Chapter 3 - The Book Hidden Beneath My Childhood BedAt seven the following morning, I stood in front of a mirror wearing jeans, a white sweater, and a diamond wedding ring that felt heavier than the pistol Marco had just placed on the desk.
"No," I said.
He raised an eyebrow.
"You haven't heard the explanation."
"I don't need an explanation. I'm not carrying a gun."
"It's for emergency protection."
"I don't know how to use one."
"That's why I was going to show you."
I looked toward the open doorway.
"Niko!"
My husband appeared almost immediately.
He wore dark trousers and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms.
For a moment, my exhausted brain registered the absurdity of finding a dangerous man attractive before remembering the circumstances.
"What happened?"
"Your security chief wants to give me a firearm."
Niko looked at the pistol.
Then at Marco.
"No."
Marco sighed.
"Boss—"
"She hasn't been trained."
"Exactly!" I said.
Niko turned toward me.
"And even if you had been, carrying one would be your decision."
I stared at him.
Marco collected the weapon.
"Fine. But I'd like it officially recorded that neither of you makes my job easy."
"Put that in your retirement speech," Niko replied.
Marco left muttering something in Italian.
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
Then Niko handed me a photograph.
The smile vanished.
It showed my childhood bedroom.
Pink wallpaper.
A white wooden bed.
Bookshelves built beneath a window overlooking my mother's rose garden.
Across the wall, in thick red letters, someone had written the message Marco had described.
THE BRIDE HAS WHAT HER MOTHER STOLE.
Below it was the time.
8:00 A.M.
I studied the photograph.
Something looked wrong.
Not the writing.
Something else.
"The bookshelves."
Niko leaned closer.
"What about them?"
"The shelves were built into the wall. They couldn't be moved."
"All right."
"In this photograph, the bottom shelf is crooked."
Niko looked again.
His expression changed.
"Marco!"
The security chief returned.
Niko showed him the photograph.
"Get a team to the Shaw house. Check the wall behind the bottom bookshelf."
Marco nodded and disappeared.
I stared at my husband.
"You think the book is there?"
"I think whoever broke in may have been searching for a hiding place."
I shook my head.
"That room hasn't been mine since I was eighteen."
"Maybe nobody thought to look there."
"Or maybe somebody already knew."
Niko didn't answer.
I folded my arms.
"Are we going to my father's breakfast?"
"Not until we know whether it's safe."
I checked the time.
7:12.
"We have forty-eight minutes."
"Clara—"
"I want to see him."
He studied me.
"Your father?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because if he lied about my mother, I want to look him in the face when I ask."
Niko didn't immediately refuse.
Instead, he walked to the window.
Morning sunlight washed across Central Park.
Traffic moved beneath us.
Joggers followed the paths.
From thirty floors above the city, the world looked orderly.
Almost peaceful.
"I spent years believing I understood my father," Niko said unexpectedly.
I looked at him.
"Then he died, and I found out he'd made promises I couldn't honor without hurting people."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"No."
He turned.
"It's supposed to explain why I understand what you're about to lose."
For the first time since our wedding, I saw something other than control in his expression.
Regret.
Not the polished regret wealthy men displayed in newspaper interviews.
Something old and personal.
"What did your father do?"
Niko's jaw tightened.
"He trusted the wrong people."
"Rusk?"
"Among them."
I approached the window.
"My father used to tell me that loyalty was everything."
Niko looked at me.
"My father said the same thing."
"Did you believe him?"
"Until loyalty became an excuse for silence."
I remembered the years after my mother's death.
My father insisting I attend political fundraisers.
My father telling me certain questions were inappropriate.
My father buying expensive gifts whenever I tried to discuss what had happened.
Silence.
It had always been silence.
At 7:31, Marco returned.
"We found a compartment."
My pulse raced.
"What was inside?"
"A book wrapped in oilcloth."
I gripped the edge of the desk.
"The Secret Garden?"
Marco nodded.
"The cover matches. We haven't opened it."
"Why not?"
Niko answered.
