Veil Of Vengeance

Chapter Three

Her baby might not survive. You are already plotting how to bury everything secret while inside you care nothing about the tragedy.

Malcolm uses his jaw muscles in silent motion before he begins his conversation. "You're upset. We will address this matter when emotions are more controlled. A brutal January wind seems to exist in his eyes when he turns toward me. The best thing for you is to seek different housing arrangements until the funeral service concludes.

The painful words created physical impacts yet worse experiences have already occurred. Far worse.

"Malcolm!" Vivian gasps. "What will people say?"

People stir up their endless stream of judgments with no end.

Malcolm expresses disregard for what others miMalcolm snaps. "She should have been watching Rosalie. She knew she was in a delicate condition and did nothing."

"I didn't know she was five months along," I say quietly, but it doesn't matter. Truth rarely does in this house.

"You had a responsibility"

"She's not responsible for Rosie's choices!" Roman interrupts, stepping between us. "None of us are. And if Athena leaves, so do I."

Malcolm's face reddens further. "Don't be dramatic."

"I'm not being dramatic." Roman's voice is deadly calm. "I'm being absolutely clear. If you throw Athena out, you lose me too. And good luck explaining that to your precious society friends."

Father and son stare at each other, years of unspoken tension crystallizing in this moment. Finally, Malcolm looks away.

"Fine. She can stay." He straightens his already impeccable tie. "We have funeral arrangements to attend to."

They leave without another word, Vivian casting a backward glance that might almost be apologetic if I were feeling generous. I'm not.

The moment they disappear from my body I become too weak to stand up. I collapse onto the marble floor while the freezing temperature penetrates through my jeans.

From his position next to me Roman expresses his apology. "About what he said. About all of it."

"Is it true?" I ask. "About the tax write-off?"

Roman waits for only a moment before I realize how he feels. "It wasn't the only reason."

"Just the main one."

He accepts this truth matter-of-factly in a way that I value. I spent three years masquerading as family while honesty became my most important principle.

He finishes his thought by telling me that the reasons for their actions no longer matter. "You're here. You're family to me, at least."

Family. Such a simple word for such a complicated concept.

Roman "She kept it secret from us for five entire months." Five months." I hold my palms against my eyes to create a starry picture behind closed lids. "Why wouldn't she tell us?"

"Shame, maybe. Or denial." He stretches his body against the wall as he exhales. The piece of paper might indicate that she prepared some form of action.

He delivered his words with such a certain tone that I ended up looking up from my thoughts. "What do you mean?"

A moment passes before he clears his throat to retrieve a piece of crumpled paper from his pocket. The note she had hidden appeared in her bedroom yesterday night. I was looking for... I don't know what I was looking for."

The paper is expensive stationery, Rosie's elegant handwriting looping across it. A checklist.

Passport Cash (at least $10K) Mom's diamond tennis bracelet Birth certificate Prenup???

"Prenup?" I look up at Roman, confused.

"Keep reading."

At the bottom, circled several times: Tell Lucien ASAP!!! Catskills Friday NO EXCUSES!!

"She was planning to elope," Roman says quietly. "She thought if she showed up, pregnant with his child..."

"He'd marry her." The pieces click into place. "That's why she needed my car. She was running away."

Roman nods. "I called him Lucien. This morning, after we left the hospital."

My blood runs cold. "What did he say?"

"He said she was crazy. That she'd been stalking him for months, threatening to tell his parents they were together unless he married her." Roman's voice is flat. "He said he told her to get an abortion or he'd get a restraining order."

Rage builds inside me, white-hot and all-consuming. "He knew she was pregnant? He admitted it?"

"He knew. He said it wasn't his problem."

Not his problem. A girl dead, a baby fighting for life not his problem.

"He killed her," I whisper. "As surely as if he'd driven her off that road himself."

Roman doesn't disagree. "The world doesn't punish men like Lucien Dumas."

"It should." The thought forms like a crystal, sharp and clear. "It will."

The funeral is exactly what Malcolm and Vivian wanted, elegant, restrained, a perfect society event masquerading as grief. The church is filled with flowers, each arrangement more elaborate than the last. Rosie would have loved it, being the center of attention one final time.

I wear black because it's expected, not because it feels right. Black is too simple for Rosie. She was crimson rage and golden ambition and emerald envy. She was a kaleidoscope of colors, never just one.

The Dumas family sits three rows back, appropriately solemn. Lucien wears designer mourning like a costume, his handsome face arranged in an expression of dignified sadness. Only I notice his eyes darting to his watch, counting minutes until he can leave.

The rage that's been building since the morgue threatens to choke me.

"Steady," Roman murmurs, his hand finding mine between us. "Not here."

I squeeze back, grateful for his anchor. Throughout the service, I feel Lucien's eyes on us, curious and calculating. I don't look back. Let him wonder. Let him worry.

After, at the reception, Vivian plays the grieving mother perfectly, accepting condolences with just the right amount of dignified suffering. Malcolm works the room like the businessman he is, turning even tragedy into networking opportunity.

I escape to the library, Rosie's favorite hiding place when we were younger. The room smells of leather and old paper, a sanctuary from the performative grief happening outside.

