Chapter 2 - The Name Buried in Vincent’s Past
By noon, every exterior gate at the Moretti estate was locked.
Not closed.
Locked.
The guards at the main entrance carried themselves differently now, one hand hovering near their jackets whenever a car approached.
I knew enough about Vincent Moretti to understand that this was not normal.
I also knew enough about men like him to understand that questions were dangerous.
So I didn’t ask.
I sat in the kitchen sitting room with Lily on my lap while Elena paced behind me.
“What did she draw?” Elena whispered.
“A bird.”
Elena stopped.
“What kind of bird?”
“I don’t know. Black.”
Her face went pale.
“Bird and red circle?”
I stared at her.
“You recognize it?”
“No.”
She lied so badly that even Lily noticed.
“Mama,” my daughter said, “lady is scared.”
Elena forced a smile.
“No, sweetheart. I’m fine.”
She wasn’t.
None of us were.
Twenty minutes later, Vincent entered.
He didn’t announce himself.
He simply appeared in the doorway.
Lily immediately lifted her arms.
“Mister!”
I stood.
“Mr. Moretti.”
His gaze moved from me to her.
Then back.
“Come with me.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“I have questions.”
“I have a daughter.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then I’d like to take her home.”
“You may.”
Relief came too quickly.
Then he added, “When it is safe.”
My hope disappeared.
“What does that mean?”
He stepped into the room.
“It means someone may have followed you here.”
My blood ran cold.
“Who?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Are you saying someone followed us from my apartment?”
“I’m saying we don’t know how that drawing got into your daughter’s hands.”
I looked down at Lily.
She was playing with the zipper on her yellow coat.
Vincent spoke quietly.
“Where does Mark Vega live?”
“He doesn’t.”
“Where did he live?”
“I don’t know.”
“When did you last see him?”
“Eleven months ago.”
“What happened?”
I hesitated.
“He left.”
“Did he leave willingly?”
That question struck something inside me.
“Why are you asking?”
Vincent said nothing.
Nico entered.
He carried a thick brown file.
He put it on the table.
I saw my own name on the cover.
Sarah Bennett.
My hands went cold.
“You investigated me?”
“I investigate everyone who works here.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.”
His voice was calm.
“It isn’t.”
I stared at him.
“Why is there a file about me?”
“Because your ex-husband used to work for someone I considered dangerous.”
I almost laughed.
“Mark delivered restaurant equipment.”
Vincent opened the file.
“That is what he told you.”
My throat tightened.
“What did he actually do?”
“He moved money.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
“Not for me.”
Vincent’s tone hardened.
“For someone who wanted access to my organization.”
I felt like the floor had tilted.
“Mark never had anything to do with your world.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Nico placed another photograph on the table.
I looked.
It showed Mark stepping out of a black sedan.
He was wearing a suit.
Not the cheap gray jackets I remembered.
A tailored black suit.
Beside him stood a man I recognized from the newspapers.
Dominic Russo.
A rival of Vincent Moretti.
I pushed the photo away.
“That can’t be real.”
“It is.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
Vincent watched me.
“You loved him.”
It wasn’t a question.
I looked away.
“I thought I did.”
“Why did he disappear?”
“He said he needed money.”
“How much?”
I swallowed.
“Thirty thousand dollars.”
Nico’s eyes narrowed.
Vincent asked, “Did he ask you for it?”
“Yes.”
“Did you give it to him?”
“No.”
“Then he disappeared.”
I nodded.
Vincent closed the file.
“He didn’t disappear.”
He slid another photograph toward me.
“He was taken.”
I stared.
The photograph showed Mark with blood on his collar.
I covered my mouth.
Lily looked up.
“Mama?”
I forced my hand down.
“It’s okay.”
Vincent’s voice softened.
“We don’t know whether he is alive.”
Tears burned my eyes.
“Then why bring this up now?”
Vincent looked at Lily.
“Because that drawing may tell us where the money went.”
I frowned.
“How could a two-year-old know anything about money?”
“She may not.”
He paused.
“Someone may be using her.”
A terrible thought entered my mind.
“Who?”
Vincent looked toward the window.
Before he could answer, one of his guards rushed into the room.
“Boss.”
Vincent turned.
“We found a vehicle.”
“Where?”
“Three hundred yards outside the east gate.”
“What kind?”
“White van.”
“Plate?”
“Stolen.”
Vincent’s face became expressionless.
“Move her upstairs.”
My heart stopped.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“Sarah.”
“I am not taking my daughter deeper into your house.”
“You’re already inside.”
“Then let me leave.”
“I can’t.”
“Because you think someone is after her?”
“Yes.”
He looked at Lily.
“And I’m not gambling with a child.”
Something inside me cracked.
“You barely know her.”
Vincent looked at my daughter.
“I know enough.”
He left.
I remained frozen.
Elena stepped closer.
“Come on.”
“Where?”
“The safe rooms.”
I almost refused.
But then I heard a distant sound outside.
A gunshot.
Lily startled.
I pulled her into my arms.
Elena grabbed my shoulder.
“Now.”
We ran.
The safe room was hidden behind a paneled wall in the library.
I had cleaned that room dozens of times without realizing the shelves could open.
Inside were monitors, emergency supplies, weapons, and enough bottled water to survive a storm.
Lily looked around.
“Princess room?”
I managed a weak smile.
“Something like that.”
Then she saw something on the wall.
A photograph.
She pointed.
“Mister.”
Vincent stood in the picture.
But he was younger.
Beside him stood a woman.
Lily stared.
Then she reached into my purse.
She pulled out a folded page.
My stomach dropped.
I had packed that paper without thinking.
It was a drawing I had found in Lily’s bedroom three nights earlier.
I had assumed it was another child’s scribble.
Lily unfolded it.
This time, I saw details.
The same black bird.
The same red circle.
But beneath it were three stick figures.
A little girl.
A man.
And another woman.
Lily pointed at the woman.
“Mama.”
Then she pointed at the man.
“Daddy.”
Then she pointed at the woman in the photograph on the wall.
She whispered one word.
“Mommy.”
I looked at Vincent’s dead sister.
Then at the drawing.
Something impossible was forming in my mind.
The woman in the photograph had the same eyes as Lily.
And Vincent Moretti had just locked down his entire mansion because a two-year-old child had drawn a symbol connected to his murdered family.
I folded the paper with trembling hands.
May you like
For the first time, I wondered whether I had brought Lily to the most dangerous house in the city.
Or the only house where she might actually be safe.
