Chapter 2 - The Dead Man in the Photograph
Roman stared at the photograph until his vision sharpened around its edges.
His brother was standing behind Norah.
Not a resemblance.
Not a stranger who happened to share similar features.
Not an old picture.
It was unmistakably Adrian Moretti.
His older brother.
The man Roman had buried in a closed casket nine years earlier.
The same Adrian whose death had shaped Roman's rise.
The same Adrian whose funeral Roman had attended while holding their mother's hand.
The same Adrian whose gravestone Roman still visited once every year.
Roman's breathing turned shallow.
“What is this?”
Norah said nothing.
“You said your name was on this plane because you were running from someone. You didn't say my dead brother was standing over your shoulder.”
“He wasn't over my shoulder.”
“Norah.”
“I know how it looks.”
“It looks like my brother is alive.”
“He is.”
Roman turned to her.
“Don't.”
“I am not lying.”
He lowered his voice.
“Do you know what happens to people who lie to me?”
Norah met his gaze.
“Yes.”
“Then don't.”
“I've lived with that fear for 1 year.”
Roman clenched his jaw.
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
“How long have you known?”
“Eleven months.”
Roman laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“Eleven months.”
“Yes.”
“You knew my brother was alive for almost a year.”
“Yes.”
“And you were carrying my children.”
“Yes.”
“You disappeared.”
“Yes.”
Roman leaned back.
His hands trembled.
He hid them.
“Why didn't you contact me?”
“Because Adrian told me you were next.”
“Next for what?”
“For death.”
That silenced him.
Norah continued.
“Your brother came to me three days after I left Chicago.”
Roman stared.
“How?”
“I was staying in a motel in New Jersey. He appeared at the door.”
“Why would you trust him?”
“I didn't.”
“Then?”
“He showed me the same scar you have.”
Roman's eyes narrowed.
Adrian had a scar on his left rib from a childhood accident.
A private detail.
One Roman and Adrian knew.
Norah wouldn't have known it.
“He told me your father had never died naturally.”
Roman's expression hardened.
Their father had officially suffered a stroke.
Adrian had supposedly been killed in a construction explosion nine years later.
But Roman had always wondered.
Their family had too many convenient deaths.
“What did he say?”
“He said the explosion that killed him was staged.”
Roman's pulse rose.
“By whom?”
“He didn't give me a name.”
“Why?”
“Because he said whoever ordered it was inside your organization.”
Roman looked toward the front of the aircraft.
His mind began moving.
Denver.
His wounded lieutenant.
The Irish crew.
The message ordering Norah handled.
Adrian alive.
None of it was random.
Someone had been moving pieces for months.
Roman opened the envelope.
Inside was the key.
It was old brass.
On one side was the Moretti family crest.
On the other, a number.
“What does it open?”
Norah looked at it.
“Adrian said you'd know.”
Roman shook his head.
“I don't.”
Norah's eyes widened.
“Then he was wrong.”
“What?”
“He said only you would understand.”
Roman examined the key again.
Suddenly a memory surfaced.
A storage room beneath his childhood home.
Room 17.
He had not entered it in twenty years.
Their father had forbidden everyone from going inside.
Roman had forgotten about it.
Or buried the memory.
“What else did Adrian tell you?”
“That he didn't trust anyone.”
“He told me that too.”
“Who?”
Roman thought of an old name.
Mason.
His father's financial adviser.
The man who had remained loyal to the family for more than twenty-five years.
The man currently handling Roman's Denver accounts.
Roman felt something cold settle inside him.
“What's wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Roman.”
He stood.
“Keep the children close.”
“Where are you going?”
“To the lavatory.”
She looked skeptical.
“You're going to call someone.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Someone I should have called twelve months ago.”
He walked toward the back.
Once inside the narrow lavatory, Roman locked the door.
He called Carlo.
Carlo answered immediately.
“Boss?”
“Do you have a secure line?”
“Yes.”
“Call no one else. Do not use the office phones.”
“Understood.”
“Pull Adrian Moretti's death file.”
Silence.
“Boss?”
“You heard me.”
“He's dead.”
“Maybe.”
Carlo hesitated.
“Where did you hear—”
“Do not ask questions.”
Roman ended the call.
Then he called Denver.
A different lieutenant answered.
“Boss.”
“Who authorized the hit on Marco?”
“The Irish.”
“No. Who gave you the schedule?”
A pause.
“Mason.”
Roman closed his eyes.
There it was.
Mason.
The name Adrian had whispered in an old letter five years ago.
Roman remembered the letter now.
Not because the words mattered.
Because Adrian had underlined one phrase.
Never let the banker choose your enemy.
Roman returned to his seat.
Norah watched him.
“You found something.”
“I found a name.”
“Who?”
Roman hesitated.
“Mason.”
Norah's expression changed.
“You know him?”
“He runs our financial network.”
“Adrian mentioned him.”
Roman looked at her.
“What exactly?”
“That Mason was the only man who knew where your brother would be the night he disappeared.”
Roman's face went cold.
The aircraft lights dimmed.
Passengers settled.
The babies had fallen asleep.
For a few minutes there was peace.
Then Roman noticed movement outside.
A man in a dark cap stopped beside the cabin door.
He looked at Roman.
Then at Norah.
Then at the twins.
Roman instantly recognized him.
One of Mason's security men.
He had no reason to be on this flight.
Roman whispered:
“Lock the tray.”
Norah frowned.
“What?”
“Do it.”
She obeyed.
Roman unbuckled his seat belt.
The man moved toward them.
Roman rose.
“What are you doing here?”
The man smiled.
“Holiday travel.”
Roman's expression remained blank.
“You don't travel.”
The man's smile disappeared.
He reached inside his coat.
Roman moved first.
He grabbed the man's wrist and slammed it into the wall.
A gun hit the floor.
Passengers began screaming.
The flight attendant rushed forward.
Roman kicked the weapon under a seat.
“Stay down!”
The man swung.
Roman blocked.
They collided against the seats.
Norah pulled both babies against her chest.
The man shouted:
“You don't know what she did!”
Roman hit him once.
“What did she do?”
“She knows where Adrian is.”
Roman froze.
The man smiled through blood.
“You still think your brother is your enemy?”
Roman grabbed his collar.
“Where is he?”
The man whispered:
“Denver.”
Then he smiled.
“Just like you.”
He lunged toward Roman.
The aircraft shook.
The man's head struck the overhead compartment.
He collapsed.
The flight attendants secured him.
Roman stood breathing heavily.
Norah looked terrified.
“You see now?”
Roman turned toward her.
“I see enough.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You don't.”
She looked down at the twins.
“I didn't leave you because I stopped loving you.”
Roman remained silent.
“I left because I knew if I stayed, they would use the babies to destroy you.”
“Who are they?”
Norah's tears returned.
“The people who killed Adrian.”
Roman crouched beside her.
“Then why is he alive?”
“Because he wasn't supposed to die.”
May you like
The plane continued through the storm.
And somewhere below them, in the darkness between Chicago and Denver, an entire war was waiting.
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