Chapter 3 - The Box Beneath the Library
The mansion survived the attack.
Barely.
Three of Dominic's guards were injured.
One was dead.
The shooters disappeared before police arrived, leaving behind nothing but shell casings and a black vehicle abandoned two blocks away.
Dominic refused hospital treatment for his shoulder.
I argued.
He ignored me.
“You can't keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Pretending bullets are inconveniences.”
He looked amused.
“You took seven.”
“That isn't a good argument.”
“It means you understand.”
“No, it means I understand that you are insane.”
For the first time, he laughed.
It was quiet.
Real.
And strangely human.
I hated that I noticed.
That night, Dominic moved me into the master suite.
I objected.
He said the guest room had windows facing the woods.
The master suite had reinforced walls.
I told him I didn't care.
He said, “I do.”
So I stayed.
At midnight, I opened the black box.
Inside was a cassette tape.
A key.
A folded letter.
And a photograph of my father holding me as a baby.
My hands trembled.
The letter was addressed to me.
My name was written in my father's handwriting.
Evelyn.
I had not seen that handwriting since I was eight.
I unfolded it.
My dear Evelyn,
If you are reading this, then either I was unable to keep you safe or the truth has finally become impossible to hide.
I wanted you to have a normal life.
I wanted your mother to raise you without fear.
I made one terrible mistake.
I trusted the wrong man.
I looked up.
Dominic stood in the doorway.
He had been watching me.
“You knew this existed.”
“Yes.”
“Did you read it?”
“No.”
“You're lying.”
His eyes narrowed.
“I didn't read your father's letter.”
“Then how did you know about it?”
“He told my father.”
I looked back at the letter.
The next paragraph made my stomach turn.
Victor Costa was not the man you think he is.
He has spent years making himself look like our enemy.
But the person inside the Rossi organization is worse.
My blood ran cold.
I continued reading.
Someone in Dominic's family helped Costa build his network.
If anything happens to me, do not trust anyone who claims loyalty to the Rossi name without proof.
Not even blood.
The letter ended there.
I looked up.
“Who is the traitor?”
“We don't know.”
“But my father did.”
“Maybe.”
“Did he know my father was going to die?”
Dominic's face became hard.
“My father suspected it.”
“And did nothing?”
“My father tried.”
“Then why did my father die?”
Dominic stared at the photograph.
“Because the man who killed him was closer than either of them realized.”
I stood.
“You keep speaking in riddles.”
“Because the truth is dangerous.”
“I already got shot seven times.”
“I know.”
“Then maybe I'm done being protected from the truth.”
He walked toward me.
“Your father was an accountant.”
“I know.”
“He handled financial records for my father's businesses.”
“Yes.”
“What you don't know is that he discovered millions of dollars disappearing from companies connected to the Rossi family.”
I stared.
“Money laundering?”
“Yes.”
“By Costa?”
“No.”
My heart sank.
“Then who?”
Dominic's silence stretched.
“Someone still alive.”
The next morning, Enzo returned with a report.
The gunman who attacked the mansion had been identified.
His name was Peter Hale.
Former Rossi security.
Dominic read the report.
“Where is he?”
“Dead.”
“How?”
“Someone put two bullets in his chest.”
Dominic's expression darkened.
“Costa?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“We don't know.”
Dominic slammed the file shut.
I was beginning to understand that his world operated on layers.
Nobody knew everything.
Everyone knew something.
And everyone was hiding something.
At breakfast, Isabella sat across from me.
“You look like you haven't slept.”
“I haven't.”
“Dominic?”
“Your son is impossible.”
Isabella smiled.
“That means he likes you.”
I nearly choked.
“He married me while I was unconscious.”
“Yes.”
“That's not romantic.”
“No.”
She lowered her voice.
“But it was the only way he knew to say he was terrified.”
I stared at her.
“Terrified?”
“Dominic has never been afraid of death.”
