Chapter 2 - THE WIFE WHO WOKE UP
The first thing Clara felt was pain.
Not one pain.
A hundred.
They lived beneath her ribs, inside her shoulder, across her back, and deep in her chest where every attempt to breathe felt like broken glass moving through her lungs.
The second thing she felt was weight on her left hand.
Clara forced her eyes open.
White ceiling.
Dim lights.
Machines.
A rhythmic electronic beeping.
Something covered her nose and mouth, pushing cool oxygen against her skin.
For several seconds she couldn't remember where she was.
Then the ballroom came back.
The gun.
Isabella.
The shots.
Dominic Rossi kneeling in blood.
Clara's heart monitor immediately accelerated.
A nurse appeared beside her.
"Clara? Don't move. You're safe."
Safe.
The word almost made her laugh.
Instead, a broken sound escaped her throat.
"Water..."
"Just a little."
The nurse touched a damp sponge to her lips.
Clara tried lifting her hand.
That was when she saw the ring.
Solid gold.
Heavy.
Unmistakable.
On her left ring finger.
Clara stared at it.
"What..."
The nurse suddenly looked uncomfortable.
"What is this?"
"Ms. Evans—"
"Why am I wearing a wedding ring?"
A low male voice came from the shadowed corner.
"Because people are considerably less eager to murder Dominic Rossi's wife than an anonymous waitress."
Clara's head turned.
Dominic sat in a chair beside the window.
He had changed out of his blood-covered tuxedo. Now he wore black trousers and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms.
No jacket.
No tie.
His dark hair was no longer perfectly slicked back.
For the first time, he looked almost human.
Almost.
Clara stared at him.
Then at the ring.
Then back at him.
"What did you say?"
Dominic rose.
"Your doctors removed the ventilator forty minutes ago. You shouldn't upset yourself."
"You married me?"
His expression remained steady.
Clara's monitor started beeping faster.
"You married me while I was unconscious?"
"The legal paperwork is not filed."
That stopped her.
Dominic moved closer.
"The ceremony was enough for the people who needed to hear about it. In my world, you're under my name now. Until you choose otherwise."
Clara swallowed painfully.
"So I'm fake married to a mobster?"
His mouth tightened.
"You know who I am."
"I worked catering in Manhattan, not under a rock."
She tried to sit up.
Pain exploded through her chest.
Clara gasped.
Dominic moved instantly, one hand hovering near her shoulder before stopping himself from touching her.
"Don't."
"Don't tell me what to do."
"Seven bullets already tried. I'd prefer not to let stubbornness finish the job."
She stared at him.
Even half-dead, Clara wanted to throw something.
Unfortunately, the heaviest object within reach was attached to her IV.
"You had no right."
"No."
The answer came so quickly she went silent.
Dominic looked at the ring.
"I didn't."
Clara hadn't expected agreement.
"But Costa's men were already on their way here," Dominic continued. "If you'd remained Clara Evans, inconvenient witness, you would've had a bounty on your head before sunrise. As Clara Rossi, killing you means declaring war against me."
"Maybe I don't want your protection."
"You can hate my protection after you're able to walk."
"I can hate it now."
A shadow of something moved through his eyes.
"Good."
"Good?"
"Anger means your brain is working."
Clara glared at him.
Then memory returned.
Isabella.
She stopped breathing.
"Your mother."
"She's alive."
"Was she hurt?"
"Bruised shoulder. Nothing more."
Clara shut her eyes.
Relief moved through her so powerfully that tears leaked from the corners.
"Thank God."
Dominic watched her.
This woman had seven bullet holes in her body, yet the first person she asked about was someone she'd known for less than an hour.
Something dangerous tightened inside his chest.
Something he had spent years training himself not to feel.
Clara opened her eyes again.
"Why are there men outside?"
"Mine."
"How many?"
"Six in this hallway. Four downstairs. Two in the parking garage."
She stared at him.
