Chapter 2 - The Bruises on Elena’s Wrist Were Only the Beginning
I did not sleep that night.
I watched surveillance footage until sunrise.
Every missing minute.
Every erased file.
Every strange entry.
There were dozens.
All centered around Elena.
But nothing showed the actual attacks.
Someone had been careful.
Too careful.
At seven in the morning, I found Elena in the kitchen.
She was making breakfast for Mia.
The little girl sat on the counter in her yellow pajamas, carefully spreading jam across toast.
When she saw me, she smiled.
“Boss.”
“You're using my kitchen now?”
She nodded.
“Mommy says we're guests.”
I looked at Elena.
“You're not guests.”
She lowered her eyes.
Mia took a bite.
“Daddy used to make toast funny.”
I froze.
“Elena.”
Her spoon stopped.
“What?”
“Mia mentioned a father.”
Elena's face changed.
“We don't talk about him.”
“Why?”
“Because he's gone.”
“Dead?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
That answer stayed with me.
I had known Elena for eight months.
She had applied to work at one of my restaurants after being laid off from a hotel.
She was quiet.
Polite.
Never asked for favors.
Never took free meals.
Never complained.
And she'd never once mentioned having a child until the day I found Mia hiding beneath a banquet table eating strawberries at one of my charity events.
I had never asked enough questions.
That morning I started doing exactly that.
“Where did you live before New York?”
“Brooklyn.”
“Your family?”
“None nearby.”
“Your daughter's father?”
She tightened her grip on the spoon.
“He's not part of our lives.”
“Why?”
“Because that's safer.”
The words were almost identical to Vincent's.
Safer.
A word people used when they were hiding danger.
I stood.
“Tell me everything.”
She shook her head.
“I can't.”
“You can.”
“No.”
“Are you afraid of Vincent?”
“Yes.”
“Daniel?”
She looked at me.
“Yes.”
“Are you afraid of me?”
A pause.
“No.”
That answer hurt more than it should have.
“Why not?”
“Because Mia trusts you.”
I looked toward the child.
Mia was quietly eating toast.
Elena smiled sadly.
“She doesn't trust many men.”
I crouched beside Mia.
“Why do you trust me?”
She thought.
“Because you don't yell.”
I almost laughed.
Then I remembered her bruised wrist.
Children noticed everything adults ignored.
I stood.
“Elena, I'm going to keep you and Mia here until I know you're safe.”
“You can't.”
“I can.”
“I'll lose my job.”
“You won't.”
“I don't want trouble.”
“Neither do I.”
She looked confused.
“I want the truth.”
She opened her mouth.
Then the kitchen lights flickered.
Mia dropped her toast.
“Mommy?”
I looked toward the hallway.
Someone was moving.
I signaled Marco.
He entered with two guards.
Nothing.
Then we heard a crash upstairs.
Everyone froze.
I pulled my gun.
Elena grabbed Mia.
We moved toward the staircase.
A window in the west hall was broken.
On the floor was a small stuffed rabbit.
Mia's favorite.
She screamed.
“My bunny!”
I crouched.
There was blood on it.
Not much.
But enough.
Elena turned white.
“Where was that?”
“Mia's room,” I said.
She grabbed my arm.
“Then someone was inside.”
I examined the floor.
Mud.
Boot print.
Large.
Fresh.
The intruder had entered through the window and left without being seen.
Or had never left.
I ordered the guards to search the house.
Ten minutes later, Marco returned.
“Nothing.”
“Check the basement.”
He hesitated.
“We did.”
“Again.”
The basement contained storage rooms, old furniture, and records from my father's era.
I walked alone.
I found the first hidden compartment behind a wine rack.
Inside was a box.
My father's handwriting was on the lid.
TO LUCA — ONLY OPEN IF ISABELLA IS DEAD.
My hands went cold.
I opened it.
A photograph.
My father.
Isabella.
And a woman.
Elena.
I stared.
Impossible.
Elena was standing beside Isabella fifteen years ago.
She looked exactly the same.
Maybe younger.
But clearly her.
On the back:
THE CHILD CANNOT KNOW YET.
My pulse raced.
I grabbed the box and ran upstairs.
Elena was in the sitting room.
I showed her the photograph.
Her face collapsed.
“You knew my sister?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
She swallowed.
“Isabella helped me once.”
“Where?”
“I was seventeen.”
“And now?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“You're twenty-nine?”
She nodded.
I stared at the picture again.
“Why was Isabella with you?”
Elena began crying.
“She saved my life.”
“How?”
“She got me out of a house.”
“What house?”
“Elijah Vance's.”
The name hit me.
Elijah Vance had been my father's closest rival.
I had thought he died fifteen years ago.
Apparently not everyone who disappeared had actually died.
Elena continued.
“He wanted something your father had.”
“What?”
“A ledger.”
I stared.
“What ledger?”
“The book containing every illegal payment between the Moretti organization and the people protecting it.”
My blood ran cold.
“You had it?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Elena looked at Mia.
My daughter-like little visitor was sitting on the carpet drawing with crayons.
Elena lowered her voice.
“Isabella hid it.”
“Where?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“You must know something.”
“I know she told me never to trust Vincent.”
My jaw tightened.
“And Daniel?”
“Never trust him either.”
The same two names.
Again.
Before I could ask more, the front door opened.
Daniel walked in.
Marco raised his gun.
Daniel stopped.
“What is this?”
I walked toward him.
“You're not supposed to be here.”
“I needed to speak with you.”
“You had your chance.”
His face hardened.
“Luca, you don't understand what's happening.”
“Then explain.”
“Not here.”
“Why?”
He looked toward Elena.
She stepped backward.
His gaze followed her.
I drew my gun.
“Don't look at her.”
Daniel raised his hands.
“I'm trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
He lowered his voice.
“From your sister.”
I froze.
“What about Isabella?”
Daniel swallowed.
“She isn't dead.”
Every person in the room went silent.
Mia suddenly looked up.
“Mommy?”
Elena pulled her close.
Daniel continued.
“She has been alive for fifteen years.”
I stared at him.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because she told me not to.”
“Why?”
Daniel's eyes moved toward Elena.
“Because she was waiting for the right moment.”
“What moment?”
He looked directly at me.
“The moment you found out who Mia's father really is.”
Elena gasped.
I turned toward her.
She was crying.
I asked the question slowly.
“Who is Mia's father?”
Elena didn't answer.
Daniel did.
May you like
“He's the reason Isabella disappeared.”
And suddenly the room felt like it had become a cage.
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