Chapter 2 - The Man I Ordered Dead
I had survived three shootings, two car bombs and one poisoning attempt.
Nothing frightened me as much as Sofia’s hand wrapped around my finger.
Because bullets were simple.
You could hide from them.
Return them.
Kill the man firing them.
A child trusting you was different.
“Daniel?”
Maria’s voice came from somewhere behind me.
“We need to move.”
“I know.”
The estate had a reinforced safe room behind the library.
Only six people knew it existed.
I had designed it after a rival crew tried to enter my previous townhouse dressed as federal agents.
Now even six felt like five too many.
I lifted Sofia into my arms.
She wrapped both arms around my neck automatically.
That nearly stopped me.
Her father had once trusted me enough to put his life in my hands.
I had failed him.
I would not fail his daughter.
“Stay behind me,” I told Maria.
The hall was almost completely dark.
Rain flashed silver whenever lightning struck the windows.
I could hear men shouting near the main staircase.
“Boss!”
That was Marco Bell.
My current security chief.
“Living room!”
I didn’t answer.
Marco was loyal.
At least I had believed he was.
I had believed the same thing about Vincent for eleven years.
That was the poison betrayal left behind.
It didn’t just destroy trust in the guilty man.
It contaminated everyone.
We reached the library.
I pressed my thumb against a hidden sensor beneath the third shelf.
Nothing happened.
Power failure.
Of course.
I pulled a brass release behind a row of law books.
The wall clicked.
A steel door opened six inches.
“Inside.”
Maria stepped through.
I handed Sofia to her.
The little girl immediately reached back toward me.
“Are you coming?”
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
My father had taught me never to make promises that could be used against me.
I looked at Sofia.
“I promise.”
I closed the steel door behind us.
The room’s independent battery system activated.
Soft lights came on.
Maria blinked.
The room contained surveillance monitors, medical supplies, food, water, weapons and a secured communication system.
Sofia stared around.
“Is this your secret clubhouse?”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
“Something like that.”
Her eyes landed on a shelf of weapons.
“A very bad clubhouse.”
Maria covered a laugh with her hand.
For half a second, the room felt almost normal.
Then the surveillance system came online.
Half the cameras were dead.
Three exterior gates showed static.
The east hallway feed showed one of my guards lying motionless near the service staircase.
Maria turned Sofia away from the screen.
I picked up the secure phone.
“Marco.”
He answered immediately.
“Boss, where are you?”
“Confirm your position.”
“Main foyer. Seven men with me. We found Luis down near the east corridor. He’s alive. Somebody hit him from behind.”
“Any breach?”
“North perimeter camera went down thirty seconds before the power. Gate’s still locked.”
“Who accessed the electrical system tonight?”
Silence.
“Marco?”
“Maintenance technician left at six.”
“Name.”
“Caleb Morris.”
“Find him.”
“We already called. His phone is off.”
Convenient.
“Lock down every employee. Nobody leaves.”
“What about you?”
“I’m secure.”
Marco lowered his voice.
“Boss, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“We found a transmitter beneath the living-room terrace.”
The camera.
Someone had been watching.
“How long?”
“We’ll know when we pull the storage.”
“No. Destroy nothing. Touch nothing.”
“Yes, Boss.”
I ended the call.
Maria had put Sofia on a small cot in the corner.
The girl was whispering to her rabbit.
Or rather, to the thing hidden inside it.
“Give it to me,” I said.
Maria stiffened.
“The rabbit.”
Sofia hugged it tighter.
“No.”
Maria knelt.
“Honey, Mr. Daniel needs to borrow Bunny.”
“But Bunny gets scared.”
I understood that better than she knew.
“I’ll take care of him.”
Sofia studied my face.
“Promise?”
Again that word.
Again I answered.
“Promise.”
She reluctantly handed me the rabbit.
It was old and soft, one ear slightly darker from years of being held.
I hated cutting it.
Maria winced when I took a knife from the emergency drawer.
“The seam beneath the left foot,” she said.
I found it.
The stitching was different there.
Gabriel had done it himself.
I cut three threads.
A tiny brass key fell into my palm.
Stamped into one side was the number 317.
Nothing else.
“No bank?”
Maria shook her head.
I squeezed the rabbit’s foot.
Something still felt wrong.
I opened the seam farther.
A narrow strip of plastic was folded inside the stuffing.
Not plastic.
Microfilm.
I looked at Maria.
“You knew about this?”
“No.”
I held it beneath the desk lamp.
Tiny lines of text covered the strip.
Old-fashioned.
Deliberate.
Gabriel had known digital evidence could be erased.
“Can you read it?”
“Not without magnification.”
