Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
Vincent did not move.
Maria could hear his breathing.
Once.
Twice.
Then nothing.
The voice came again.
“Vincent.”
Rocco whispered one word.
“Elena.”
Maria looked between them.
Elena.
Lucia’s mother.
Vincent’s wife.
The woman Maria had been told died months before her daughter.
Marco raised his weapon toward the door.
Vincent shoved it down.
“Don’t.”
“Boss—”
“I said don’t.”
He walked toward the door.
Maria tightened her hold on Sofia.
Rocco stepped forward.
“This could be a trap.”
Vincent looked over his shoulder.
“So could you.”
Rocco stopped.
Vincent opened the door.
A woman stood in the corridor.
She was thinner than the woman in the hidden photograph.
Older.
Her dark hair fell to her shoulders and was streaked with gray near the temples.
A pale scar ran from her left ear toward her jaw.
But there was no mistaking her.
Elena Moretti.
She looked at Vincent.
He stared at her as if the dead had learned to breathe.
“You buried me,” she said.
Vincent’s face hardened.
“I buried an empty coffin.”
Elena’s eyes filled.
“You never opened it.”
“They told me there was nothing left to see.”
“And you believed them?”
His expression twisted.
“My daughter had just been murdered.”
“Our daughter.”
The words struck.
Vincent took a step back.
Maria felt like an intruder in something too painful to witness.
Then Elena looked past him.
She saw Sofia.
Her eyes moved to the yellow dress.
Then to the painting.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh, God.”
Vincent turned.
“What do you know about her?”
Elena looked at Maria.
“Is she yours?”
Maria nodded.
Elena approached slowly.
Vincent blocked her.
“Answer me.”
Elena stared at him.
“She looks like Lucia did when she painted that wall.”
Maria’s pulse jumped.
Vincent’s voice became dangerous.
“That isn’t an answer.”
Elena reached into her coat.
Marco immediately raised his weapon again.
She stopped.
“Photograph.”
Vincent held out his hand.
Elena placed a small Polaroid in it.
It showed the forbidden room.
Lucia stood in front of the unfinished painting.
Beside her stood a younger Elena.
On the back were handwritten words.
Lucia’s Wish.
Vincent looked up.
“What wish?”
Elena’s gaze went to the painted figure.
“She used to say the girl on the wall needed a sister.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“She was six.”
“She was dying.”
Maria blinked.
Vincent stared at Elena.
“What?”
“She was sick before the explosion.”
Rocco stepped forward.
“That’s a lie.”
Elena looked at him.
“Of course you’d say that.”
Rocco’s face became unreadable.
Vincent turned.
“Explain.”
Elena entered the room.
She looked around slowly.
Her eyes landed on the tiny art table.
The dry paint pots.
The child-sized chair.
The framed photograph of Vincent and Lucia.
For a moment her entire body seemed to weaken.
Then she steadied herself.
“Lucia was diagnosed with a blood disorder six months before the bombing.”
Vincent shook his head.
“No.”
“She was tired all the time. Bruising. Fever.”
“I was there.”
“You were running a war.”
“I saw my daughter every day.”
“And she begged me not to tell you because she heard you arguing with your father about stepping away from the family.”
Vincent looked as if she had slapped him.
Elena continued.
“I thought I could manage it. I thought the doctors had time.”
Rocco interrupted.
“Convenient story.”
Elena looked at him with hatred.
“You arranged the doctor.”
Silence.
Vincent turned slowly toward Rocco.
Rocco laughed without humor.
“This woman has been missing four years and walks through your front door making accusations.”
“Because you told me she was dead.”
“I told you what the hospital told me.”
“There was no hospital,” Elena said.
Vincent looked at her.
“What does that mean?”
“The explosion didn’t kill Lucia immediately.”
Maria felt Sofia shift in her arms.
She wished she could cover the child’s ears.
Vincent looked physically sick.
“Stop.”
Elena shook her head.
“You need to know.”
“I carried her out.”
“You carried out another child.”
The room went silent.
Maria thought she had misunderstood.
Vincent did too.
“What did you say?”
Elena’s voice trembled.
“The nanny’s niece was in the car.”
Vincent stared.
“No.”
“Elisa had picked her up from school.”
“No.”
“The girls had switched coats.”
Vincent backed away.
“No.”
“You saw the yellow coat.”
“I saw my daughter.”
“You saw a burned child.”
Vincent’s hand hit the wall behind him.
