Norah's first reaction was not joy.
It was anger.
Pure, immediate anger.
She stared at Victor while memories crashed into each other inside her head.
The laundry room.
Frozen mornings.
His bruised knuckles.
The blue bead.
The chain-link fence.
Twenty years.
Victor remained kneeling.
“Norah.”
She snatched the ring from his hand.
“You don't get to say my name like that.”
Tommy quietly stepped backward.
Mrs. Gable looked completely lost.
Victor rose.
“I can explain.”
Norah laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“Twenty years?”
Victor's expression hardened, not toward her but toward himself.
“I looked for you.”
“For twenty years?”
“Not at first.”
“At least that's honest.”
She pushed herself upright.
Her cut thumb had begun bleeding again.
Victor noticed.
“Your hand.”
“My hand is fine.”
“It needs stitches.”
“I said it's fine.”
He reached toward her.
Norah stepped away.
That movement struck him harder than shouting would have.
Victor's arm dropped.
Mrs. Gable found her voice.
“Mr. Costa, should I—”
“Everyone out.”
Tommy hesitated.
“Victor.”
“Out.”
Tommy left.
Mrs. Gable followed.
The doors closed.
Norah stood across from Victor, clutching the copper ring.
The powerful man before her suddenly seemed divided into two people.
Victor Costa.
And Vic.
She hated them both for different reasons.
“You said you would come back.”
“I know.”
“I waited.”
His eyes closed briefly.
“I know.”
“No, you don't.”
Norah stepped closer.
“I stood by that fence every day for almost a year.”
Victor stared at her.
“Every car that came through the gate, I thought maybe it was you.”
“Norah—”
“I kept your stupid ring.”
Her voice broke.
She hated herself for it.
“I moved through six foster placements. I slept in shelters. I worked two jobs after high school. And I kept this ridiculous piece of wire because there was one idiot boy who said somebody was coming back for me.”
Victor's face tightened.
“I tried.”
“When?”
“After juvenile detention.”
Norah stopped.
Victor walked toward the window.
His reflection hovered against the dark ocean.
“I was transferred three times. At fifteen, I ran. At sixteen, I was sleeping behind restaurants. At seventeen, I started doing work for Carlo Costa.”
Norah knew the name.
Victor's adoptive father.
The previous head of the Costa family.
“He found me fighting two men outside one of his clubs,” Victor continued. “Instead of calling police, he offered me fifty dollars.”
“For what?”
Victor smiled without warmth.
“To deliver a package.”
“You knew what was inside?”
“No.”
“Did you eventually?”
“Yes.”
Norah looked away.
Victor continued.
“By eighteen I had money. Not much. But enough to go looking for St. Jude's.”
He turned.
“It was closed.”
Norah remembered.
The orphanage had been shut after an investigation.
Records were moved.
Children scattered.
“I asked everyone I could find.”
“What did they tell you?”
“That Norah Hayes had entered foster care.”
“And that was it?”
“I searched state records. Paid investigators later. There were three women with your name.”
Norah folded her arms.
“Apparently none of them were cleaning your floors.”
Victor flinched.
She regretted the cruelty for half a second.
Then remembered twenty years.
He deserved some cruelty.
“I didn't know,” he said.
“You didn't recognize me.”
“You were eight.”
“You were ten.”
“I didn't recognize you either.”
That silenced her.
Fair.
Victor glanced at her bleeding thumb.
“At least let me call a doctor.”
“No.”
“Norah.”
“What?”
He almost smiled.
“You were stubborn at eight.”
“You were violent at ten.”
“I've improved.”
Norah looked around the room.
“Have you?”
His smile disappeared.
A long silence passed.
Victor finally said, “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Not far.”
“No.”
“There's something you need to see.”
“I don't need to see anything.”
“Please.”
The word sounded unnatural coming from him.
That alone made Norah hesitate.
Victor Costa did not look like a man who said please.
She followed.
They walked through corridors Norah had cleaned hundreds of times.
Victor entered his private office.
She had never been allowed inside.
The room contained bookshelves, a fireplace, security monitors, and a heavy desk.
Victor opened a drawer.
Then another hidden compartment inside it.
He removed a small metal box.
It was dented.
