Chapter 2 - The Daughter Nobody Was Supposed to Find
The door opened two inches and Victor shouted, “Stop.”
A brass master key gleamed between Mrs. Alden’s trembling fingers.
A smear of fresh blood marked the teeth.
Victor recognized the blood was not hers.
Someone had forced her upstairs.
Victor crossed the room in three strides and pulled the door inward.
Mrs. Alden stumbled forward.
Behind her stood Matteo.
His lip was split.
One eye had already begun to swell.
Victor’s gaze moved farther down the hallway.
Three Bellandi men waited near the stairs.
Guns visible.
Not raised.
Yet.
And behind them, Don Carlo Bellandi stood as calmly as if he were arriving for dinner.
His expensive black suit remained immaculate.
His expression did not.
He looked past Victor.
Saw Elena.
And smiled.
“My daughter.”
Elena flinched.
Victor stepped into the doorway and blocked the view.
“Leave.”
Bellandi tilted his head.
“You don’t know what she is.”
“I know what you are.”
“That’s enough.”
Bellandi’s smile disappeared.
For years, Chicago’s most powerful families had maintained peace by rules few outsiders knew existed.
Never touch children.
Never involve household staff.
Never bring war into another man’s home without warning.
Bellandi had violated two of those rules just by standing upstairs.
Victor did not need to remind him.
The old man knew.
Which meant whatever Elena represented mattered enough for Bellandi to risk consequences.
“Victor,” Elena whispered behind him.
He did not turn.
“Stay inside.”
Bellandi heard her.
A cruel amusement crossed his face.
“She calls you Victor already?”
Elena lowered her eyes.
Victor’s voice became colder.
“You have thirty seconds.”
“To do what?”
“To walk out of my house.”
Bellandi stared at him.
Then laughed.
“Still pretending you’re different from the rest of us.”
Victor said nothing.
Bellandi gestured toward Elena.
“Ask her why she changed her name.”
Victor’s jaw tightened.
“I will.”
“Ask her why she disappeared six years ago.”
Elena went rigid.
Victor noticed.
Bellandi continued.
“Ask her what happened to her mother.”
“Enough.”
The word came from Elena.
Soft.
But sharp.
Bellandi’s eyes found her again.
“There she is.”
Elena stepped from behind Victor before he could stop her.
For the first time since waking, she no longer looked tired.
She looked like someone who had spent years preparing for this exact moment.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said.
Bellandi’s expression darkened.
“You shouldn’t be alive.”
The hallway went silent.
Victor looked at him.
Matteo stopped breathing.
Mrs. Alden’s hand flew to her mouth.
Elena closed her eyes briefly.
Victor turned his head.
“Say that again.”
Bellandi realized too late what he had done.
Victor stepped forward.
One step.
Nothing dramatic.
But two Bellandi men instinctively moved their hands closer to their jackets.
Victor’s security guards appeared at the far stairwell.
Now there were guns on both sides.
“Elena,” Victor said without looking away from Bellandi. “Go inside.”
She did.
The moment she vanished from sight, Victor’s restraint vanished with her.
“You came into my home,” he said.
Bellandi stared at him.
“You put hands on my employee.”
“She’s not your employee.”
“She is until she says otherwise.”
“She belongs to my family.”
Victor’s mouth curved without humor.
“That sentence is why women hate men like you.”
Bellandi’s nostrils flared.
Victor continued.
“You don’t own daughters.”
“You don’t know her.”
“Neither do you, apparently.”
Bellandi stepped closer.
“She was born Elena Bellandi.”
Victor looked toward the bedroom.
Elena had not denied it.
Bellandi lowered his voice.
“My eldest.”
Victor had known Bellandi had once had another daughter.
Everyone did.
Years ago, rumors had circulated about a rebellious girl who disappeared after the death of Bellandi’s first wife.
The stories changed depending on who told them.
Some said the daughter was unstable.
Some said she had betrayed the family.
Some claimed she ran away with a police officer.
Others whispered she had been killed and buried where no one would find her.
No photograph had surfaced publicly in years.
Victor had never cared enough to investigate.
Until now.
“You told the city she was dead.”
“I said no such thing.”
“You allowed people to believe it.”
Bellandi’s face hardened.
“She made her choice.”
Elena spoke from inside the room.
“My mother didn’t.”
Bellandi’s eyes flashed.
Victor slowly turned.
Elena stood near the bed.
Her face was pale.
But steady.
“What does that mean?” Victor asked.
Bellandi interrupted.
“It means she has always been dramatic.”
Elena laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“My mother signed papers the night before she died.”
Bellandi froze.
Just for an instant.
Victor saw it.
Elena saw him see it.
Her voice shook.
“She left proof.”
Bellandi took one step forward.
Victor raised his weapon.
Every gun in the hallway appeared within a second.
Mrs. Alden gasped.