"That's insane."
"Victor Costa has nineteen confirmed killers on payroll."
"That's more insane."
"Welcome to my evening."
Clara slowly turned her face away.
For several moments only the machines spoke.
Then she whispered, "Why was someone trying to kill your mother?"
Dominic didn't answer immediately.
Clara looked back at him.
"You know."
"I have theories."
"You always talk like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like every sentence is being entered into evidence."
For the first time, Dominic almost smiled.
Almost.
Then Clara looked down at her hand again.
"Take it off."
The almost-smile disappeared.
"The ring."
Dominic said nothing.
"Take it off me."
He reached for her hand.
His fingers were warm, surprisingly careful.
But as he touched the ring, Clara suddenly flinched.
Not from him.
From a memory.
Her father sitting at their kitchen table in Cleveland when she was thirteen.
A cheap yellow light overhead.
Rain against the windows.
His face pale.
His hands shaking.
He'd taken an old gold ring from his pocket and placed it in front of Ellen.
"If anything happens to me, don't trust anyone named Rossi."
Clara's pulse jumped.
Dominic noticed.
"What?"
She stared at him.
A cold feeling moved beneath her skin.
"My father knew your family."
Dominic became completely still.
Clara saw it.
There.
A reaction.
Small but unmistakable.
"You knew that already," she whispered.
Dominic released her hand.
"Clara—"
"You knew who I was."
Silence.
Her breathing became shallow.
"Enzo said something before surgery."
Dominic's gaze sharpened.
"You heard him?"
"Barely."
She remembered voices.
Fragments.
Boss.
Her name.
Something about Cleveland.
She had assumed it was morphine fog.
Now she knew better.
"You knew me before that ballroom."
Dominic's jaw tightened.
"Yes."
The word cut deeper than she expected.
"How?"
"I had someone looking for you."
"Why?"
"I wasn't certain it was you until six days ago."
"Until what was me?"
Dominic glanced toward the ICU door.
"You need rest."
Clara laughed weakly, then winced violently.
"Do not do that."
"Do what?"
"Turn into some mysterious mafia cliché and walk away after telling me my entire life is a lie."
His eyes returned to hers.
"Your life isn't a lie."
"My father told my mother not to trust the Rossis. You investigated me before we met. Someone shot me seven times. And I woke up wearing your ring."
Her voice trembled.
"Start explaining."
Dominic moved toward the window.
New York glittered below like nothing terrible had happened.
"My father was Carlo Rossi."
"I know."
"Twenty-two years ago, he had a financial adviser named Michael Evans."
Clara's face changed.
"My father was an accountant."
"He was much more than that."
Dominic turned.
"Michael controlled accounts worth hundreds of millions of dollars. He knew where money moved, who was paid, who was bribed, and who ordered which killing."
Clara shook her head.
"No."
"He was my father's most trusted civilian employee."
"No."
"He was also his friend."
"My dad sold insurance."
"After he fled New York."
Clara stared.
Dominic continued.
"Fourteen years ago, Michael discovered someone inside my father's organization was secretly working with Victor Costa."
The room suddenly felt colder.
"He made copies of financial records. Payments. Offshore transfers. Bribes. Contracts."
Clara whispered, "What happened?"
"My father was murdered three days later."
Clara's fingers curled against the blanket.
"And my dad?"
"Eight months after that, Michael Evans died when his car went off an icy bridge outside Cleveland."
Clara's eyes filled.
"I was there after the police called."
"I know."
"It was an accident."
Dominic said nothing.
Her face drained.
"No."
"We don't believe it was."
"We?"
"My mother and I."
Clara stared at him with horror.
"You've been investigating my father's death?"
"For fourteen years."
"And you thought I knew something?"
"No."
Dominic's voice softened.
"I thought your mother did."
Clara's entire body stiffened.
"Ellen?"
"Three weeks ago, someone attempted to access your mother's old medical files using an alias connected to Michael's investigation."
