Chapter 3 - The Woman in the Photograph
Vincent found us in the safe room forty minutes later.
His suit jacket was gone.
There was a small cut above his eyebrow.
I had never seen him look less like an untouchable businessman.
He looked like a man who had just fought for his life.
His eyes went immediately to Lily.
She was asleep against my chest.
The drawing lay on the table.
“You showed that to Elena?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I stood.
“Who is she?”
Vincent looked at the photograph.
“My sister.”
“What happened to her?”
“She died.”
“How?”
He hesitated.
“Murder.”
The word settled heavily in the room.
“Who killed her?”
“We never proved it.”
“But you suspect Dominic Russo.”
Vincent’s expression changed.
“Where did you hear that name?”
“From you.”
“I never said it.”
“You said Mark worked for someone who wanted access to your organization.”
Vincent looked at me.
“You listen carefully.”
“I had to.”
He walked to the table.
His fingers touched the edge of Lily’s drawing.
“My sister’s name was Isabella.”
I looked at the photograph.
“She looks young.”
“She was twenty-six.”
“How did she die?”
“Car explosion.”
My breath caught.
“When?”
“Seven years ago.”
Exactly seven years.
The same period Elena had mentioned without realizing it.
Vincent leaned against the table.
“She was supposed to meet me that night.”
“What was she carrying?”
His eyes lifted.
“A ledger.”
“What kind?”
“Names.”
A chill ran through me.
“Names of people in your organization?”
“People inside my organization. People outside it. Police contacts. Judges. Politicians. Business owners. Anyone who had accepted money from the wrong people.”
“And the ledger disappeared.”
“Yes.”
I looked at Lily.
“Could my daughter have somehow seen it?”
“No.”
Vincent spoke quickly.
“Unless someone showed her something connected to it.”
“What?”
“We don’t know.”
He looked at the drawing.
“The symbol.”
“The bird?”
“Yes.”
“What does it mean?”
Vincent didn’t answer.
The door opened.
Nico walked in.
“We found the van.”
“And?”
“Empty.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“Anything else?”
“A phone.”
Nico placed a bag on the table.
Inside was a cheap burner phone.
Vincent opened it.
One message had been sent.
No number.
Just a photograph.
It showed Lily asleep on our couch.
Taken that morning.
My hands went numb.
They had been watching us.
Vincent turned the phone face down.
“Sarah.”
I could barely speak.
“Someone photographed my daughter.”
“Yes.”
“You said the gates were secure.”
“They are.”
“Then how did they get close enough?”
Vincent looked at Nico.
Nico answered.
“We’re checking the staff.”
I felt suddenly sick.
“You think someone inside the mansion did this?”
“We think,” Vincent said, “that someone inside the mansion may be compromised.”
Elena appeared in the doorway.
“What happened?”
Vincent looked at her.
“Elena, leave.”
She stiffened.
“Boss?”
“Leave.”
She looked at me.
Then at Lily.
Then she understood.
She walked away.
I watched her go.
“You trust no one,” I whispered.
Vincent shook his head.
“Not anymore.”
I looked at him.
“Then why do you trust me?”
He was silent.
“I don’t,” he finally said.
“Good.”
“But I trust your fear.”
I frowned.
“My fear?”
“A mother’s fear is difficult to fake.”
That answer should have angered me.
Instead, it made me feel strangely safe.
Vincent’s phone rang.
He answered.
A few seconds later, his expression changed.
“We found Mark.”
I stood so quickly the chair nearly tipped.
“What?”
“Alive.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“Where?”
Vincent looked at Nico.
Then back at me.
“He is at St. Vincent’s.”
I grabbed my coat.
“I’m going.”
“No.”
“You said he’s alive.”
“He’s not safe.”
“He’s Lily’s father.”
“He is also the man who may have brought danger to your daughter.”
“I don’t care.”
Vincent stepped in front of the door.
“You should.”
“Move.”
“No.”
I glared at him.
“You don’t get to decide whether I see my husband.”
“He stopped being your husband when he vanished.”
The words hurt more than they should have.
Vincent seemed to realize that.
His voice softened.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked away.
“You don’t know what it was like.”
“No.”
He paused.
“But I know what it feels like to lose family.”
The anger disappeared.
For the first time, I saw beyond the legend.
There was a grieving brother behind the man everyone feared.
Vincent took his phone.
“I’ll take you to the hospital.”
“Why?”
“Because if someone is waiting for Mark to die, they may be waiting for you to follow him.”
I hesitated.
Then Lily stirred.
“Mama.”
I lifted her.
Vincent opened the door.
His men formed a protective line around us.
As we crossed the mansion, I noticed something I had never seen before.
Every framed family photograph had been removed from the hallway.
Except Isabella’s.
And beneath her photograph was a small brass plaque.
Seven years earlier, someone had engraved one sentence.
She knew the truth before we did.
I stopped.
Vincent noticed.
“What does it mean?”
He stared at the plaque.
“It means my sister died because she trusted the wrong person.”
I looked at Lily.
“Maybe she didn’t.”
Vincent turned toward me.
“What?”
“Maybe she knew exactly who she could trust.”
His eyes narrowed.
May you like
I held up Lily’s drawing.
“Maybe she left something behind.”
