Chapter 3 - The Room Behind the Library
By the time they returned to Chicago, Meline was no longer afraid of Damian.
She was afraid of what surrounded him.
She had spent eight months cleaning floors and polishing silver in the Pines.
She had believed she knew the house.
Now she understood that every hallway seemed to hide another story.
Damian took her to the old library.
“This room has been locked for twenty years.”
Meline looked at the brass handle.
“Why?”
“My father said my mother died here.”
She looked at him.
“In this room?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He said she fell down the staircase.”
“And you don't believe him.”
“No.”
Damian unlocked the door.
Dust filled the air.
The room had been untouched.
Books.
A fireplace.
Old portraits.
Meline felt something strange the moment she walked in.
Familiar.
She couldn't explain it.
She moved toward a desk.
Her fingers brushed the wood.
Then she stopped.
There was a tiny carving underneath.
A crescent.
The same shape as the scar on her wrist.
Damian saw it.
“That's it.”
“What?”
“That's the symbol my mother used.”
Meline stared.
“For what?”
“Letters.”
He opened an old drawer.
Inside were envelopes.
All marked with the same crescent.
Meline picked one up.
The handwriting made her heart race.
Her mother's.
She opened it.
Damian watched her.
The letter was dated twenty-three years earlier.
I FOUND THE GIRL.
Meline's hands shook.
She read the next sentence.
SHE HAS THE MARK.
Damian's face changed.
“Read everything.”
She did.
The letter described a baby girl.
A baby hidden from a powerful family.
A baby whose father was not the man listed on her birth certificate.
A baby named Meline.
Meline stopped breathing.
“What?”
Damian stared at her.
“You're the girl.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
The letter continued.
THE CHILD MUST BE KEPT AWAY FROM VICTOR RUSSO.
Meline looked at Damian.
“Your father.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
Then they heard footsteps.
Vincent entered.
“Damian.”
“What?”
“We found a photograph.”
He handed him an old image.
A young woman.
Meline's mother.
Damian's mother.
And a third person.
A man with the Russo family crest.
Damian's face hardened.
“That's Victor.”
Meline stared.
“Who is the man beside him?”
Vincent answered.
“Samuel Sullivan.”
Silence.
The Sullivans and Russos had once been allies.
Then something happened.
A betrayal.
A death.
And a war that lasted fifteen years.
Meline sat down.
“Why would my mother hide me?”
Damian spoke slowly.
“Because you were evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
Vincent placed another photograph on the table.
Two newborn babies.
One boy.
One girl.
The note underneath read:
ONE WILL INHERIT.
ONE WILL BE SACRIFICED.
Meline stared.
“What does this mean?”
Damian went still.
“My father had another child.”
Vincent nodded.
“And the Sullivans knew.”
“Who?”
“Your brother.”
Meline couldn't breathe.
“Elias?”
“No.”
Vincent's gaze moved to Damian.
“You.”
Damian's face went blank.
Meline stared at him.
“What?”
Vincent continued.
“Your mother gave birth to twins.”
Damian looked at the photograph.
“One was me.”
“And the other?”
Vincent looked at Meline.
The world seemed to collapse.
“No,” she whispered.
Damian shook his head.
“That isn't possible.”
Vincent's voice softened.
“It is.”
Meline looked at him.
“Are you saying I'm your sister?”
Damian stepped closer.
“I don't know.”
She backed away.
“You've been watching me for eight months.”
“Yes.”
“You knew there was something.”
“Yes.”
“You knew I was connected to your family.”
“I suspected.”
“You knew.”
“I didn't know how.”
Meline's eyes filled with tears.
“And now?”
Damian looked at the photograph.
“Now I'm terrified.”
“Of me?”
“For you.”
That distinction mattered.
Before Meline could respond, the library doors slammed shut.
Gunfire exploded in the hallway.
Damian pulled her down.
Vincent returned fire.
Men shouted outside.
Someone had entered the estate.
But they weren't searching for Damian.
They were searching for Meline.
Damian grabbed her hand.
“Stay behind me.”
They ran through a hidden passage.
Meline couldn't believe the walls had another door.
They descended a staircase.
At the bottom was an old storage room.
Damian closed the steel door.
Silence.
Meline stared at him.
“Why would they kill me?”
“Because if you're really my sister, you know something they don't want anyone to know.”
“I don't know anything.”
“You may not remember.”
“Remember what?”
“Your mother.”
Meline closed her eyes.
Memories came in fragments.
A woman's perfume.
A red ribbon.
A song.
And a man shouting.
Then fire.
She opened her eyes.
“I remember the fire.”
Damian froze.
“What fire?”
“My mother's house.”
“When?”
“I was ten.”
“Did you see who started it?”
Meline swallowed.
“A man.”
“Who?”
“He had a ring.”
“What kind?”
She looked at him.
“A black wolf.”
Damian's face went pale.
Vincent swore.
“The Sullivan crest.”
Meline finally understood.
Her mother had not died naturally.
Someone had tried to destroy evidence.
And now, twenty years later, they were trying again.
A loud explosion shook the room.
Damian grabbed Meline.
“We have to move.”
“Where?”
“To a place they can't find.”
“Where?”
He looked directly at her.
“My home.”
“This is your home.”
“No.”
May you like
His voice softened.
“My real home.”
