Chapter 1 - The Ring From the Grave
For several seconds, I forgot how to breathe.
The gold band in Alessandro Romano’s palm looked ordinary.
Scratched.
Dull around the edges.
A tiny dent near the bottom.
But I knew that dent.
I had made it.
Eight years earlier, David and I had been moving into our first apartment when I dropped his wedding ring down the garbage disposal. He had laughed so hard when I cried that he nearly fell off the kitchen counter.
“We’ll tell our grandchildren it survived a shark attack,” he’d said.
The jeweler repaired it, but the tiny mark remained.
And now that same ring was resting in the hand of a man who had supposedly died three minutes earlier.
“That’s impossible,” I whispered.
Logan remained curled against Alessandro’s chest, completely unaware that his mother’s world had just split open.
I reached for my son.
A guard moved between us.
He was enormous, broad enough to block half the hospital bed. Blood had dried on the sleeve of his black suit.
“Move,” I said.
He didn’t.
My voice cracked.
“That is my child.”
“Marco.”
Alessandro’s voice was barely more than air.
The guard immediately stepped aside.
I grabbed Logan and pulled him against me.
His little hands wrapped around my neck.
“Mommy, that man was cold.”
“I know, baby.”
“Captain Bear made him better.”
The room filled with doctors.
Someone pushed me backward as they checked Alessandro’s pulse, blood pressure, pupils.
A physician stared at the monitor as if it had personally insulted him.
“This shouldn’t be happening.”
Alessandro ignored them.
His eyes never left me.
“You buried a different ring,” he said.
I stared at him.
“What?”
“David switched them.”
“Stop saying his name.”
“He knew someone might check the body.”
“My husband is dead.”
“No.”
The word came quietly.
But it hit harder than a scream.
A doctor leaned over Alessandro.
“Mr. Romano, you need to conserve your strength.”
Alessandro’s eyes hardened.
“Leave.”
The physician hesitated.
Marco reached for the door.
Everyone left.
Everyone except Alessandro’s guards, Logan, and me.
I held my son so tightly he squirmed.
“Mommy, too tight.”
“Sorry.”
I loosened my grip but didn’t put him down.
Alessandro raised the ring again.
“Your husband gave me this twenty-seven months ago.”
My knees nearly buckled.
“That’s before the accident.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
I laughed once.
It sounded ugly.
“You expect me to believe my husband gave a mafia boss his wedding ring as insurance?”
Alessandro’s jaw tightened.
“David wasn’t who you thought he was.”
There it was.
The sentence I had feared since Alessandro first spoke his name.
“What did he do for you?”
Alessandro glanced at Logan.
“Not in front of the boy.”
“You don’t get to protect him now.”
“I’m trying to protect both of you.”
I stepped toward the bed.
“You have thirty seconds before I walk out of this room and call the police.”
Three guards exchanged looks.
Alessandro almost smiled.
“The police already know I’m here.”
“Then federal agents.”
“The federal agents know too.”
“Then who are you afraid of?”
That smile disappeared.
“David.”
Silence.
Even Marco looked toward his boss.
I felt something cold move through my chest.
“You’re afraid of my dead husband.”
“I’m afraid of what he became.”
I shook my head.
David had been gentle.
David cried at dog rescue commercials.
David sang badly while making pancakes.
David had once driven forty minutes at midnight because I mentioned craving strawberry ice cream.
“That isn’t David.”
“No,” Alessandro said. “It wasn’t. Not at first.”
A sudden pounding sounded at the locked door.
“Mr. Romano!”
Security.
Alessandro looked toward Marco.
“Who?”
Marco checked his phone.
His expression changed.
“Federal task force.”
“Already?”
Marco looked at me.
“They’re asking for Catherine Winters.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
No one answered.
The pounding came again.
“Open the door!”
Logan buried his face against my shoulder.
I glared at Alessandro.
“What did you drag me into?”