"I thought I might find you here."

I turn to find Lucien Dumas leaning against a bookshelf, champagne flute in hand. Seeing him up close ignites something primal in me hatred so pure it feels holy.

"Get out," I say quietly.

He smiles, charming and empty. "You must be the charity case. Athena, right? Rosie mentioned you occasionally."

I bet she did. I can imagine exactly how those mentions went.

"I said get out."

The man takes a small sip of champagne while observing me through his glass. I came to express my condolences to him at that moment. Rosie was... spirited."

Spirited. His behavior implied she belonged to the same category as steed rather than the mother of his child he deserted.

"No one knew she had been carrying her baby for five months right before she passed away."" I ask, my voice deadly calm.

His expression flickers surprise, then calculation. "I heard rumors. Tragic, if true."

"It's true. They saved the baby."

That gets his attention. The champagne flute pauses halfway to his lips. "Excuse me?"

"Your daughter." I step closer, savoring his discomfort. "She's in the NICU. Barely a pound, but fighting."

Lucien Dumas shows genuine shock when he reacts with this statement for the first time. He says "If this is some kind of shakedown"

"A shakedown?" My laughter produces a tone that could slice through glass. Do you believe this is a extortion attempt? Right now your daughter battles for survival and you believe I'm demanding money from you.

He recovers quickly, face hardening. "Listen carefully. Whatever Rosie told you, that child isn't mine. We hooked up once, months ago. She's been obsessed ever since."

The lie is so smooth, so practiced, that for a second I almost believe him. Then I remember Rosie's face that night terrified, desperate, but never delusional.

"DNA tests are simple these days," I say softly. "One swab and everyone will know exactly what kind of man Lucien Dumas really is."

Fear flashes in his eyes, quickly masked by anger. "My family has excellent lawyers."

"So does mine."

We both understand the empty threat since the Darios cannot be considered my family but Lucien lets the comment pass without question.

"What do you want?" The manipulative part of his persona peeks through when he reveals the hidden intent that lies beneath his disguise.

What do I want? Revenge. Justice. I want to observe him endure similar suffering to how Rosie endured it.

In response I tell him only "Nothing from you." "Just stay away from her. The baby. She deserves better than you."

He seems relieved because he believes he can escape without punishment. "Gladly. The discussion never took place in my eyes.

I have one more thing to say as he starts to walk away.

"Lucien?" My voice stops him at the door. "She looks just like Rosie. Your daughter. Same eyes."

It's a lie, the baby is too premature, too undeveloped to resemble anyone yet, but I want to plant the seed, the doubt that will grow into fear. I want him looking for Rosie's ghost in every blonde girl he passes for the rest of his life.

His jaw tightens before he walks out without another word.

Roman finds me minutes later, concern etched on his features. "I saw Lucien leave. What happened?"

"I told him about the baby."

"Athena," he sighs. "Was that wise?"

"No." I move to the window, watching guests mingle on the manicured lawn below. "But it felt good."

Roman stands beside me, our shoulders touching. "My parents are moving forward with the adoption plan. Private, closed. They've already found a couple in Connecticut."

Connecticut. Far enough away that the scandal won't touch the precious Dario name. Rage bubbles up again, familiar now.

"She's family, Roman. She's all that's left of Rosie."

"I know." His voice is heavy with defeat. "But I'm still a minor for another three months. I have no legal standing."

"And after that? When you're eighteen?"

He shakes his head. "By then, it will be done. Sealed records, new birth certificate. She'll be gone."

Gone. Like Rosie. Another piece of her erased because it's inconvenient, messy, human.

"She deserves better," I whisper. "Than all of us."

Roman's hand finds mine again, a lifeline in the storm. "You were the only one Rosie trusted in the end. That means something."

Trust. A fragile thing, especially coming from Rosie. And I failed her. I let her take my car. I let her drive away.

"I should have stopped her."

"How? She was Rosie. She always got what she wanted."

Not this time. This time what she wanted Lucien, legitimacy, love drove her off a dark mountain road to her death.

A terrible idea begins to form something reckless, impossible, yet perfect in its symmetry. A way to right wrongs, to give the baby what she deserves, to make Lucien pay all at once.

"What if there was a way?" I say slowly. "To keep her. To make Lucien face what he did."

Roman looks at me warily. "What are you thinking?"

I turn to face him fully. "Your parents want this to disappear. Lucien wants to pretend he was never involved. Everyone's trying to rewrite history."

"Yes, and?"

"So we rewrite it first." The plan crystallizes as I speak. "What if Rosie didn't die pregnant and alone? What if she was engaged to Lucien? What if they were planning to marry before the accident?"

Roman's eyes widen as he follows my logic. "That's Athena, that's insane. Everyone knows they weren't engaged."

"Do they? Rosie was planning to elope. She had a checklist. What if there was more? Love letters, ring receipts, prenup drafts?"

"Forgeries," he says flatly.

"Or insurance. Rosie was many things, but stupid wasn't one of them. If she was planning to trap Lucien into marriage, she'd have evidence."

Understanding dawns in Roman's eyes. "Her cloud accounts. Her journals".