Maria flinched.
Sofia did not.
The toddler was watching Elena.
Vincent’s eyes were wild.
“Where was Lucia?”
Elena began crying.
“At St. Agnes clinic.”
Vincent’s breathing stopped.
“How long?”
“Three days.”
His voice broke.
“She lived three days?”
Elena nodded.
Vincent closed his eyes.
The most powerful man Maria had ever met looked suddenly human.
Painfully human.
“You let me bury someone else.”
“I was trying to get her out.”
“From whom?”
Elena looked directly at Rocco.
Rocco’s face darkened.
“Careful.”
Vincent moved between them.
“Elena.”
She continued.
“Somebody inside your organization wanted Lucia because they knew you would surrender anything for her.”
Vincent looked at Rocco.
Rocco shook his head.
“Don’t.”
Elena pointed to the family ring in Antonio’s photograph.
“Antonio tried to help us.”
“You were sleeping with him?” Vincent asked.
“No.”
“Then why is he wearing my ring?”
“Because you gave it to him.”
Vincent frowned.
“I never—”
“You did when you were seventeen.”
Rocco suddenly looked away.
Vincent noticed.
Elena noticed too.
“It was the ring your father gave you when Antonio saved your life in Brooklyn,” she said.
Vincent’s face changed.
Memory returned.
“I told Antonio never to wear it.”
“He wore it because he needed proof when he went to Lucia’s doctor.”
Vincent looked at the photograph again.
“What proof?”
“That he was acting for you.”
Rocco sighed.
“This is becoming ridiculous.”
Elena reached into her coat again.
This time she removed a small digital recorder.
“I kept this for four years.”
Rocco’s eyes locked on it.
Vincent took it.
“What’s on here?”
“The reason Antonio died.”
Rocco moved.
Only half a step.
Marco saw it.
So did Vincent.
“Stay where you are.”
Rocco raised his hands.
“Vincent, think.”
“I am.”
“You’re listening to a woman who vanished.”
“She vanished because someone told me she was dead.”
“You don’t know that.”
Elena looked at him.
“He knows.”
Vincent pressed play.
Static filled the room.
Then Antonio Vescari’s voice.
Older recording.
Breathing hard.
“If anything happens to me, Rocco knows about the child.”
Vincent stopped the recording.
Nobody moved.
He looked at Rocco.
Rocco smiled faintly.
“One sentence.”
Vincent pressed play again.
Antonio continued.
“He knows Lucia survived. He knows where Elena took her. And if Vincent ever finds out what was done—”
The recording cut off.
Vincent stared at the device.
“That’s it?”
Elena nodded.
“I found it hidden in Antonio’s apartment after he disappeared.”
“Why wait four years?”
“Because I had no proof beyond that.”
“You had my daughter.”
Elena’s face collapsed.
“No.”
Vincent understood.
“When did she die?”
Elena whispered.
“Third night.”
He looked away.
Maria saw his shoulders shake once.
Sofia suddenly wriggled from Maria’s arms.
Before Maria could stop her, the toddler crossed the room.
She stood beside Vincent.
Then she placed her small hand into his.
Vincent looked down.
Sofia said nothing.
Neither did he.
He simply closed his hand around hers.
Elena covered her mouth and cried.
Rocco looked toward the corridor.
Marco saw it.
“Don’t.”
Rocco stopped.
Vincent finally lifted his head.
“Search him.”
Rocco’s expression hardened.
“You’re making a mistake.”
Marco approached.
Rocco did not resist.
Wallet.
Phone.
Keys.
A folded handkerchief.
Then Marco found a second phone strapped beneath Rocco’s ankle.
Vincent stared at it.
Rocco’s face went blank.
Marco unlocked the screen using Rocco’s thumb.
The most recent message had arrived two minutes earlier.
Marco read it.
His eyes widened.
“What?”
Vincent demanded.
Marco turned the phone.
A photograph filled the screen.
Maria’s apartment.
The door was open.
Her belongings had been dumped across the floor.
On the wall above Sofia’s bed, someone had painted a black X.
Below the photograph was a message.
THE GIRL OPENED THE WRONG DOOR.
A second message appeared.
THIS TIME, WE OPEN HERS.
Maria grabbed Sofia.
Vincent took the phone.
The sender’s number was hidden.
But the location tag beneath the newest image was not.
It was live.
May you like
And the blinking point was no longer at Maria’s apartment.
It was moving toward the Moretti estate.
