Chapter 2 - The Secret Beneath the Scar
Amelia woke to the soft rhythm of a heart monitor.
For a few seconds, she did not know where she was.
The ceiling was white.
The room smelled like disinfectant.
Her head throbbed.
Then memory came back.
Derek.
The diner.
The impact.
Vincent.
She sat up too quickly.
Pain stabbed behind her eyes.
A hand steadied the water glass beside the bed.
“Slow down.”
She turned.
Vincent Castellano sat in the chair beside the window.
He had removed his coat.
His sleeves were rolled to his forearms.
He looked less like the feared owner of a neighborhood empire and more like a tired man who had not slept all night.
“You stayed?”
“Yes.”
“You didn't have to.”
“I know.”
Amelia looked away.
A nurse had told her that she had suffered a concussion. Nothing appeared fractured. She would need observation, rest, and follow-up care.
None of that explained why Vincent looked as though someone had died.
“You said a name,” he said.
Amelia closed her eyes.
“Raymond.”
“Yes.”
“He was my fiancé.”
Vincent waited.
Three years ago, Amelia had been twenty-six and working at a small accounting office in Manhattan.
Raymond Fletcher had been charming.
Patient.
Ambitious.
He had brought flowers to her desk and remembered small things.
He knew she liked cinnamon in coffee.
He knew she hated crowded elevators.
He knew the exact sound of her laugh when she was trying not to laugh.
He also knew how to lie.
Their relationship had changed after her mother died.
Raymond became controlling.
First came questions.
Where were you?
Who called?
Why did you take twenty minutes to get home?
Then accusations.
Then apologies.
Then locked doors.
One night he had forced her to sign documents she did not understand.
She had escaped before dawn.
Three days later, Raymond was supposedly killed in a car accident.
At least, that was what she had been told.
Amelia never saw a body.
She never saw a funeral.
She simply disappeared.
“I changed my name,” she said.
Vincent frowned.
“Your name isn't Amelia?”
“It is now.”
He waited.
“My real name is Elena.”
Something sharpened in his gaze.
“Why?”
“Because Raymond found me once after I thought I was safe.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“What did he want?”
She looked down at her hands.
“Something I had.”
“You mean money?”
“No.”
“Documents?”
Amelia nodded.
“What documents?”
“My father's.”
Vincent became still.
Her father had worked in shipping.
Officially, he had died in an accident when she was nineteen.
Unofficially, he had been investigating financial transfers involving several companies in Brooklyn.
Three weeks before his death, he told Elena that there were people who would kill to keep certain numbers buried.
She had thought he was paranoid.
Years later, she realized he had been terrified.
“He left me a key,” she whispered.
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
“To what?”
“I never found out.”
“Where is it?”
“I don't know.”
Vincent stared at her.
Then he asked the question that made her stomach drop.
“Did Raymond ever mention my family?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He said your father was involved with men who didn't forgive debts.”
Vincent said nothing.
Amelia watched his expression change.
“What?”
“My father did business with mine.”
She felt the room tilt.
“Your father?”
“Giovanni Castellano.”
The name meant nothing to her at first.
Then Vincent continued.
“People called him Jack.”
Elena stopped breathing.
Her father had mentioned that name.
Once.
Only once.
A stranger from Brooklyn.
A man who had warned him not to trust the Fletchers.
“You know Raymond's family?”
Vincent nodded.
“His father, Thomas Fletcher, was one of my father's associates.”
Elena's fingers tightened around the blanket.
“Then why did Raymond want me?”
Vincent stood.
“I don't know.”
“You do know something.”
“Yes.”
He looked at her.
“Your father kept records.”
Her heart pounded.
“What records?”
“Payments. Shipping manifests. Names.”
“Names of who?”
“My father believed someone inside his organization was selling information.”
She stared at him.
“Did he find them?”
Vincent shook his head.
“He died first.”
Silence settled between them.
The door opened.
Marco, Vincent's oldest lieutenant, stepped inside.
He carried a folder.
“Boss.”
Vincent looked at him.
“Not here.”
Marco glanced at Elena.
“I think she needs to hear this.”
Vincent hesitated.
“Talk.”
Marco placed photographs on the table.
Derek Lawson.
Raymond Fletcher.
A warehouse.
A hospital entrance.
And one old photograph.
Elena picked it up.
Her father stood beside three men.
One was Giovanni Castellano.
One was Thomas Fletcher.
And the third man made her blood turn cold.
She recognized him.
Raymond.
But the photograph was more than twenty years old.
“He wasn't supposed to be there,” she whispered.
Marco nodded.
“He was sixteen.”
Vincent stared at the photograph.
“So now we know he lied about when he entered the business.”
Elena's voice shook.
“My father knew.”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn't he tell me?”
“Because he was trying to protect you.”
She laughed bitterly.
“He failed.”
Vincent looked at her scar.
“Maybe not.”
She touched her eyebrow.
“This?”
“No.”
He pointed toward the photograph.
“Your father hid something from Raymond.”
Elena looked at him.
“What?”
“A ledger.”
Her stomach tightened.
“What kind?”
“One that could prove money was being moved illegally through legitimate businesses.”
She stared.
“Why would Raymond care now?”
“Because the ledger is missing.”
“And he thinks I have it.”
Vincent nodded.
“That is what I believe.”
Elena stared at the floor.
“Does Derek work for him?”
“We're checking.”
“Do you think Raymond is alive?”
Vincent's jaw hardened.
“Yes.”
Her eyes filled with fear.
He noticed.
“You're safe here.”
“With you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Vincent did not answer immediately.
Because the truth was more dangerous than any lie.
He had watched her serve coffee for months.
He knew how she hummed when she was nervous.
He knew she always gave children extra whipped cream.
He knew she secretly paid for the meals of elderly customers who could not afford them.
He knew she avoided his office whenever he was angry because she thought powerful men were all the same.
And he knew that watching Derek strike her had awakened something he had spent years burying.
Protectiveness.
Something dangerously close to love.
But he did not say any of that.
Instead he said, “Because Castellano's is under my protection.”
Elena frowned.
“What about me?”
Vincent looked directly at her.
“You are part of Castellano's.”
Her eyes softened.
“That's all?”
For one second, he almost told her everything.
Then Marco's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“Boss.”
Vincent took the phone.
“What?”
A pause.
“Say that again.”
Elena watched his face go cold.
“Where?”
Marco answered.
Vincent ended the call.
“What happened?” Elena asked.
He looked at her.
“They found Derek's car.”
“And?”
“It was abandoned.”
“Where?”
Vincent did not move.
“Outside an old storage building registered to Raymond Fletcher.”
Elena's blood ran cold.
“What was inside?”
Vincent's answer came quietly.
“Blood.”
Her eyes widened.
“Derek's?”
“No.”
“Then whose?”
Vincent looked toward the window.
May you like
“Yours.”
Elena felt the world stop.
