Chapter 2 - The Voice in the Dark
Clara woke to the sound of dripping water.
One drop.
Then another.
Then another.
Her head felt as if someone had driven a nail behind her left eye.
She tried to raise a hand and realized her wrists were tied.
Memory returned slowly.
Rain.
Michigan Avenue.
A black SUV.
Footsteps.
A man asking whether she needed help.
A cloth over her mouth.
Then darkness.
Clara opened her eyes.
Concrete floor.
Brick walls.
A single industrial lamp hung from the ceiling.
She was in some kind of storage room.
There were no windows.
Her blue gown was ripped near one knee, and one shoe was gone. Dried blood tightened the skin near her temple.
She pulled against the restraints.
Plastic zip ties.
Not rope.
Whoever had taken her had planned carefully.
A metal door stood ten feet away.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
Clara swallowed.
“Hello!”
Footsteps sounded beyond the door.
She immediately regretted speaking.
A lock turned.
A man entered carrying a paper cup of water.
He wore black jeans, boots and a gray hooded sweatshirt.
A cloth mask covered the lower half of his face.
“You’re awake.”
“Who are you?”
He placed the water on the floor.
“Drink.”
“My hands are tied.”
He crouched.
Clara recoiled.
He raised the cup to her lips.
She did not drink.
The man sighed.
“If we wanted you dead, Mrs. Falcone, you wouldn’t have woken up.”
“That’s supposed to comfort me?”
“No.”
His eyes were brown.
Calm.
Too calm.
“Where am I?”
“Somewhere your husband should have remembered existed.”
Clara stared at him.
“What do you want?”
“From you? Nothing.”
“Then let me go.”
A second man appeared in the doorway.
Older.
Tall.
Gray at the temples.
Unlike the first, he did not hide his face.
Clara recognized him.
Not immediately.
Then her stomach dropped.
“Victor Dane.”
Victor smiled.
“Good morning, Clara.”
Matteo had mentioned him only a handful of times.
Former Falcone accountant.
Former adviser to Matteo’s father.
A man who had disappeared after allegedly stealing six million dollars from the family fifteen years earlier.
Matteo believed Victor was dead.
Everyone believed Victor was dead.
“You’re supposed to be buried under a highway.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Victor entered and shut the door.
He wore an expensive navy coat despite the cold room.
“You’ve grown up.”
Clara stared.
“You knew me?”
“I attended your wedding.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Not the ceremony.”
Victor smiled slightly.
“The reception had excellent security. Still not excellent enough.”
Clara forced herself not to show fear.
“What do you want with Matteo?”
Victor’s expression changed.
“Justice.”
She almost laughed.
“Mafia men always call revenge justice.”
“Sometimes because revenge is the only justice available to men like us.”
He pulled an old wooden chair across the floor and sat.
“Your husband killed my son.”
Clara’s breathing slowed.
“When?”
“Eight years ago.”
“Matteo didn’t become boss until seven years ago.”
Victor nodded.
“Exactly.”
The answer confused her.
Victor leaned forward.
“Matteo has lied to you about many things, Clara. More than you understand.”
“I know what my husband is.”
“No. You know what he allows you to see.”
She thought of the weapons under Peter’s company name.
Pain tightened her chest.
Victor noticed.
“Ah. Yes. The warehouse.”
“You arranged that phone call.”
“I arranged for you to hear the truth.”
“You kidnapped me.”
“After your husband abandoned you in the street.”
Clara’s eyes hardened.
“Do not pretend you rescued me.”
Victor smiled.
“Good. There she is.”
“What?”
“The woman Matteo feared marrying.”
She stared at him.
Victor stood.
“He loves obedient people. Men who follow orders. Politicians who take money. Attorneys who bury evidence.”
He glanced toward her tied hands.
“But you?”
He laughed softly.
“You were always dangerous because he loved you more than he loved obedience.”
“Then why hurt me?”
Victor’s smile disappeared.
“Because love is the only knife that can reach Matteo Falcone’s heart.”
He left.
The masked man followed.
The door locked.
Clara sat alone.
She closed her eyes.
Do not panic.
Think.
Matteo had taught her something accidentally over six years of marriage: panic was information given freely to the enemy.
So Clara listened.
Every forty or fifty seconds, a metallic grinding sound vibrated through the wall.
A train?
Machinery?
She smelled oil.
Cold metal.
Possibly industrial.
There was also a faint horn somewhere in the distance.
Long.
Low.
A ship?
She might be near the river or docks.
Hours passed.
Eventually, the masked man returned with food.
Clara studied him.
“You work for Victor?”
He did not answer.
“You’re young.”
Silence.
“Twenty-five?”
He set down a sandwich.
“Eat.”
“Twenty-seven?”
His jaw shifted beneath the mask.
Clara saw it.
“Matteo trained you.”
