Chapter 1 - The Phone That Knew My Name Before Adrian DeLuca Ever Told Me HisThe phone kept ringing.
I stood beneath the broken streetlight in Lower Manhattan, staring at the screen as though looking at it long enough might change what I was seeing.
FATHER.
My full name appeared above it.
LILY BENNETT.
My home address sat beneath that.
Then the photograph.
Me.
Three days earlier.
Leaving the Hudson University Library with my hair pulled into a loose ponytail and my old canvas bag hanging from one shoulder.
I had never seen the photograph.
I had never given anyone permission to take it.
And the caller on the other end was a man who had been buried eleven years ago.
My father.
Daniel Bennett.
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“My father is dead,” I whispered.
Adrian DeLuca stood in front of me.
He had not moved.
Tall.
Still.
Perfectly composed.
The wind pushed his black coat against his body, but his expression did not change.
His two men remained several feet behind him.
They weren't pointing their weapons at anyone.
They didn't need to.
Everyone who knew Adrian DeLuca understood that his presence was often enough to clear a street.
He looked at the screen.
Then at me.
“Answer it.”
“You knew.”
His jaw tightened.
“I suspected.”
“That's not the same thing.”
“No.”
The phone rang again.
I pressed it to my ear.
At first, there was only static.
Then a voice.
Older than I remembered.
Lower.
But undeniably his.
“Little Bird.”
My knees nearly gave out.
That was what he called me when I was five.
Before the divorce.
Before the arguments.
Before the accident.
Before the coffin.
Before my mother had taken me to the cemetery and shown me a polished black stone engraved with his name.
“Dad?”
The line crackled.
“I don't have long.”
“Where are you?”
“Listen to me.”
“Where are you?”
“Do not trust Adrian DeLuca.”
I looked at Adrian.
He was watching my face.
Not the phone.
Me.
“Why?”
My father's voice became quieter.
“Because he knows where I am.”
The line went dead.
I lowered the phone.
The city seemed too loud.
Cars.
Rain.
Sirens somewhere downtown.
My heartbeat.
Everything blurred together.
Adrian stepped closer.
“Your father was right about one thing.”
“What?”
“He was never buried in that grave.”
I stared at him.
“Why did you know?”
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he reached for the phone.
I pulled it against my chest.
“No.”
His eyes met mine.
“I wasn't going to take it.”
“You gave it to me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted you to have a way to reach me.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You knew my father was alive.”
“I suspected.”
“Stop saying that.”
“You deserve the truth.”
“Then give it to me.”
He looked at his men.
“Go.”
They disappeared toward the waiting vehicle.
We were alone beneath the broken streetlight.
Adrian spoke quietly.
“Your father was connected to my family.”
“How?”
“He handled financial operations.”
“My father was an accountant.”
“That was the story.”
I stared.
“You knew him.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Before you were born.”
My chest tightened.
“What happened?”
“He disappeared.”
“He died.”
“No.”
“He had a funeral.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
Adrian looked away.
“Because sometimes a funeral isn't for the dead.”
His words made my skin crawl.
“What does that mean?”
“It means somebody wanted the world to believe Daniel Bennett was dead.”
“Who?”
He looked back at me.
“That is the question I've been trying to answer for eleven years.”
I stared at him.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I didn't know whether you were safe.”
“From my father?”
“From everyone.”
The answer wasn't comforting.
It was terrifying.
My phone buzzed again.
A new message.
DO NOT GO HOME.
Then another.
THEY ARE WAITING FOR YOU.
I looked at Adrian.
He saw the screen.
“Get in the car.”
“No.”
“Lily.”
“I don't know you.”
“I know.”
“My father just told me not to trust you.”
“I know.”
“So why would I get into your car?”
“Because whoever sent those messages knows where you live.”
He stepped closer.
“Your father didn't tell you to run from me.”
“He told me not to trust you.”
“He told you to survive.”
I stared.
