever it is, it’s damaging enough to warrant her request.

I’m not stupid enough to think she trusts me. This is a test of my loyalty, a chance to prove to her that I’m an Avellino through and through. Or, just as likely, an invitation for me to fail and confirm that I’m a stain on the family’s honor.

“Not that I can recall,” I say, looking up with a frown. “Wasn’t the ranch searched after his death?”

“Yes, several times. But I’d like you to take a look. We’ve kept the property unchanged.”

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