Chapter 2 - The Mafia Boss Gave Me a Bed, a Doctor, and One Terrifying Question About My Father
Lorenzo's mansion was nothing like I expected.
I had imagined gold.
Weapons.
Dark hallways.
Men in suits standing behind every door.
There were guards.
There were weapons.
There were dark hallways.
But there were also books.
Thousands of them.
There were paintings.
A grand piano.
A kitchen that smelled like fresh bread.
And, most strangely, there was warmth.
A woman named Elena met us at the entrance.
She was perhaps sixty, with silver hair and a sharp, motherly gaze.
She looked at me.
Then at Lorenzo.
Then at my bruises.
Her face softened.
“Guest room?”
“Yes,” Lorenzo said.
“Doctor?”
“Yes.”
“Tea?”
He nodded.
Elena turned to me.
“Sugar?”
“Two.”
“Good.”
She smiled.
“You look like you need two.”
For the first time that night, I almost laughed.
Lorenzo looked at me.
It seemed to surprise him.
“You can stay as long as you need.”
“I don't want to burden you.”
“You don't.”
“I have no money.”
“I have plenty.”
“I have nowhere to go.”
“I know.”
“Then why help me?”
He looked at my face.
“Because someone who has been hurting you believes you have no one.”
His voice turned quiet.
“I dislike that kind of arrogance.”
The doctor arrived twenty minutes later.
Dr. Russo was a woman in her late forties.
She examined my ribs.
A fractured rib.
Several deep bruises.
A sprained wrist.
Nothing permanent.
Nothing that hadn't been painful for weeks.
She asked how it happened.
I lied.
“I fell.”
Lorenzo was standing by the window.
He didn't interrupt.
Dr. Russo didn't believe me.
Neither did he.
But nobody forced me to speak.
After the examination, she packed her bag.
“She needs rest.”
“How long?” Lorenzo asked.
“Physically? A few weeks.”
“And emotionally?”
Dr. Russo looked at me.
“Longer.”
Lorenzo nodded.
“She'll have it.”
When she left, I expected him to question me.
Instead, he placed a plate of food on the table.
“Eat.”
I stared.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You haven't eaten today.”
“How do you know?”
“Your hands.”
I looked down.
They were trembling.
He sat across from me.
“I can leave.”
“No.”
The word escaped.
He raised an eyebrow.
I swallowed.
“I don't want to be alone.”
His face softened.
“I won't.”
I ate.
Slowly.
Soup first.
Then bread.
I hadn't realized how hungry I was until the third spoonful made my stomach ache.
Lorenzo didn't say anything.
He simply watched the fire.
After dinner, he asked:
“Your father kept a box.”
My stomach tightened.
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
I hesitated.
“My storage unit.”
“Address?”
“Why?”
“Because someone searched it tonight.”
My heart dropped.
“No.”
“I sent people.”
“Did they find it?”
“No.”
“Then it's still there?”
“Probably.”
I stared at him.
“What's in it?”
“My father's personal things.”
“Anything unusual?”
I thought.
A watch.
Letters.
An old leather notebook.
Photographs.
One key.
And a small metal cassette case.
“My father told me never to give the box to anyone.”
“Even after his death?”
“Especially after.”
Lorenzo leaned forward.
“Why?”
“Because two days before he died, he told me something.”
“What?”
“He said if anything happened to him, I should never trust Detective Silas Vane.”
Lorenzo went still.
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-six.”
“What did you do?”
“I laughed.”
He stared.
“I thought my father had become paranoid.”
“Did he explain?”
“No.”
“Did you tell Silas?”
I looked up.
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He said grief was making me imagine things.”
Lorenzo's jaw tightened.
“That was the beginning.”
“What?”
“I think your father knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That Silas was compromised.”
My stomach twisted.
“What does that mean?”
Lorenzo stood.
“It means your fiancé was never protecting you.”
He walked toward the door.
“He was protecting himself.”
I followed.
“From what?”
He stopped.
“From your father.”
I stared at his back.
“My father was an accountant.”
“He was more than that.”
“For your company?”
“Yes.”
“How much more?”
Lorenzo turned.
“Your father discovered that someone was using police evidence channels to move money.”
My heart stopped.
“Money from where?”
“My organization.”
“To where?”
“Political campaigns. Private accounts. Shell companies.”
“And Silas?”
“One of the detectives who had access to the evidence.”
I sank onto the edge of the bed.
“No.”
Lorenzo crouched in front of me.
“Clara.”
“I can't.”
“You don't have to believe me tonight.”
He took my hand.
“But believe one thing.”
“What?”
“Your father didn't die because of an accident.”
Tears filled my eyes.
I had spent four years believing I had accepted his death.
Maybe I had only accepted the story.
“What do you mean?”
Lorenzo's voice dropped.
“He was killed.”
The room seemed to lose oxygen.
“Who?”
“We're still finding out.”
“But you know.”
“I suspect.”
“Who?”
He hesitated.
“Someone inside the Chicago Police Department.”
I stared at him.
“Silas?”
“Possibly.”
“No.”
“Why are you defending him?”
“I don't know.”
“You lived with him for two years.”
“I thought he loved me.”
Lorenzo's expression softened.
“That doesn't make you foolish.”
I looked down.
“I feel foolish.”
“You survived.”
He said it simply.
“That is not the same thing.”
I cried then.
He didn't leave.
He didn't tell me to stop.
He just sat beside me until my breathing slowed.
At 3:00 a.m., I finally fell asleep.
When I woke, sunlight filled the room.
A note sat on the bedside table.
Your clothes are being brought from the motel.
Your storage unit is being secured.
No one will enter without you.
And beneath it, in a handwriting I couldn't recognize:
You're safe here.
I carried the note with me downstairs.
Lorenzo was in the library.
He looked up.
“Morning.”
“Did you write this?”
“Yes.”
“You have strange handwriting.”
“You're insulting your host.”
“I'm testing whether you're still dangerous.”
“And?”
“Undecided.”
He smiled.
Then Elena appeared.
“Breakfast.”
I sat.
For the first time in years, nobody watched me eat.
After breakfast, Lorenzo took me to the garage.
A black sedan waited.
“We're going to your storage unit.”
I swallowed.
“Why?”
“Because whatever your father left behind is valuable enough to kill for.”
He opened my door.
“I want you to see it before anyone else does.”
As we drove, he looked at me.
“One condition.”
“What?”
“From now on, no more saying 'I'm fine' when you aren't.”
I smiled weakly.
“I'll try.”
“No.”
He held my gaze.
“Promise.”
I nodded.
“I promise.”
The storage unit was exactly where I had left it.
Except the lock had been cut.
Lorenzo's men surrounded the building.
My heart pounded.
I stepped inside.
The box was gone.
For three years, I had believed my father's secrets had died with him.
Now I knew someone had been searching for them.
And whoever had taken the box had left something behind.
A photograph.
Of me.
At the police academy graduation of Detective Silas Vane.
On the back were four words:
SHE KNOWS NOTHING.
Lorenzo took the photograph.
May you like
His expression became lethal.
“That is about to change.”
Related Stories
