Chapter 3 - The Secret in Maya's Name
By noon, Vincent had canceled every meeting in the city.
By one, three men had been arrested.
By two, the security team had discovered that the sniper attack had been a diversion.
By three, Maya learned that her entire life had been built on a lie.
Vincent took her to his study.
Adrian stood near the fireplace.
A folder sat on the desk.
Maya didn't like the look of it.
"What is that?"
Vincent said, "Your history."
"I already know my history."
"No."
He pushed the folder toward her.
"You know the version you were given."
Maya stared at the photographs inside.
Her childhood apartment.
Her school.
Her father.
She touched a photograph with trembling fingers.
"Where did you get these?"
"Private records."
"Why?"
"Because Marcus has been watching you longer than you think."
Her stomach turned.
Adrian spoke.
"He didn't become obsessed with you because he loved you."
Maya looked up.
"Then why?"
"Because of your father."
The room seemed to shrink.
"My father died when I was twelve."
"That's what your mother told you."
Maya stared at Vincent.
"You knew my mother?"
"No."
"Then how do you know?"
Vincent pulled out another file.
Inside was a photograph of two men.
One was older.
The other was younger.
Maya recognized the older man immediately.
Her father.
The younger man was Vincent's father.
She looked again.
There was a third man.
Marcus Hale.
Her breath caught.
"What is this?"
"A photograph taken nineteen years ago."
Maya's hands shook.
"Why were they together?"
"Because your father worked for my family."
She stood so quickly the chair scraped backward.
"No."
Vincent didn't flinch.
"My father was an accountant."
"He was."
"An accountant."
"He was also the person who handled financial records for the Torino organization."
Maya felt sick.
"You’re saying my father was a gangster."
"I'm saying he worked for people involved in organized crime."
She pushed the file away.
"My mother would never have lied to me."
Vincent was silent.
Maya saw it.
There was more.
"Tell me."
He did.
"Your father discovered money was being stolen."
"By whom?"
Vincent looked at Adrian.
Adrian answered.
"Marcus's father."
Maya's knees weakened.
She sat.
"That can't be."
"It gets worse," Vincent said.
Her eyes lifted.
"Your father copied the records."
"Why?"
"To protect himself."
"Where are they?"
"We don't know."
Maya stared at him.
Marcus had spent two years controlling her.
Two years telling her she was unstable.
Too emotional.
Too paranoid.
Too dependent on him.
And all along, he had been searching for something.
Something connected to her father.
"Why me?"
Vincent's voice softened.
"Because your father hid the records before he disappeared."
"Where?"
"We believe he put them somewhere only you could access."
Maya frowned.
"I was twelve."
"Exactly."
He placed another photograph in front of her.
A small wooden jewelry box.
Maya's breath stopped.
She knew that box.
Her father had given it to her.
On the night before he died.
She had forgotten about it years ago.
Her mother had thrown away most of his belongings.
But the box remained.
At the bottom of an old storage trunk.
Maya whispered, "It's still in my apartment."
Vincent's gaze hardened.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Then we're going."
He turned.
Maya grabbed his sleeve.
"No."
He looked back.
"I want to go with you."
"Too dangerous."
"So is staying here."
Vincent studied her.
Finally, he nodded.
They drove through the city under heavy security.
When they reached Maya's apartment building, the front door was hanging open.
Her stomach dropped.
Inside, furniture had been overturned.
Drawers ripped open.
Clothes scattered everywhere.
Someone had searched the place.
Maya rushed into the bedroom.
The trunk was gone.
She turned.
"Someone took it."
Vincent crouched near the damaged floor.
"Not everything."
"What do you mean?"
He picked up a small broken photograph frame.
Behind it was a hidden compartment.
Inside sat a note.
Maya recognized her father's handwriting.
Her fingers trembled as she opened it.
Maya,
If you are reading this, then I am gone.
Do not trust Marcus Hale.
Do not trust anyone who tells you the truth is simple.
The ledger isn't money.
It's a name.
Find the name before they find you.
Maya's throat closed.
"Ledger?"
Vincent read the note.
His expression became unreadable.
"There is one sentence left."
Maya looked down.
Underneath was a final line.
When the girl enters the Torino house, the truth will finally come home.
Maya slowly looked at Vincent.
"What does that mean?"
He didn't answer.
Because he was already thinking about the wedding.
The timing.
The threat.
The marriage.
And the woman who had walked into his life on the exact night his family was about to sign a historic peace agreement.
Vincent suddenly understood.
Someone had planned for Maya to enter that wedding.
Not accidentally.
Not by chance.
Marcus had chased her there.
But maybe someone else had wanted her there first.
On the way back to the mansion, the car stopped.
Adrian's voice came through the radio.
"Boss."
Vincent answered.
"What?"
"We found the trunk."
Maya leaned forward.
"Where?"
A pause.
"At the Torino mausoleum."
Vincent's face hardened.
Maya whispered, "Why would someone take it there?"
"Because," Vincent said, "someone wants us to dig up the dead."
And when they arrived, they found the trunk open.
Inside was no ledger.
Only a bloodstained baby bracelet.
Engraved on the inside were two words.
MAYA TORINO.
Maya stared at it.
Her entire body went cold.
Vincent's hand slowly tightened around the edge of the coffin beside them.
He knew that bracelet.
His mother had worn the matching one.
Twenty years ago.
The night a newborn girl was declared dead.
The night Vincent's father had nearly destroyed the family over a missing infant.
May you like
And now Maya was standing in front of him.
Alive.