Matteo swore.
Victor’s finger rested outside the trigger guard.
Calm.
Controlled.
“Another step,” he told Bellandi, “and your evening gets expensive.”
Bellandi stopped.
His eyes remained on Elena.
“You have nothing.”
Elena stared back.
“You’ve spent six years looking for nothing?”
Victor’s head turned slightly.
Bellandi’s face changed.
There it was.
Not anger.
Fear.
Victor had built his empire studying fear.
Men could lie with words.
Bodies rarely did.
Bellandi was afraid of whatever Elena possessed.
Or knew.
Victor lowered the gun by one inch.
“Get out.”
Bellandi looked at him.
“You’re making this your war.”
“No.”
Victor’s eyes went flat.
“You brought it upstairs.”
Bellandi’s men shifted.
Victor’s guards shifted with them.
For several seconds the hallway held the fragile stillness of a match hovering over gasoline.
Then Bellandi smiled.
Slowly.
“You think you’re protecting her.”
Victor said nothing.
“She destroys everyone who does.”
Elena’s face tightened.
Bellandi backed toward the stairs.
“Ask about Daniel Cross.”
The name hit Elena visibly.
Victor saw it.
Bellandi did too.
His smile returned.
Then he turned and walked away.
His men followed.
Not quickly.
Not slowly.
A deliberate retreat.
Victor waited until the front doors closed downstairs before lowering the weapon.
Matteo exhaled.
Mrs. Alden sagged against the wall.
Victor looked at her.
“Are you hurt?”
“No, sir.”
“Doctor.”
“I’m fine.”
“Not a request.”
Matteo nodded and guided her away.
Victor remained at the bedroom door.
Elena had not moved.
Her hands were clasped so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
Victor shut the door.
Locked it.
Then turned.
“Daniel Cross.”
Elena looked down.
“Who is he?”
“No one.”
Victor almost smiled.
“You’re terrible at lying.”
“I’ve survived six years doing it.”
“Not with me.”
She looked at him.
Something in his voice changed the room.
He was not threatening her.
He was telling her a fact.
“Elena Bellandi.”
She flinched at the name.
Victor noticed.
“I don’t use it.”
“Why?”
“You heard him.”
“I heard a man who wants you terrified.”
“He usually gets what he wants.”
“So do I.”
“That’s what scares me.”
Victor went still.
Elena looked away.
“I never meant to bring this here.”
“You didn’t.”
“My father did.”
“Yes.”
“He won’t stop.”
“Neither will I.”
She stared at him.
“Why?”
Victor had answers for almost everything.
Not that.
Because she worked for him?
Too simple.
Because Bellandi violated his home?
Partly.
Because something about seeing Elena cornered had awakened an instinct Victor had spent years burying?
Too honest.
He walked toward the bedside table instead.
Picked up the cuff link.
“Whose?”
Elena looked at it.
“My brother’s.”
Victor turned.
“I thought Bellandi only had daughters.”
“He does now.”
“Meaning?”
“Elias died.”
Victor looked at the initials again.
E.M.
“Elena Marlowe?”
She shook her head.
“Elias Michael.”
Victor waited.
“He gave me those cuff links before I ran.”
“One ended up outside my bedroom tonight.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Her eyes lifted.
“I don’t know.”
That answer, Victor believed.
Which meant someone else had placed it there.
Victor checked the hall beneath the door.
Nothing.
“Who knew you had them?”
“My mother.”
“Dead.”
“My brother.”
“Dead.”
Elena nodded.
Victor’s gaze sharpened.
“Anyone else?”
She hesitated.
“Daniel.”
The name again.
Victor sat on the edge of the desk.
“Tell me.”
Elena looked toward the locked door.
“Daniel Cross was supposed to help me disappear.”
“Did he?”
“For a while.”
“Who was he?”
Her throat moved.
“A detective.”
Victor’s expression changed.
“You ran away with a cop?”
“No.”
“Bellandi implied otherwise.”
“My father liked that rumor.”
“Why?”
“Because the truth was worse.”
Victor leaned forward.
“What truth?”
Before Elena could answer, his phone vibrated.
A private number.
Only six people had it.
He looked at the screen.
Unknown caller.
Victor answered.
Silence.
Then a man’s voice.
Distorted.
“Russo.”
Victor looked at Elena.
“What?”
“You should check the security footage from your west entrance.”
The call disconnected.
Victor opened the mansion camera system.
Selected west entrance.
Rewound.
11:17 p.m.
A hooded figure appeared on-screen.
Walked directly toward the service door.
Looked up at the camera.
Then deliberately held something toward the lens.
Victor froze the frame.
Elena came closer.
In the stranger’s hand was the matching silver cuff link.
Victor zoomed in.
The hooded figure raised his other hand.
May you like
On a small white card were four handwritten words.
ELENA, DANIEL IS ALIVE.