The safe room had an evidence scanner.
Five minutes later, an image appeared on the monitor.
Rows of numbers.
Dates.
Initials.
Shipment codes.
Accounts.
Then one sentence at the bottom.
IF I DIE, V.R. DIDN’T WORK ALONE.
Maria covered her mouth.
V.R.
Vincent Russo.
There was another set of initials repeated beside his.
T.H.
I stared at them.
Maria saw my expression.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You recognize them.”
“I recognize a lot of initials.”
“You’re lying.”
I turned toward her.
Most people did not accuse me of lying.
Maria apparently had not received that training.
“T.H. could be anybody.”
“Who are you thinking?”
I didn’t answer.
Because the first name in my mind belonged to the only man who had taught me betrayal before I knew the word.
Thomas Hale.
My father.
He was seventy-two now.
Retired, officially.
He lived on a private property near Greenwich and claimed his heart was too weak for business.
He and I spoke twice a year.
Christmas.
My mother’s birthday.
Never longer than ten minutes.
We had not shared a meal in seven years.
“He couldn’t be involved,” I said.
Maria went still.
“Your father?”
I looked at her sharply.
“You guessed that quickly.”
“Gabriel talked about him.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did he say?”
“That he was afraid of him.”
“Gabriel worked for me, not my father.”
“He said that didn’t matter.”
Before I could question her, Sofia spoke from the cot.
“My daddy didn’t like the old man.”
Maria and I both turned.
“What old man?” I asked.
Sofia shrugged.
“The picture one.”
Maria looked confused.
“What picture, baby?”
“At home. Daddy’s box.”
Maria’s face changed.
“Sofia, what box?”
“The box in your closet.”
“I don’t have—”
Then she stopped.
Her eyes widened.
“The blue suitcase?”
Sofia nodded.
“You told me never to touch it, but the zipper was open one time.”
Maria stood abruptly.
“There’s a suitcase in my apartment with Gabriel’s belongings.”
“You never searched it?”
“A thousand times.”
“For false bottoms?”
“No.”
I was already calling Marco.
“Get a team to Maria’s apartment.”
She grabbed my wrist.
“No.”
I looked at her hand.
She released me immediately.
“If they’re watching us, they’ll be watching the apartment.”
“That’s why I send armed men.”
“They’re after the key. If they realize we’ve found something else—”
“They already know you came here.”
Her expression collapsed.
She knew I was right.
I gave Marco the address.
“Use the secondary team. No lights. Nobody touches anything until it’s photographed.”
“Understood.”
I ended the call.
Maria sat down.
For the first time since the blackout, she looked exhausted.
“I thought I was protecting her.”
“You were.”
“By carrying evidence inside her toy?”
“That part could use improvement.”
She stared at me.
Then, incredibly, laughed.
It was one small broken sound.
I hadn’t heard a woman laugh honestly in my house in years.
Not at a party.
Not across one of my dining tables.
People laughed because I was powerful.
Maria laughed because I had said something stupid.
I found myself staring.
She noticed.
The laugh vanished.
“Why did you cry?” she asked quietly.
My guard returned immediately.
“What?”
“When Sofia covered you.”
“That isn’t your concern.”
“I think it is.”
“You’re an employee.”
“I’m the widow of a man you ordered killed.”
There it was.
Neither of us could escape it.
I looked at the surveillance monitors.
“You should hate me.”
“For a long time, I did.”
“And now?”
Maria’s eyes went to Sofia.
“Now I think Gabriel was right about you.”
I turned.
“What did he say?”
Maria hesitated.
Then she whispered, “He said the worst thing your father ever did wasn’t teaching you how to hurt people.”
The room seemed to get smaller.
“What was it?”
“He taught you that being loved would make you weak.”
My mother appeared in my memory.
Her perfume.
Her hand brushing hair from my forehead.
The funeral.
My father’s hand on my six-year-old shoulder.
Never let anyone see what can hurt you.
I could barely breathe.
A harsh beep sounded from the secure phone.
Marco.
I answered.
“We’re at the apartment.”
“What did you find?”
“Boss…”
His voice had changed.
“What?”
“The place was torn apart.”
Maria stood.
“Any casualties?”
“No.”
“What about the suitcase?”
“Found it.”
I waited.
Marco didn’t continue.
“Marco.”
“There’s a false compartment.”
Maria gripped the edge of the desk.
“What’s inside?”
“A photograph.”
“Of who?”
“Your mother.”
Every sound in the safe room disappeared.
Marco spoke more quietly.
“And, Boss?”
“Yes?”
“There’s a date written on the back.”
May you like
I already knew I didn’t want to hear it.
“It was taken three days after your mother supposedly died.”