"Because if someone has been hunting it for thirteen years, I want to know exactly what we're handling before we expose anything."
I stared at him.
"It's a children's book."
"And someone may have killed your mother to find it."
That silenced me.
At 7:45, an armored SUV pulled into the underground garage.
Inside a sealed evidence bag lay a faded green hardcover.
My mother's book.
I knew it immediately.
There was a small tear near the spine where I'd dropped it on the kitchen floor when I was ten.
My hands shook as Marco placed it on the table.
"Can I touch it?"
Niko nodded.
"Of course."
Marco opened the evidence bag.
I lifted the book carefully.
Its pages smelled faintly of dust.
On the inside cover, written in my mother's handwriting, were the words:
For my sunshine, who knows that even locked gardens can bloom again.
My vision blurred.
Niko stood quietly beside me.
I turned the pages.
Most appeared ordinary.
Illustrations.
Chapter headings.
Old-fashioned language I'd struggled to understand as a child.
Then, near the middle, I found a folded sheet of paper pressed between pages.
My mother had written on it.
Clara, if you are reading this because I cannot explain it myself, remember that truth is not the same as revenge. Be brave enough to know the difference.
I read the sentence three times.
Then I unfolded the paper.
It contained a list of numbers and dates.
Some were followed by initials.
Others by addresses.
And at the bottom was a sentence written in red ink.
The first key is the place where she learned to swim.
I frowned.
"That doesn't make sense."
Niko leaned closer.
"Did your mother teach you to swim?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"At a summer house in Connecticut."
"Does your family still own it?"
"No. Dad sold it after she died."
Niko exchanged a glance with Marco.
"Who bought it?"
I tried to remember.
"It was sold through an estate agent."
"We can find the records."
I nodded absently.
My attention remained fixed on the message.
The place where she learned to swim.
Not you.
She.
I looked up suddenly.
"Wait."
Niko stopped.
"What?"
"My mother didn't learn to swim at our summer house."
"Where did she learn?"
"At Saint Agnes."
Marco frowned.
"What's Saint Agnes?"
"A residential school outside Albany. My mother lived there as a teenager."
Niko became very still.
"Saint Agnes Children's Residence?"
I nodded.
"Yes."
He looked toward Marco.
"Get Gianna on the phone."
I stared at him.
"Your sister?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Niko didn't answer.
He took out his phone and dialed.
After several rings, a woman's voice answered.
"Niko, it's seven in the morning. Somebody had better be dead."
"Gianna."
Something in his tone made her go quiet.
"What happened?"
"Do you remember Saint Agnes?"
A pause.
Then the woman said, "Why are you asking?"
"Clara's mother left a reference to it."
The silence lasted several seconds.
When Gianna spoke again, her voice was different.
"Don't take Clara there."
I felt cold.
"Why not?" Niko asked.
"Because if Eleanor left something at Saint Agnes, then the people who killed her may already be waiting for her daughter."
The call ended.
I looked at Niko.
"What did she mean?"
He was staring at the phone.
"Niko?"
He lifted his eyes.
"My sister lived at Saint Agnes for nine months."
"Why?"
"Because when she was thirteen, someone inside our family decided she knew too much."
I couldn't speak.
Niko continued.
"My father sent her away for protection. Eleanor Shaw was one of the attorneys who helped secure her placement."
I stared at the faded book.
For the first time, I understood that my mother's life had crossed into the Santoro family's world long before my wedding.
"How old was your sister?"
"Thirteen."
"The same age I was when I started high school."
He nodded.
"She was terrified."
"What happened to her?"
Niko's jaw tightened.
"Someone tried to take her from the residence."
"Who?"
"We never found out. Eleanor helped stop the transfer and kept Gianna's location confidential."
I looked back at the letter.
Truth is not the same as revenge.
My mother had known something terrible.
And she'd left clues for me.
Not because she wanted me to avenge her.
Because she wanted the truth to survive.
At 7:58, Niko's phone rang.
Marco listened to the caller.
Then he looked up sharply.
"Boss. The cameras outside Shaw's house just went down."
