Chapter 2 - The Man Who Knew My Family Secret
The next morning, my life looked ordinary.
That was the cruelest part.
The coffee machine sputtered.
The radiator knocked.
My neighbor's dog barked through the wall.
The city outside my window was covered in gray winter light.
Everything looked exactly the same.
Except I wasn't.
I could still feel Adrian's blood on my hands.
I washed them three times before leaving for work.
At the hospital, I tried to convince myself the entire night had been an adrenaline-induced nightmare.
Then a black envelope appeared on my locker.
My name was written across it.
Emily Parker.
Inside was a single photograph.
My mother.
I stopped breathing.
The photograph had been taken twenty-six years earlier.
My mother stood outside a small diner in Chicago, holding a baby.
Me.
A man stood beside her.
I had never seen him before.
But there was something about his face that frightened me.
He looked like an older version of Adrian.
Not exactly.
But close enough to make my hands shake.
There was a handwritten note beneath the photograph.
Ask Adrian Duca about your father.
I folded the photograph and hid it under my scrubs.
“Emily?”
I spun around.
Ryan stood in the doorway.
He looked tired.
But not guilty.
That would have been easier.
He smiled as if nothing had happened.
“Hey.”
I stared at him.
“You ignored my calls.”
“I told you I was out.”
“I almost got shot.”
His smile disappeared.
“What?”
I told him about the alley.
I didn't tell him about Adrian's identity.
Not yet.
Ryan's expression changed.
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It was.”
“You shouldn't walk through that area.”
I looked at him.
“That is your response?”
He sighed.
“Emily, I was drinking. I didn't see my phone.”
“Sixteen missed calls.”
“I know.”
“You didn't even ask whether I was okay.”
Ryan stepped closer.
“I'm asking now.”
“No.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“You're asking because I brought it up.”
He looked irritated.
“You're making this bigger than it is.”
A laugh escaped me.
I couldn't believe it.
“Bigger than it is?”
“Nothing happened to you.”
“I watched a man get shot.”
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
“Then maybe you should stop worrying.”
I stared at him.
That was the moment something changed inside me.
Not completely.
Not enough to end our engagement.
But enough to make me question the man I had planned to marry.
Ryan reached for my hand.
I moved away.
His jaw tightened.
“What's wrong with you?”
“I don't know anymore.”
He left after that.
I stood in the hallway holding a photograph of my mother.
For the rest of my shift, I couldn't focus.
At lunch, my phone rang from an unknown number.
I answered.
“Emily Parker?”
“Yes.”
“This is Adrian Duca.”
My heart jumped.
“Are you calling from the hospital?”
“No.”
“Then how did you get my number?”
A pause.
“You gave it to me.”
“I absolutely did not.”
“You gave it to my security chief.”
“I did not.”
Another pause.
Then, quietly:
“That's strange.”
“What's strange?”
“You normally don't hesitate to correct people.”
“I don't know what that means.”
“I know.”
His voice sounded weaker than the night before.
“Are you okay?”
“I'll survive.”
“Good.”
Silence.
Then he said, “Did you find the photograph?”
I froze.
“What photograph?”
He didn't answer.
“Adrian.”
“Your mother.”
My stomach dropped.
“How do you know about my mother?”
“Meet me.”
“No.”
“You want answers.”
“You can't just tell me to meet you.”
“I can.”
“You're unbelievable.”
“I've been told.”
Despite myself, I almost smiled.
Then his voice changed.
“Emily, listen to me carefully. Do not trust Ryan.”
My blood went cold.
“What do you know about my fiancé?”
“I know enough.”
“Tell me.”
“Not over the phone.”
“I need to know.”
“So do I.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means someone in your life gave information about you to the people who tried to kill me.”
I felt dizzy.
“You think Ryan is involved?”
“I think you shouldn't sleep alone tonight.”
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Five minutes later, I received a second message.
A location.
An old restaurant near the Chicago River.
Then:
Come alone.
I should have ignored him.
Instead, after my shift, I went.
Adrian sat in a private room upstairs.
His shoulder was bandaged beneath a dark shirt.
He looked pale.
But the moment he saw me, his eyes sharpened.
“You came.”
“You said you had answers.”
“I do.”
He pushed a folder across the table.
I opened it.
Inside were photographs.
My mother.
My father.
My childhood home.
Then a picture of Adrian's father.
My hands started shaking.
“Why are they together?”
“Because your father worked for my family.”
I looked up.
“My father died when I was six.”
“That's what you were told.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“My mother said he died in a car accident.”
Adrian looked at me.
“Your father was murdered.”
The room tilted.
I gripped the table.
“By who?”
“My uncle.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because your father discovered that the Duca empire was being sabotaged from inside.”
Adrian continued.
“Your father had evidence. He was going to expose a financial network that connected several businessmen to politicians and criminal organizations.”
“Then why was I never told?”
“Because someone made sure your mother stayed silent.”
“Who?”
Adrian leaned back.
“Victor Bellini.”
The same name I had heard in the alley.
“Victor?”
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
“My father's former partner.”
Adrian paused.
“And the man currently trying to take control of Chicago's criminal network.”
I looked at the photograph of my mother again.
“What does this have to do with me?”
“You inherited something.”
“What?”
“A key.”
I laughed nervously.
“This is insane.”
Adrian reached into his jacket.
He placed a small photograph on the table.
A photograph of me as a child.
I was holding something.
A tiny silver key.
My eyes widened.
“I've never seen that before.”
“You've held it your entire life.”
“Where is it?”
Adrian looked at me.
“Your mother kept it hidden.”
I felt tears burning my eyes.
“She died three years ago.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“I investigated your family.”
“Why?”
“Because Victor sent people after me.”
“And somehow I became part of your investigation?”
“No.”
He looked at me with an intensity that made it difficult to breathe.
“You became part of my life the moment you saved me.”
I looked away.
“You barely know me.”
“I know you walked toward gunfire to help a stranger.”
“I'm a nurse.”
“I know.”
“What else?”
“I know your coffee order.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Medium coffee. One sugar.”
“You've been watching me?”
“I've been protecting you.”
“That is not the same thing.”
He smiled faintly.
“Not anymore.”
My phone rang.
Ryan.
I stared at the screen.
Adrian noticed.
“Answer.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to hear what he says.”
I answered.
“Where are you?”
Ryan asked.
“At dinner.”
“With who?”
I looked at Adrian.
He remained silent.
“Alone,” I lied.
“Come home.”
His voice sounded cold.
“I need to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“Us.”
I swallowed.
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
Then he hung up.
Adrian's expression changed.
“What?”
“He wants me home.”
“Then don't go.”
I stared at him.
“You don't get to tell me where to go.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
“But I'm telling you this anyway.”
He leaned closer.
“Ryan isn't the man you think he is.”
I picked up my bag.
“I'll decide that myself.”
Adrian watched me leave.
But before I reached the door, he said one final thing.
“Emily.”
I turned.
“Your father didn't die in an accident.”
May you like
His eyes were dark.
“And your mother's death three years ago wasn't natural either.”
Related Stories