Old.
Nothing like anything else in the mansion.
Victor placed it on the desk.
Norah stared.
“What is that?”
He opened it.
Inside lay a faded photograph.
Two children stood beside a chain-link fence.
Norah's breath stopped.
She recognized the dress.
The terrible haircut.
Vic's permanently angry expression.
Someone at St. Jude's had taken the picture during a charity event.
“How do you have that?”
“I stole it from Sister Margaret's office before they transferred me.”
Norah looked up.
Victor removed another object.
A tiny piece of blue glass.
Broken from the same necklace he had used to make her ring.
“I kept the other bead.”
Norah's throat tightened.
He placed it beside the photograph.
“I didn't forget you.”
“You still didn't come back.”
“No.”
Victor did not defend himself.
“That is something I have to live with.”
His honesty disarmed her more effectively than excuses would have.
Norah picked up the photograph.
“You really searched?”
“For years.”
“Then why stop?”
Victor leaned against the desk.
“Because eventually I convinced myself you were better off if I didn't find you.”
“What does that mean?”
He gestured around them.
“This.”
Norah understood.
“Your organization.”
“My life.”
“You decided for me.”
“Yes.”
“That was arrogant.”
“Yes.”
“You haven't changed much.”
A faint smile appeared.
“No.”
Her anger weakened despite herself.
She immediately resented it.
Victor took his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling Dr. Mercer.”
“I said I don't need—”
He pressed the phone.
“Your thumb needs stitches.”
“Victor.”
He froze.
The sound of his name from her mouth affected him visibly.
Not Mr. Costa.
Victor.
She noticed.
So did he.
A voice answered.
Victor looked away.
“I need you at the house.”
Norah crossed her arms.
“You've become incredibly bossy.”
He ended the call.
“I was always bossy.”
“You used to steal pudding.”
“You used to help.”
“You threatened me.”
“You ate half.”
Despite everything, Norah laughed.
It escaped before she could stop it.
Victor stared.
For one instant he was twelve again.
Then a knock sounded.
Tommy entered.
His expression erased the moment.
“We have a problem.”
Victor straightened.
“What?”
“Moretti's people arrived early.”
“The dinner isn't for another hour.”
“They brought twice the security we agreed to.”
Victor's entire body changed.
The softness disappeared.
His face became controlled.
Dangerous.
Norah saw Victor Costa replacing Vic in real time.
Tommy glanced at her.
“They're asking questions about the staff.”
“Why?”
“One of them saw the vase.”
Victor's eyes narrowed.
“So?”
“They heard you cleared the room.”
Norah frowned.
Tommy continued.
“They think somebody witnessed something they weren't supposed to.”
Victor looked at Norah.
Her stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
Victor walked toward the door.
“It means you aren't working tonight.”
“I need the hours.”
“You're going upstairs.”
“No.”
He stared.
Norah lifted her chin.
“Don't start deciding my life again five minutes after finding me.”
Tommy looked as though he desperately wanted to be somewhere else.
Victor's jaw tightened.
“Norah, those men are dangerous.”
“So are you.”
“Yes.”
The answer came instantly.
“At least I know I won't hurt you.”
Something about the certainty in his voice stopped her.
Victor faced Tommy.
“Put two men outside the east guest room.”
Norah objected.
“I'm not a prisoner.”
Victor turned.
“No. You're the only person in this house I can't afford to lose.”
Silence.
Norah's anger faltered.
Victor continued toward the door.
“Stay upstairs until the meeting ends.”
“What happens if I don't?”
He looked back.
For a moment she expected the mafia boss.
Instead, she saw Vic.
The boy who had once broken every rule in St. Jude's because somebody shoved her into the dirt.
He said quietly:
“Then I'll spend the entire night worrying about you instead of the men who came here hoping to kill me.”
And walked out.
Norah remained beside the old photograph.
She should have been terrified.
She should have quit.
She should have walked out of the estate and never returned.
Instead, she looked down at the crooked copper ring.
Twenty years ago, a boy had promised to find her.
He had failed.
But standing in his office, surrounded by proof that he had remembered, Norah realized something far more dangerous than discovering Victor Costa was Vic.
A part of her had never stopped waiting.