The man froze.
Clara’s pulse quickened.
“You stand like Frank’s men.”
Nothing.
“You check corners before entering. Your right hand stays near your waistband even though I’m tied to a chair.”
“Stop talking.”
“You worked for my husband.”
The man looked toward the door.
That confirmed everything.
“What did Matteo do to you?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you here?”
He crouched suddenly.
“Because men like your husband destroy families and call it business.”
Clara held his gaze.
“My name is Adrian.”
That surprised her.
He pulled down the mask.
He was young.
Maybe thirty.
A scar crossed his chin.
“My father spent eighteen years working for the Falcones. Did everything they asked.”
Clara said nothing.
“Then Matteo decided my father was talking to federal agents.”
“Was he?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
Adrian’s expression became empty.
“He disappeared.”
Clara felt cold.
She knew what disappeared meant.
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
Three years.
She remembered that year.
Matteo had been distant for months.
There had been a betrayal inside the organization.
At least that was what he told her.
“How do you know Matteo ordered it?”
“Victor showed me proof.”
Clara looked at the door.
“Victor has proof of whatever he needs people to believe.”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed.
“Defending your husband?”
“No.”
The word hurt.
“I’m saying a man willing to kidnap someone’s wife is probably comfortable lying to someone’s son.”
For the first time, Adrian looked uncertain.
Clara leaned closer.
“If Matteo murdered your father, hate him. But find out before you let Victor turn you into another body in his war.”
Adrian stood.
Before he could respond, the door opened.
Victor entered holding a tablet.
“Wonderful advice.”
Adrian immediately stepped back.
Victor placed the tablet on a crate.
“Your husband has offered ten million dollars for information.”
Clara tried not to react.
Victor showed her video from a local television broadcast.
Helicopter footage showed cars entering the Falcone estate.
A reporter stood outside police headquarters.
“Sources say organized-crime figure Matteo Falcone has mobilized associates across Chicago after his wife, Clara Falcone, disappeared early this morning…”
Clara stared.
Matteo hated publicity.
He had spent years pretending she was separate from his business.
Yet he had exposed his panic to the city.
Victor watched her face.
“Touching, isn’t it?”
“Turn it off.”
Victor did.
“Would you like to speak to him?”
Clara looked at him sharply.
Victor produced a phone.
“One minute.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth.”
“What truth?”
“That you’re alive.”
Victor dialed.
Matteo answered before the first ring finished.
“Clara?”
Her eyes filled instantly.
She hated herself for it.
“Matteo.”
On the other end, there was silence.
Then a broken exhale.
“Baby.”
Her throat closed.
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m alive.”
“Where are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who has you?”
Victor held up one finger.
Clara looked at him.
“Matteo—”
“I’m here.”
His voice was different.
Gone was the boss.
Gone was the coldness.
She heard only the man who used to make pancakes at three in the morning.
“I’m going to find you.”
Clara closed her eyes.
“You shouldn’t have left me.”
Silence.
“I know.”
Three words.
No excuse.
No anger.
“I know.”
Her tears fell.
Victor reached for the phone.
Clara turned away.
“No.”
“One minute.”
“Matteo, listen to me—”
“Clara?”
“Someone inside your organization helped them.”
Adrian’s eyes widened.
Victor grabbed the phone.
Before disconnecting, Matteo shouted something.
The call ended.
Victor struck Clara across the face.
Not hard enough to knock her down.
Hard enough to make the point.
Adrian stepped forward.
Victor looked at him.
“Problem?”
Adrian stopped.
Clara tasted blood.
Victor crouched beside her.
“You’re smarter than I expected.”
“And you’re more afraid than I expected.”
His expression chilled.
“Of Matteo?”
“No.”
She glanced at Adrian.
“Of your own men thinking for themselves.”
Victor stood.
For a second, something ugly showed behind his eyes.
Then he smiled again.
“You and Matteo truly deserve each other.”
He left.
Adrian followed more slowly.
Before closing the door, he looked back at Clara.
Something had changed.
Clara waited until she was alone.
Then she twisted her wrists.
The edge of one zip tie had loosened.
During Victor’s slap, she had pulled one hand hard enough to cut her skin.
Blood made the plastic slippery.
She began working her thumb free.
Across Chicago, Matteo stood in the middle of his study holding a dead phone.
Clara’s warning echoed in his head.
Someone inside your organization helped them.
He looked around the room.
Frank.
Thaddeus.
Three captains.
His attorney.
His security chief.
Men he had trusted with his life.
One of them had helped take his wife.
Matteo slowly put down the phone.
“Lock the doors.”
Thaddeus frowned.
“What?”
Matteo reached beneath his jacket and placed a handgun on the desk.
“No one leaves this house.”
May you like
His eyes moved from face to face.
“Until I find out which one of you sold my wife.”
