“Ma’am, is that your husband?”
I nodded.
“Did he strike you?”
Before I could answer, Barrett stepped forward.
“She attacked someone in our bedroom.
I was defending Taryn.
Mallory lost control.”
Taryn’s fingers tightened around the robe.
Dominic said nothing.
He simply looked at Barrett.
That was when I saw the recognition again.
Barrett had gone pale when my father first entered.
Now, standing beneath the foyer lights, he looked almost sick.
I had always assumed Barrett knew virtually nothing about my father’s side of the family.
I had given him the simplified version when we married: my parents separated badly, my mother raised me, I had no relationship with my father.
I had never told him why people lowered their voices around Dominic Romano.
Apparently, I had not needed to.
The Hayes family already knew.
Barrett’s father had mentioned the name often enough during Barrett’s childhood that it had become a warning without needing an explanation.
Dominic was the sort of man people in their circle remembered because he did not forget obligations, insults, or threats against his family.
For twenty-five years, the Hayes family had preferred not to find out where that line ended.
And Barrett had just discovered he had married Dominic Romano’s daughter.
“You never told me,” Barrett said.
I stared at him.
Of everything that had happened that night, that was what offended him.
“You never asked,” I whispered.
He looked toward Dominic.
“Sir, whatever you’ve heard, this is a marital issue.”
My father finally spoke.
“A woman with broken ribs locked in a basement is not a marital issue.”
Barrett’s mouth opened.
Dominic raised one hand, not threateningly, simply ending the conversation.
“Talk to the police.”
That restraint seemed to frighten Barrett more than shouting would have.
The officer asked him to step into the sitting room.
Barrett resisted immediately.
“You don’t understand.
She came into the room and hit Taryn.
I reacted.”
The housekeeper made a small sound.
Everyone turned.
She looked terrified.
Barrett looked worse.
“You saw it?” the officer asked her.
She nodded.
“I saw Mr.
Hayes dragging Mrs.
Hayes down the hall,” she said.
“She could hardly breathe.
She asked him to stop.”
Barrett’s face hardened.
“You work for me.”
The officer’s expression changed.
So did the housekeeper’s.
For months I had watched that woman move silently through our house, careful never to intrude, careful never to take sides in our cold arguments.
That night Barrett made the mistake of reminding her exactly what kind of man he was while police were listening.