“How do you know that?”
“Because I knew your father.”
I hated how calm he was.
I hated that part of me believed him.
I hated even more that my apartment suddenly felt like a death sentence.
So I got into the car.
The inside smelled like leather and cedar.
Adrian sat across from me.
The city moved past the tinted windows.
I clutched the phone in both hands.
“Where are we going?”
“My house.”
“No.”
“A safe house.”
“No.”
“My house has security.”
“No.”
He watched me.
“You're stubborn.”
“So I've been told.”
“Your father said the same thing.”
I froze.
“When?”
“When he worked for us.”
“Where?”
“Chicago.”
I frowned.
“My father never lived in Chicago.”
“He did.”
“When?”
“Before you were born.”
My entire childhood suddenly felt fraudulent.
I stared out the window.
“Tell me everything.”
Adrian stayed quiet.
Then:
“Your father wasn't an ordinary accountant.”
“What was he?”
“He was a strategist.”
“For the DeLuca family.”
“Yes.”
“And your father?”
“My father was the boss.”
“So my father worked for the mafia.”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
I didn't want to hear it.
But the truth had already opened its door.
“What did he do?”
“Money.”
“Money laundering?”
“Among other things.”
“What happened?”
“He found something.”
“What?”
“A ledger.”
My eyes opened.
“What kind?”
“Names.”
“Of what?”
“People inside the government.”
“Judges.”
“Police.”
“Businessmen.”
“And people inside our own organization.”
I swallowed.
“That doesn't explain why he disappeared.”
“It does if you understand what happened next.”
“What?”
“He tried to expose them.”
“Who?”
“Someone above him.”
“Who?”
Adrian's expression darkened.
“I'm still looking.”
The car slowed.
We entered a private garage.
Steel doors closed behind us.
I looked at him.
“Why me?”
“Because you're the only person your father trusted enough to hide the final key with.”
“What key?”
He didn't answer.
Instead, he opened the door.
“Come inside.”
I stayed seated.
“I don't have to.”
“No.”
He waited.
“You can walk away.”
I stared.
“But?”
“But they will follow you.”
He held out his hand.
“Choose.”
That word struck me harder than it should have.
My whole life, people had chosen for me.
My mother had chosen where we lived.
The lawyers had chosen what I was told.
The funeral director had chosen the coffin.
The university chose my schedule.
Marcus had chosen when I was allowed to come home.
And now Adrian DeLuca was the first powerful man who actually asked me to choose.
I took his hand.
He pulled me out of the car.
That was the moment my old life ended.
I just didn't know it yet.
Inside the penthouse, an older woman waited.
Her name was Rosa.
She looked at me.
Then gasped.
“Oh, God.”
Adrian turned.
“What?”
Rosa stared at the silver necklace around my neck.
The one my mother had given me when I was fifteen.
She whispered:
“That belongs to Daniel.”
I touched it.
“What?”
Rosa pointed.
“That pendant.”
She began to cry.
“Your father wore the matching half.”
I stared.
Adrian turned pale.
“Show me.”
I hesitated.
Then opened the pendant.
A tiny compartment appeared.
Inside was a piece of folded paper.
My father's handwriting.
Adrian read it.
His expression changed.
He handed it back.
I opened it.
Only three words had been written.
TRUST NO ONE.
Then beneath them:
EXCEPT HER.
A name.
Adrian.
I looked up.
“Why would my father tell me to trust you?”
Adrian didn't answer.
Because the sound of an explosion came from outside.
The windows shook.
The lights went out.
And somewhere below us, men began screaming.
Adrian grabbed my hand.
“Stay behind me.”
“What's happening?”
“Someone found us.”
“Who?”
He drew his gun.
“My enemies.”
I stared at him.
Then remembered my father's warning.
Do not trust Adrian DeLuca.
May you like
And for the first time, I wondered whether my father had sent that warning because Adrian was dangerous—
or because Adrian was the only man who could save me.
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