Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be DeadThe first thing Victor Rinaldi did after surviving an assassination attempt was issue an order that made Kiara hate him.
“Take her to the downstairs holding room.”
Dante stared at him.
Kiara rose from behind the desk, furious.
“Absolutely not.”
Victor reloaded his pistol.
“We don't have time for this.”
“You don't get to lock me in another room because your uncle tried to murder us.”
“I'm trying to keep you alive.”
“You could start by treating me like a person.”
For a second, something complicated crossed his face.
Then Dante's radio crackled.
“The west staircase is clear. Three intruders down. Leonard is gone.”
Victor swore.
“Secure the garage. And find out who authorized that elevator override.”
Dante disappeared into the hallway.
Victor turned back to Kiara.
“Listen carefully. My uncle just tried to kill both of us. He knows where you live. He knows where your mother lives. If you walk out of here without protection, you're making his job easy.”
“My mother.”
The words came out barely above a whisper.
Victor saw her expression change.
He took out his phone.
Kiara caught his wrist.
“Don't send your men to her apartment.”
“Why?”
“Because the last time someone from your family came looking for a Hayes, my father ended up in a grave.”
Victor went still.
Then he lowered the phone.
“Tell me what happened to him.”
Kiara stared at the rain sliding down the windows.
“Twelve years ago, someone shot him in a parking garage. Police called it a robbery. His wallet was missing, and they said he had resisted.”
“Did you believe them?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he came home terrified three days before he died. He destroyed his computer. He burned documents in our backyard. And he told my mother we might have to leave Chicago.”
Victor studied her.
“My father never told me any of that.”
“Your father paid mine. That doesn't mean he protected him.”
The accusation landed.
Victor looked away.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he handed Kiara his phone.
“Call your mother.”
She dialed.
Once.
Twice.
Seven times.
No answer.
The fear that had kept her alive upstairs returned all at once.
“We have to go.”
Victor nodded.
This time he didn't argue.
Twenty minutes later, a black SUV turned onto a quiet residential street in Evanston.
Dante drove.
Victor sat beside Kiara in the back.
Nobody spoke until they approached the three-story brick building where Miriam Hayes had lived for eleven years.
Every window was dark.
Dante slowed.
“Power outage?”
Victor checked the neighboring buildings.
Their windows glowed warmly.
“No.”
Kiara was already opening her door.
Victor caught her arm.
“Wait.”
She jerked away.
“That's my mother.”
“And whoever cut the power may still be inside.”
He looked at Dante.
“Cover the rear entrance.”
Then he turned back to her.
“You stay behind me. Not because I own you. Because whoever is in there may be armed.”
Kiara hated that his explanation made sense.
They entered through the side stairwell.
The smell reached her first.
Burned plastic.
Then she saw the exposed wiring hanging from the electrical panel.
Someone had deliberately disabled the building's power.
Her mother's apartment door stood open.
“Mom?”
No answer.
Kiara rushed inside.
The kitchen chairs were overturned.
A ceramic bowl lay broken on the floor.
Her mother's favorite blue cardigan hung from the back of a chair.
And on the kitchen table sat a photograph.
Kiara stopped breathing.
It showed William Hayes standing outside an industrial building.
Beside him was Antonio Rinaldi, Victor's father.
And between them stood a much younger Leonard Rinaldi.
On the back, someone had written four words.
He should have listened.
Victor came up behind her.
“Where did you get that?”
“It was here.”
He took one look at the photograph and went pale.
Kiara noticed.
“What?”
Victor pointed toward the industrial building.
“That was the Northstar property.”
“What is Northstar?”
“A redevelopment project. My father bought the land after a warehouse fire.”
“When?”
“Twelve years ago.”
Kiara stared at him.
The same year her father died.
A floorboard creaked behind them.
Victor turned, gun raised.
“Don't move!”
An elderly woman stepped from the hallway, both hands lifted.
“Please don't shoot.”
Kiara recognized her immediately.
“Mrs. Donnelly!”
The seventy-four-year-old neighbor was crying.
“They took Miriam,” she whispered.
Kiara's knees weakened.
“Who?”
“Three men. One had silver hair. Nice suit. Looked like somebody's grandfather.”
Victor lowered his gun slowly.
“Leonard.”
Mrs. Donnelly shook her head.
“No. The silver-haired man didn't come inside. I saw him from my window. He stayed near the car.”
“Which car?” Dante demanded from the doorway.
“A dark sedan. Illinois plates. I couldn't read all the numbers.”
Kiara gripped the edge of the counter.
“Did they hurt her?”
The older woman's eyes filled.
“Your mother fought them. She hit one man with a lamp. Then they took her down the stairs.”
Victor stepped outside to call his security team.
Kiara followed Mrs. Donnelly into the hallway.
The woman caught her hand.
“Sweetheart, your mother told me something before they came.”
Kiara swallowed.
“What?”
“She said if anyone asked where she was, I should tell them she went willingly.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“She was scared, Kiara. But she wasn't surprised.”
Mrs. Donnelly reached into the pocket of her bathrobe.
“She also told me to give you this.”
It was a little brass key.
Old.
Scratched.
A faded number stamped into its head.
27.
Kiara stared at it.
She knew that key.
Her father had once worn it on a chain beneath his shirt.
After his funeral, it had vanished.
“Did she say what it opens?”
Mrs. Donnelly nodded.
“She said you would remember the place where your father taught you to count the missing things.”
Kiara closed her eyes.
Her father had loved peculiar games.
He would place twenty objects on a table, allow her to study them, then make her look away while he removed three.
She had to identify what was missing.
The games had never taken place at home.
They had taken place in the archives of an old public library where William volunteered on Saturdays.
The Aster Reading Room.
Its storage cabinets had brass locks.
Kiara opened her eyes.
“I know where we have to go.”
Victor returned, his expression grim.
“Leo has disconnected every number I know. His house is empty. He's moved money from two more accounts.”
Kiara showed him the key.
“My father left something behind.”
Victor looked at the number.
“Where?”
She hesitated.
Trusting him was dangerous.
But withholding information could cost her mother's life.
“An old library on the South Side.”
Dante entered, holding his phone.
“Boss, there's something else.”
Victor turned.
“What?”
“Your uncle filed an emergency board notice thirty minutes ago.”
“On what grounds?”
Dante's jaw tightened.
“He's declaring you medically unfit to lead.”
Victor gave a cold laugh.
“After trying to kill me?”
“That's not all.”
Dante glanced at Kiara.
“The notice claims you kidnapped a university researcher named Kiara Hayes, forced her to falsify financial records, and then ordered your men to execute two witnesses inside your penthouse.”
Kiara felt sick.
Leo was building a case against both of them.
Before Victor could respond, Kiara's phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Her mother.
Seated in a windowless room.
Her wrists bound to a wooden chair.
But it was the message beneath the photograph that made Kiara's entire body go cold.
Your father died because he opened the wrong door.
Bring me what was behind it, and Miriam lives.
A second message arrived.
Tell Victor his father knew everything.
Victor read the screen over her shoulder.
His face changed.
Not with fear.
With recognition.
Kiara looked at him.
“What does he mean?”
Victor remained silent.
“Victor.”
He slowly raised his eyes.
“Because twelve years ago,” he said, “my father told me there was one death in this family that could never be discussed.”
Kiara's voice broke.
“Whose death?”
May you like
Victor looked at the photograph of William Hayes.
“Until tonight, I thought he meant my mother.”
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