Clara's pulse monitor began climbing again.
"What alias?"
"Elena Bell."
Clara went still.
She knew that name.
She had seen it once on a faded envelope hidden in Ellen's dresser when she was sixteen.
Her mother had ripped it from her hands so quickly Clara had thought it contained some embarrassing old love letter.
"That's impossible."
"No."
Dominic stepped closer.
"Clara, Ellen Evans wasn't born Ellen Evans."
Clara's lips parted.
"Her real name is Elena Bellandi."
The machines seemed to disappear.
The hospital disappeared.
Everything disappeared except Dominic's voice.
"Who is that?"
"Your mother was the daughter of Anthony Bellandi."
Clara waited.
Dominic's expression darkened.
"The man who kept the financial books for three New York crime families before he disappeared twenty-seven years ago."
Clara looked sick.
"You're lying."
"I wish I were."
"My mother is a retired elementary school secretary."
"She became one."
"You expect me to believe my parents were connected to organized crime?"
"I expect nothing."
Dominic leaned toward her.
"But somebody recently started searching for your mother. Someone powerful enough to access sealed hospital records."
Fear entered Clara's face.
Her mother.
Alone in Cleveland.
A failing heart.
"Where is she?"
Dominic did not answer.
Clara immediately understood.
"Where is my mother?"
"Her room was found empty two hours ago."
Clara stopped breathing.
"No."
"The hospital camera covering her floor went dark for eleven minutes."
"No."
"Her IV line was on the floor."
Clara tried to tear back the blanket.
Dominic caught her shoulders.
"Let go of me!"
"Clara!"
"I have to go!"
"You can't stand."
"That's my mother!"
Her stitches pulled.
Pain ripped through her body.
The monitor screamed.
Dominic held her as nurses rushed through the door.
"Get away from me!" Clara sobbed.
"Clara, listen to me."
"YOU KNEW THEY WERE AFTER HER!"
"I had men outside her hospital."
"Then where is she?!"
Dominic's face changed.
That terrified Clara more than anything.
Because for the first time, the most feared crime boss in New York looked uncertain.
"Two of my men are dead."
Clara went utterly still.
Dominic lowered his voice.
"And whoever took your mother left something behind."
Enzo entered the ICU holding a sealed evidence bag.
Inside was a small silver necklace.
Clara recognized it instantly.
Her father's Saint Christopher medal.
She had not seen it since the day he died.
A folded piece of paper had been wrapped around the chain.
Enzo unfolded a photograph of it.
Six words were written in black ink.
Dominic read them aloud.
"Bring us Michael Evans's daughter."
Clara stared at him.
Then Enzo turned the photograph over.
There was a second message.
This one was addressed to Dominic.
YOUR FATHER DIED FOR THE SAME SECRET.
NOW LET'S SEE WHAT YOU'LL SACRIFICE.
Dominic's expression turned colder than Clara had ever seen.
He looked at the gold ring still resting on her finger.
Then at Clara.
"They took your mother because they believe you can lead them to something Michael hid."
Clara's voice was barely audible.
"What?"
Dominic answered.
"The Black Ledger."
"And what's in it?"
"The names of men who have spent fourteen years believing they're untouchable."
He leaned closer.
"Including the person inside my family who murdered my father."
And somewhere hundreds of miles away, Ellen Evans opened her eyes in a dark room.
A man sat across from her.
Victor Costa.
He smiled.
"Hello, Elena."
Ellen's face went white.
Victor placed a photograph of Clara's hospital bed on the table.
A gold ring was visible on her hand.
"Your daughter married a Rossi."
Ellen began shaking.
Victor leaned back.
"Now tell me where your husband hid the ledger."
Ellen looked at the photograph.
Then she whispered the sentence Clara had never heard her mother say.
"Michael didn't hide it."
Victor's smile disappeared.
May you like
Ellen's eyes hardened.
"My daughter did."
