Chapter 2 - My Father Finally Told Me Why My Grandfather Disappeared—and Why Noah Moretti Was the Only Man Who Could Keep Me AliveWe stayed on the floor.
Glass covered the sewing table.
The rain came through the broken window.
My father's breathing was fast.
“Who is he?”
He didn't answer.
“Dad.”
“He works for the Moretti family.”
“You just said Noah protects me.”
“He does.”
“Then why is someone shooting at us?”
“Because not everyone who uses the Moretti name works for Noah.”
I stared.
My father slowly rose.
“Stay behind me.”
He checked the back room.
Empty.
“Come.”
We went through the rear door.
An alley ran behind the building.
Two cars waited.
Noah's people.
I knew because I had seen them outside the shop before.
One man opened the door.
“Mr. Hale?”
My father nodded.
“Get her inside.”
I looked at him.
“Dad?”
“Go.”
“What about you?”
“I'll follow.”
He lied.
I knew it.
But I got inside.
The vehicle drove away.
Ten minutes later, another joined us.
Noah.
He opened the back door and climbed inside.
His wound had already been dressed.
“You're okay.”
“Apparently.”
His gaze moved to me.
“Were you hurt?”
“No.”
He nodded.
“Good.”
I looked at him.
“Who shot at us?”
“We don't know yet.”
“My father does.”
Noah became still.
“Your father knows?”
“Yes.”
He looked out the window.
“What did he tell you?”
“That my grandfather disappeared.”
Noah frowned.
“Nothing else?”
“He knew you.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Silence.
Then:
“Your grandfather helped my family.”
“Doing what?”
“Keeping records.”
“What records?”
“Financial.”
“That sounds boring.”
“It wasn't.”
He looked at me.
“My family had enemies.”
“Everyone does.”
“Not like ours.”
We reached a secure house.
Inside was an entire security team.
I stared.
“Where is my father?”
“Safe.”
“Where?”
“I'll take you.”
We entered another room.
My father was there.
He looked exhausted.
Noah closed the door.
“Tell her.”
My father looked at him.
Then at me.
“I owe you the truth.”
“Yes.”
He sighed.
“Your grandfather was a tailor.”
I nodded.
“He worked for powerful people.”
“Judges.”
“Politicians.”
“Businessmen.”
“Criminals.”
My stomach tightened.
“He made their suits.”
“Yes.”
“But?”
“He listened.”
“To conversations.”
“Yes.”
“He remembered names.”
“Yes.”
“And kept records.”
“Everything.”
My father showed me an old notebook.
Names.
Dates.
Amounts.
Locations.
I stared.
“This is blackmail.”
“Sometimes.”
“What did Grandpa do with it?”
“He protected himself.”
“From whom?”
“The Moretti family.”
I looked at Noah.
He didn't react.
“My grandfather blackmailed your family?”
“No.”
Noah shook his head.
“He helped my father.”
I frowned.
“How?”
“My father was accused of something he didn't do.”
“What?”
A political assassination.
Noah's father was framed.
Your grandfather discovered the truth.
He kept evidence.
Then gave it to him.
My grandfather saved the Moretti family.
“And then disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because someone wanted the records.”
“Who?”
“No one knows.”
My father looked at Noah.
“I do.”
Noah turned.
“Who?”
My father whispered:
“Silvio Moretti.”
Noah froze.
His uncle.
“The man you thought died.”
“Yes.”
I remembered the photograph.
The man across the street.
The same face.
“You said he was dead.”
“No.”
My father shook his head.
“We staged it.”
“Why?”
“To escape him.”
“Where is he?”
“We don't know.”
The room became cold.
Noah looked at me.
“Your grandfather kept one final record.”
“What record?”
“A ledger.”
“Where?”
My father looked at me.
“You have it.”
I laughed.
“Where?”
He pointed toward my necklace.
The old gold locket my mother had given me.
I touched it.
“This?”
“Yes.”
I opened it.
Nothing.
Noah took it.
He pressed a hidden seam.
A tiny compartment opened.
Inside was a microfilm.
I stared.
“What is this?”
“Your grandfather's final ledger.”
I looked at Noah.
“Why did he leave it with me?”
“Because he knew they would eventually come for you.”
“Who?”
Silvio.
And others.
Noah's phone rang.
He listened.
His expression hardened.
“What happened?”
“Someone broke into the tailor shop.”
“What did they take?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why break in?”
The guard hesitated.
“They left something.”
“What?”
Noah's face changed.
He looked at me.
“A photograph.”
He handed me his phone.
The image showed me.
Sleeping.
Inside my bedroom.
My blood ran cold.
“No.”
Someone had been inside my home.
Someone had watched me sleep.
Noah immediately stood.
“We're moving.”
“To where?”
“My house.”
“No.”
“Lena.”
“I don't want to live in a mansion with armed guards.”
“You don't have a choice.”
“I do.”
He looked at me.
“Then choose staying alive.”
I hated him for being right.
We left.
His mansion was on Lake Shore Drive.
Huge.
Secure.
Beautiful.
And terrifying.
I entered my room.
A woman's belongings were still there.
I stared.
“Who lived here?”
“My mother.”
She died when Noah was nineteen.
“What happened?”
“She knew too much.”
I looked at him.
“Is that what happens to everyone around you?”
His face tightened.
“Not everyone.”
“But people die.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because people want what we have.”
“What do you have?”
“Power.”
I laughed.
“I don't want power.”
“That doesn't matter.”
“What do you mean?”
He looked at the locket in my hand.
“You have something they want.”
“Then give it to them.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if the wrong person gets it, thousands of people could die.”
I stared.
My grandfather's ledger wasn't just financial records.
It was evidence of an underground network.
And I was carrying it around my neck.
Then the mansion lights went out.
Noah reached for his weapon.
“Stay behind me.”
A shot exploded somewhere downstairs.
His men shouted.
Then a voice came through the intercom.
“Lena.”
I froze.
The voice knew my name.
“You shouldn't have opened the locket.”
Noah looked at me.
“Do you recognize him?”
“No.”
The voice laughed.
“But your grandfather did.”
Then the emergency lights came on.
Every screen in the house displayed one image.
My grandfather.
And beneath him:
THE LEDGER BELONGS TO THE FAMILY.
Noah stared at the screen.
May you like
Then said quietly:
“Silvio is back.”
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