"All of them?"
"Street cameras, driveway cameras, and the exterior security system."
Niko moved toward the door.
"Get everyone out."
I grabbed his arm.
"My father!"
He looked at me.
"Clara—"
"He's still inside!"
Niko spoke into his phone.
"Marco, call the police. Tell them we have reason to believe an armed assault is imminent."
Marco was already moving.
I followed.
Niko turned.
"Stay here."
"No."
"Clara."
"He's my father!"
"That doesn't make the situation safe."
I stared at him.
"Would you leave Gianna inside that house?"
His expression changed.
That was answer enough.
He exhaled.
"You're not going into danger because I make a decision out of guilt."
"Then don't."
He held my gaze.
"We go only if the police secure the location. You stay with the protection team, and you follow their instructions. Agreed?"
I hated every part of it.
But I nodded.
We reached the house twenty-five minutes later.
Police vehicles blocked the street.
My father's front gates stood open.
A shattered black SUV rested against a stone planter.
Its windshield had been struck by gunfire.
My stomach dropped.
"Where is he?"
Niko gripped my hand.
"We'll find out."
A detective approached the vehicle.
"Mr. Santoro?"
Niko nodded.
"Detective Lena Ortiz."
She looked at me.
"Mrs. Santoro, I'm afraid there's been an incident."
"Where's my father?"
"He's alive."
The relief was so sudden that my knees nearly buckled.
"Is he hurt?"
"Minor injuries. He's being questioned inside."
Niko frowned.
"Who attacked the house?"
"We're still establishing that."
I glanced toward the damaged SUV.
"Was anyone killed?"
The detective hesitated.
"One security officer was injured. He's been transported to a hospital."
A wave of nausea hit me.
Niko's hand tightened around mine.
Then Detective Ortiz looked at him.
"We also found something unusual in Mr. Shaw's office."
"What?"
"A digital recording device hidden beneath his desk."
My father had been recording someone.
Or someone had been recording him.
"Was it operating?" Niko asked.
"Yes."
"And?"
The detective's expression darkened.
"It captured part of a conversation shortly before the attack."
My pulse quickened.
"Who was speaking?"
"Your father and a man we believe was Dominic Rusk."
I stepped closer.
"What did they say?"
She studied me for a moment.
Then she answered.
"Rusk said your mother should have died before she had the chance to hide the evidence."
The world tilted.
I grabbed Niko's arm to steady myself.
Detective Ortiz continued.
"Your father responded that Eleanor had never been part of their original agreement."
I couldn't breathe.
"Our agreement?"
The detective nodded.
"He then accused Rusk of breaking a promise thirteen years ago."
I stared at the house where I'd spent my childhood.
The same house where my mother had kissed me goodnight.
Where my father had taught me how to ride a bicycle.
Where I'd cried after my first heartbreak.
Everything suddenly felt poisoned.
"Can I speak to him?"
Detective Ortiz hesitated.
"Briefly."
Niko watched me.
"Are you sure?"
"No."
I swallowed.
"But I need to."
They led me into my father's study.
He sat in a leather chair, one hand wrapped in a white bandage.
When he saw me, his face crumpled.
"Clara."
I stopped in the doorway.
"Did you know?"
He looked toward Niko.
"Please leave us."
Niko glanced at me.
I nodded.
He stepped outside, leaving the door partly open.
My father rose.
"Sweetheart—"
"Did you know someone was going to kill Mom?"
He froze.
Tears filled his eyes.
"Clara."
"Answer me."
"I didn't know they would hurt her."
The words destroyed something inside me.
I took a step backward.
"You knew?"
"I knew she was investigating dangerous people."
"That's not what I asked."
He lowered his head.
"I knew there was a plan to frighten her."
My voice became very quiet.
"What kind of plan?"
"They were going to threaten her career. Discredit her. Make her stop looking into the redevelopment contracts."
"Who were they?"
He didn't answer.
"Rusk?"
His silence was confirmation.
I felt tears slipping down my cheeks.
"And you let them?"
"I thought I could control it."