She looked toward the windows.
“He is afraid of losing someone he loves.”
My heart skipped.
“Loves?”
She smiled sadly.
“Not everything begins with love.”
Her words stayed with me.
That afternoon, Dominic took me into Manhattan.
I protested.
He told me I needed fresh air.
We drove to a quiet restaurant overlooking the Hudson.
No photographers.
No crowd.
Just the two of us.
“You don't trust me,” he said.
“I don't know you.”
“That is different.”
“Not really.”
He smiled.
“What would make you trust me?”
“The truth.”
“That can get people killed.”
“So can lies.”
He looked away.
After a long silence, he said, “Your father once saved my life.”
I blinked.
“How?”
“I was twenty-one.”
Dominic rarely spoke about his youth.
“My father had begun grooming me to take over the business. One night, Costa's people attacked us.”
He touched the scar beneath his collar.
“I was trapped in a warehouse.”
“Your father rescued you?”
“No.”
“My father did.”
I stared.
“He was there?”
“He found me bleeding behind a loading bay. He drove me to a clinic under a fake name.”
“Why would he risk that?”
“Because your father believed loyalty mattered more than money.”
Dominic looked at me.
“I never forgot him.”
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
“Because knowing who your father was would have put a target on you.”
“But you already had a file on me.”
“I had a file because I promised him I would watch over you.”
“Without telling me?”
“Yes.”
“You've been watching me for years?”
“Yes.”
The admission hit harder than the bullets had.
“You knew about my mother's condition?”
“Yes.”
“You knew I was struggling financially?”
“Yes.”
“You knew where I worked?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His voice softened.
“Because I checked every year.”
I stared at him.
“Did you ever help us?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Your father asked me never to interfere unless you were in danger.”
I looked away.
A thousand emotions collided inside me.
Anger.
Gratitude.
Betrayal.
Confusion.
“You could have paid my mother's bills.”
“Yes.”
“But you didn't.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if Costa was monitoring your family, financial assistance from me would have exposed you.”
I hated that his explanation made sense.
When we returned to the mansion, I found another surprise.
A woman stood in the foyer.
Elegant.
Beautiful.
Familiar with Dominic.
She turned toward me.
“Who is she?”
Dominic's expression hardened.
“Clara.”
She smiled.
“My fiancé is in a difficult situation, and I wanted to make sure he was all right.”
I looked at Dominic.
“Fiancé?”
He closed his eyes briefly.
“You're misunderstanding.”
Clara laughed softly.
“I don't think she is.”
My stomach tightened.
Dominic stepped between us.
“My engagement to Clara ended months ago.”
Clara's smile faded.
“You never told her.”
“Because it was irrelevant.”
“To you.”
She looked at me.
“You should ask your husband why he kept our engagement secret.”
Then she walked away.
I stared at Dominic.
“You were engaged?”
“Yes.”
“And you thought I didn't need to know?”
“It ended.”
“Why?”
He didn't answer.
My voice became colder.
“Does the box contain that too?”
“No.”
Then I saw something tucked beneath Clara's discarded coat.
A photograph.
Dominic.
Clara.
And another man.
My father.
All three standing together years before my father's death.
But my father was supposed to have never met Clara.
I picked up the picture.
Dominic's face changed.
“Evelyn.”
“Who is that?”
He took the photo.
His eyes moved across it.
“This shouldn't exist.”
“What does that mean?”
Dominic looked at Enzo.
“Lock down the house.”
“Why?”
“Because someone has been lying to all of us.”
That night, the cassette player finally worked.
My father's voice filled the room.
“If you hear this, Evelyn, trust only one person.”
I held my breath.
The recording continued.
“Dominic Rossi.”
I looked toward Dominic.
He closed his eyes.
Then my father's voice said something that made both of us freeze.
“But only until he discovers who his real enemy is.”
May you like
The recording stopped.
And somewhere downstairs, a door slammed.
