Roman locked the bridal suite.

“Show me the scar.”

Clara pulled the torn fabric tighter.

“No.”

“Clara—”

“You bought my father’s debt. You arranged this marriage. People attacked our wedding. Now you recognize something on my body that I don’t understand.”

She stepped closer.

“So you start talking.”

Roman studied her.

Then he placed the pendant on the table.

“My mother gave me that.”

“Why?”

“She told me never to show my father.”

Clara frowned.

“Your father?”

“Salvatore DeLuca.”

She knew the name.

Everyone in Bellhaven did.

Roman’s father had built the DeLuca organization before dying twelve years earlier.

“What does he have to do with the Valentis?”

Roman looked toward the broken balcony.

“That’s what I intend to find out.”

A knock came.

“Boss.”

Roman opened the door.

His security chief, Luca Ferris, entered.

“We caught one alive.”

“Name?”

“He won’t give one.”

“Who paid him?”

“Nothing yet.”

Clara interrupted.

“Where’s my mother?”

Luca looked at Roman.

That hesitation was enough.

Clara’s voice sharpened.

“Where is she?”

Roman stepped between them.

“Find Evelyn.”

“We’re searching.”

“You said she was in the safe room.”

“I was told she was.”

“You lied.”

“I repeated information I believed.”

Clara moved toward the door.

Roman blocked her.

“Move.”

“No.”

“My mother is missing.”

“And someone just attacked this house.”

“Then you understand why I’m not staying here.”

Roman’s jaw tightened.

“You are either incredibly brave or incapable of recognizing danger.”

“Maybe Bellhaven spent so long telling me I was worthless that danger stopped being impressive.”

For the first time that night, Roman had no answer.

An hour later, Evelyn Whitmore was found in the mansion chapel.

Alive.

Alone.

Clara ran to her.

“Mom.”

Evelyn embraced her.

Then she saw Clara’s torn dress.

And the exposed scar.

Her face went white.

Roman noticed.

“You recognize it.”

Evelyn looked at him.

“No.”

“Mrs. Whitmore.”

“I said no.”

Roman placed the pendant on a pew.

Evelyn stared at the winged crown.

Her hands began trembling.

Clara stepped back.

“Mom?”

Evelyn closed her eyes.

“Where did you get that?”

“My mother.”

Evelyn whispered something.

Roman leaned closer.

“What?”

“Lucia.”

Roman went still.

Lucia DeLuca had been his mother.

Clara looked between them.

“You knew Roman’s mother?”

Evelyn sat down.

“Twenty years ago.”

“What happened twenty years ago?”

Evelyn looked at Clara.

“You survived.”

Silence.

Clara’s throat tightened.

“Survived what?”

“The Valenti fire.”

Roman’s expression hardened.

“The entire Valenti family supposedly died.”

“Supposedly.”

Evelyn reached for Clara’s hand.

“You were five.”

Clara pulled away.

“My father told me I got this scar in a kitchen accident.”

“Thomas Whitmore wasn’t your biological father.”

Clara stared at her.

Evelyn began crying quietly.

“Your name was Chiara Valenti.”

Roman looked toward the crest.

Evelyn continued.

“Your father was Matteo Valenti. Your mother was Sofia. They controlled the eastern harbor.”

Clara’s voice barely emerged.

“And me?”

“Their only child.”

Roman turned toward the window.

The implications were immediate.

Clara understood them too.

“If I’m a Valenti…”

“You may have a legal claim to everything Roman married you to obtain,” Evelyn said.

Clara looked at Roman.

The irony was almost absurd.

“You married me for my harbor.”

Roman met her eyes.

“It appears I married the harbor’s actual owner.”

But Evelyn shook her head.

“No.”

Both looked at her.

“That isn’t the worst part.”

“What is?” Clara asked.

Evelyn looked directly at Roman.

“The man who ordered the Valenti house burned was a DeLuca.”