"Control what?"
His face twisted.
"Clara, I was a junior councilman. They had information that could destroy me. I made a terrible decision."
"What decision?"
He looked directly at me.
"I gave Rusk access to your mother's office calendar."
For several seconds, I couldn't understand the words.
Then I did.
The calendar showed where she would be.
When she would travel.
Which roads she would take.
I pressed a hand against my mouth.
"You told them where she was."
"I didn't know they intended to kill her."
"You told them!"
My voice broke.
He took a step toward me.
I stumbled backward.
"Don't."
He stopped.
"I have spent thirteen years trying to make it right."
"By lying to me?"
"By keeping you alive!"
"Is that why you married me to Niko?"
His face collapsed.
"Rusk said he would take you if I didn't deliver the evidence."
"And you thought marrying me off was the solution?"
"I thought Niko could protect you."
I shook my head.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I couldn't bear to see you look at me like this."
I stared at him.
"Then you should have thought about that before helping them."
He started crying.
Not quietly.
Not with the controlled dignity of a politician.
He sobbed like a man who had been carrying the same nightmare for thirteen years.
I felt nothing that resembled forgiveness.
Only a terrible emptiness.
Then he reached inside his jacket.
Niko immediately appeared at the doorway.
"Arthur. Slowly."
My father removed a small brass key.
He placed it on the desk.
"This belongs to your mother."
I stared at it.
"What does it open?"
"A safe-deposit box."
"Where?"
"First Hudson Bank. The branch on East Seventy-Ninth."
I stepped forward.
"What's inside?"
He looked at me.
"Proof that I wasn't the only person who betrayed her."
Niko entered the room.
"Who else?"
My father glanced at him.
Then he whispered a name.
"Your uncle."
Niko went completely still.
I turned toward him.
"Your uncle?"
His face had become frighteningly blank.
"Vittorio Santoro?"
My father nodded.
"He was there the night Eleanor disappeared."
My skin prickled.
"Disappeared?"
I stared at my father.
"Mom died in a car accident."
He looked at me with devastation in his eyes.
"That's what I was told."
Niko moved closer.
"What are you saying, Arthur?"
My father swallowed.
"I'm saying Eleanor was missing for almost six hours before the collision."
I shook my head.
"How is that possible?"
He reached for the desk.
"The police report doesn't mention it because someone changed the timeline."
"Who?"
My father looked at Niko.
"Vittorio knew where she was during those six hours."
Niko's phone began ringing.
He ignored it.
The phone rang again.
Then Marco entered without knocking.
"Boss, we have a problem."
Niko turned.
"Not now."
"It's Gianna."
Niko's expression changed instantly.
"What happened?"
"She called the security office ten minutes ago. Said someone had entered her house."
"Where is she?"
Marco swallowed.
"We lost contact."
Niko was already moving toward the door.
I followed him.
At the threshold, I looked back at my father.
He stood alone in his office, the brass key lying between us like a verdict.
"Clara," he whispered.
I stopped.
He looked at me with desperate eyes.
"Your mother loved you more than anything."
My voice shook.
"Then you should have loved her enough to tell the truth."
I walked away.
Outside, Niko was speaking urgently into his phone.
A security officer opened the SUV door.
We climbed inside.
As the vehicle accelerated away, Niko turned to me.
"I'm going to find my sister."
I nodded.
"Then I'm coming with you."
He began to object.
I reached into my coat pocket and showed him the brass key.
"Whatever happens to Gianna, whatever happened to my mother, whoever planned this marriage—it's all connected."
Niko stared at the key.
Then he looked at me.
And for the first time, I saw something fierce and unmistakable in his eyes.
Not contempt.
Not suspicion.
Respect.
"All right," he said quietly. "But from this moment forward, no more secrets between us."
I wanted to believe him.
I truly did.
But neither of us knew that the first person waiting at Gianna's house would be a woman from Niko's past.
May you like
A woman who claimed she'd once been engaged to him.
And who had a photograph proving that, three years earlier, Niko Santoro had met with Dominic Rusk in secret.
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