“I didn’t drag you anywhere.”
He looked at my son.
“David did.”
Marco moved toward me.
“We need to go.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Then my phone buzzed in my scrub pocket.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then a photograph appeared.
I stopped breathing.
It showed my apartment building.
Taken tonight.
Another photo arrived.
My front door.
Then Logan’s bedroom window.
A message appeared beneath it.
THE BOY SHOULD HAVE STAYED HOME.
My hands began shaking.
Alessandro watched my face.
“What is it?”
I showed him.
His expression changed instantly.
Not fear.
Rage.
“Marco.”
The guard pulled out his weapon.
“We move now.”
I backed toward the wall.
“No. Call the police.”
Alessandro stared at me.
“Those pictures weren’t sent by a stranger.”
“How would you know?”
“Because I received the same warning ninety minutes before I was shot.”
He reached for a phone beside the bed.
Marco stopped him.
“You’re not strong enough.”
“Neither are the men outside.”
My mouth went dry.
“Who sent it?”
Alessandro looked at me.
“That is what David was supposed to tell me tonight.”
Tonight.
I stared at him.
“You were meeting my husband?”
“Yes.”
My vision blurred.
“You just said he’s alive.”
“I said more than that.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how were you meeting him?”
“David contacted me yesterday.”
The room tilted.
Yesterday.
For two years, I had stood at a grave.
For two years, Logan had pointed at fathers in parks.
For two years, I had blamed a drunk stranger for destroying our family.
And yesterday my husband had apparently been making phone calls.
“What did he say?”
Alessandro hesitated.
“Three words.”
“What words?”
“Catherine is exposed.”
My skin turned to ice.
The hallway exploded with shouting.
Then came a gunshot.
Logan screamed.
Marco grabbed us and pulled us behind the bed.
Two more shots.
A woman shouted.
Hospital alarms began ringing.
Alessandro tried to sit up and nearly tore out his IV.
“Back exit.”
“There isn’t one,” I snapped. “This is a trauma room.”
Marco pointed toward a service panel near the wall.
“There is tonight.”
Another guard shoved a medical cabinet aside, revealing a narrow maintenance door.
I stared.
“How did you know that was there?”
“We know buildings before we enter them.”
Of course they did.
They were criminals.
Dangerous criminals.
And somehow they were now the people protecting my son.
Marco opened the maintenance door.
Darkness.
“Go.”
I didn’t move.
“I need to know where we’re going.”
“You need to know where we’re not staying.”
The main door shook as someone struck it from outside.
“Federal task force!” a voice shouted. “Open immediately!”
Alessandro gave a bitter laugh.
“That isn’t federal.”
“How can you tell?”
“Because Agent Foster would never announce himself before breaching.”
Something heavy slammed against the door.
Marco grabbed my arm.
I pulled away.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Then move.”
Logan began crying.
“Mommy, I want to go home.”
That broke me.
I kissed his hair.
“I know, sweetheart.”
Another impact.
The lock cracked.
I looked once at Alessandro.
He was pale, barely conscious, three bullet wounds beneath fresh bandages.
“You can’t even walk.”
He pulled the IV from his arm.
“Watch me.”
Two guards lifted him.
Marco pushed me toward the narrow passage.
We had taken three steps when the trauma-room door burst open.
Gunfire erupted behind us.
Marco shoved the maintenance panel closed.
Darkness swallowed us.
I ran with Logan in my arms through pipes and concrete, guided only by emergency lights.
Behind us, Alessandro’s men moved with terrifying precision.
Ahead, Marco whispered into a radio.
“Route Seven compromised. Switch to Black.”
I had no idea what Black meant.
I didn’t want to know.
Then my phone buzzed again.
Another unknown message.
This one contained no photograph.
Just six words.
Catherine, don’t trust the man behind you.
My heart stopped.
Because underneath the message was a name.
May you like
A name my phone had not displayed in two years.
David.
