Rory never remembered stepping aside, allowing her door to swing wide, but somehow the four of them ended up in her parlor—herself, Zeke, Tony and the woman with the dark hair and bitter eyes.
Zeke’s sister.
An astonished silence had followed Zeke’s statement, though it did not shock Rory so much to discover that he had a sister, or even that by contrast, the woman’s clothes appeared plain and worn next to Zeke’s expensive suit. What mostly stunned Rory was the depth of hatred contorting the woman’s face. Although she had consented to enter, she lingered near the door, retreating deeper into the depths of her shawl as though she could not bear the sight of Zeke.
Rory’s parlor had always been more cozy than spacious. With the undercurrents of emotion crackling in the air, the room seemed stifling. The woman said nothing, merely fretting the ends of her shawl. Tony hovered near Rory, glaring at Zeke like a jealous dog guarding a bone. Rory felt at a loss as to what to say or do next. Only Zeke maintained a semblance of calm. Leaning up against the mantel, he crossed his arms over his chest. His gaze remained steady, never wavering from his sister’sface. “This is a most unexpected reunion, Tessa. Permit me to introduce you to Miss Kavanaugh. Rory, this is my sister?—”
“You are no brother of mine!” The woman spoke at last, her voice charged with loathing.
Only the flicker of an eyelid betrayed that her harsh words had any effect on Zeke. “So you have always told me, Tessa, on many occasions.” He continued with deliberate emphasis. “This is my sister, Theresa Marceone.”
He tipped his chin to that pugnacious angle, as though challenging her to contradict him again. When she did nothing but compress her lips, he turned to Rory. “And your friend?”
It took Rory an instant to realize that he was inquiring after Tony.
“This is Tony. Tony Bertelli.”
“Ah, the long-lost balloon assistant.”
It was as well Zeke didn’t offer his hand, for Tony would never have taken it. Rory held her breath as the two men sized each other up, the hostility overt at least on Tony’s part. She had thought that Tony had grown to be such a man of late. But standing in Zeke’s shadow, he appeared no more than a sulky boy, and Rory sensed that Tony was miserably aware of that fact.
“Well, Mr. Bertelli, I missed some of what you were saying outside.” Zeke’s pleasantness was deceptive, never reaching as far as his eyes. “Perhaps you’d like to explain again why you have brought Tessa to call upon Rory.”
“If I had known you would be here,” Tessa spat out. “I wouldn’t have come.”
“I have no doubt of that. But forgive me, Tessa. I was addressing Mr. Bertelli.”
Tony’s face washed a dull red, but he thrust his hands in his pockets, adopting that belligerent stance Rory knew too well. “I don’t like Rory going out with strangers. I told her I’d do some checking. My brother Angelo has this friend who?—.”
“Oh, please, Tony.” Rory gave a weary sigh. “Not that bit with the second cousin again.”
“Anyhow,” Tony continued doggedly, “I was lucky enough to track down Miss Marceone here, ask her some questions. I told her I had this friend who was getting involved with this Morrison fellow. She was nice enough to come with me to see Rory. To—” Tony faltered, looking a little uncomfortable beneath Zeke’s hard stare.
“To warn her?” Zeke filled in softly.
Rory tried to intervene. “This is all very melodramatic and quite silly.”
“Perhaps not, my dear,” Zeke said, shifting his attention back to his sister. “What about it, Tessa? You’ve come a long way. Aren’t you going to speak your piece? Don’t hold back on my account.”
“I don’t intend to,” she said.
“Good for you. I’ll say this much for you. You never were a backbiter. You always were willing to abuse me quite freely to my face.”
Tessa ignored him, turning instead to Rory. Peering from beneath the layers of that black shawl, the woman made Rory think of a strange play Da had once taken her to see, something about the old days in Greece. A group of women had acted like a chorus chanting dire predictions. Theresa Marceone reminded Rory of just such a harbinger of doom as she gestured toward Zeke.
“Miss Kavanaugh, you don’t want to have anything to do with my broth— with this person here who calls himself Zeke Morrison. He’s a bad man.”
Rory opened her mouth, then closed it. What on earth was one supposed to reply to such a statement? She didn’t want to insult the woman, nor did she wish to listen to Tessa’s venomous remarks about Zeke either. Rory cast an appealingglance toward him, seeking some sort of guidance on how to handle this extraordinary situation. But Zeke appeared to have retreated behind a wall of detachment as though none of these proceedings concerned him.
Tony tugged at her elbow, urging in a low voice, “You listen to Miss Marceone, Rory. She ought to know. She can tell you everything.”
Tessa nodded in grim agreement. “My mother took that man off the streets when he was seven years old. She used to call him Johnnie, raised him up like her own son. He repaid her with nothing but heartaches. In and out of trouble until he had to flee New York. He finally returned, a rich man, though God alone knows how.”
Tessa paused to cross herself. “That was when he finally broke my mother’s heart, turned his back on her.”
“That is not true,” Zeke interrupted. “I would have given that woman heaven and earth.”
“Mama didn’t want heaven and earth.” Tessa whipped about to face Zeke, her eyes burning. “All she ever wanted was some small sign of love from you, just once to hear you call her ‘mother.’ All your lousy money and you couldn’t even give her that.”
