Chapter 4 - THE GIRL THEY THREATENED|
For three seconds after Victor Bellini mentioned my sister, nobody in the dining room moved.
Then Matteo DeLuca did something I had never seen him do.
He lost control.
"Where is she?"
His voice thundered through the room.
Victor laughed through the phone.
"Careful, Matteo."
"If you've touched that girl—"
"Nobody has touched anyone."
"Then why mention her?"
"Because I want you to understand that your decisions affect people beyond yourself."
Matteo's jaw tightened.
"You're threatening an innocent woman."
"I'm reminding you that innocence doesn't make people untouchable."
The call ended.
I stood frozen beside Eleanor's chair.
My younger sister, Lily, was twenty-two.
She attended nursing school at a community college on Chicago's North Side.
She worked evenings at a small pharmacy to help cover tuition.
And every Tuesday and Thursday, she took the bus home alone.
Tonight was Thursday.
I looked at the clock.
11:19 p.m.
Lily's shift ended at eleven.
She should have been on her way home.
I reached for my phone.
My fingers shook so badly that I pressed the wrong number twice.
Finally, I called her.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
Voicemail.
"Come on, Lily."
I called again.
Nothing.
A terrible pressure formed behind my ribs.
Matteo was already speaking to Daniel.
"Find Lily Bennett."
Daniel nodded.
"Where does she work?"
"The Westbrook Pharmacy on Belmont Avenue," I answered.
"What's her phone number?"
I gave it to him.
He stepped into the hallway.
Matteo turned toward me.
"Claire, look at me."
I couldn't.
My eyes were fixed on the unanswered call.
"Claire."
I looked up.
"We're going to find her."
"You don't know that."
His expression tightened.
"You're right."
The honesty startled me.
"But I have people who can help us look."
I swallowed.
"She doesn't know anything about this."
"I know."
"She doesn't even know who Vanessa is."
"I understand."
"Then why would he threaten her?"
Matteo glanced toward the phone in his hand.
"Because he wants you frightened."
I stared at him.
"It's working."
He said nothing.
I called Lily again.
This time, someone answered.
"Hello?"
A man's voice.
My knees nearly gave way.
"Who is this?"
"Who are you trying to reach?"
"Lily Bennett."
A pause.
Then the man said, "Hold on."
I heard traffic.
A car horn.
Someone speaking in the background.
Then Lily's voice.
"Claire?"
I almost collapsed.
"Lily!"
"Why are you calling me six times?"
"Where are you?"
"At the pharmacy."
"You're supposed to be home."
"The buses are delayed."
"Who answered your phone?"
"Officer Ramirez."
My heart hammered.
"Police?"
"Yeah, there was a minor accident outside, and he was helping me pick up my things."
I closed my eyes.
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Are you alone?"
"Claire, what's going on?"
I looked at Matteo.
He held out his hand.
"May I?"
I gave him the phone.
"Lily, this is Matteo DeLuca."
Silence.
Then my sister said something that would have been funny under different circumstances.
"Am I getting fired from a job I don't even have?"
Matteo almost smiled.
"No."
His expression quickly hardened again.
"Your sister received a threat involving your safety."
"What?"
"I've asked my security team to coordinate with the police officer who's with you."
I watched his face.
"Please stay inside the pharmacy until they arrive."
Lily sounded frightened now.
"Is Claire okay?"
"She's safe."
"Can I talk to her?"
He handed the phone back.
"Claire?"
"I'm here."
"What happened?"
"I'll explain when I see you."
"You're scaring me."
I pressed my hand against my mouth.
"I'm sorry."
"Are you crying?"
"No."
"Claire."
That was all it took.
My eyes filled.
"I'm just glad you're okay."
Lily's voice softened.
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
When the call ended, I stood motionless.
My sister was safe.
For now.
But someone had found out where she worked, what time her shift ended, and how to frighten me with a single sentence.
Matteo turned toward Daniel as he returned.
"Two vehicles."
Daniel nodded.
"Understood."
"One stays with Lily."
"And the other?"
"With Claire."
I looked up.
"That's not necessary."
Matteo turned toward me.
"Yes, it is."
"I can't have security guards following me everywhere."
"Until we know what Victor intends, you can."
I felt a sudden flash of anger.
"With respect, Mr. DeLuca, I didn't ask to be involved in your family business."
The room went silent.
Robert looked at me sharply.
But Matteo didn't become angry.
Instead, he nodded.
"You're right."
I stared at him.
He continued.
"You didn't ask for any of this."
His eyes moved toward Eleanor's shoe.
"You helped someone who needed kindness."
He looked back at me.
"And because of that, a man who wants to control me has decided to frighten you."
His voice lowered.
"I'm sorry."
I didn't know what to say.
Men like Matteo DeLuca didn't usually apologize to women like me.
Especially not in front of their attorneys and security guards.
But the apology didn't change the danger.
"What happens now?" I asked.
Matteo glanced toward Robert.
"We find out what Victor wants badly enough to threaten your sister."
Margaret cleared her throat.
"The answer may be in the documents."
Everyone turned.
She opened the leather case again.
Beneath the estate papers was a smaller folder tied with faded green string.
On the cover, someone had written a single word.
HARBOR.
Matteo frowned.
"What's Harbor?"
Margaret looked at Eleanor.
The two women exchanged a glance.
Then Eleanor spoke.
"It was your mother's project."
"My mother had a charitable foundation."
"Yes."
"She called it the DeLuca Family Foundation."
"That was the public name."
Matteo stared at her.
"What was Harbor?"
Eleanor took a shaky breath.
"A private fund your parents established for the widows and children of employees who died while working for the family businesses."
Robert leaned forward.
"I remember the fund."
Matteo turned.
"You knew about it?"
"I helped draft the original agreement."
"Then why have I never seen it?"
Robert looked ashamed.
"Because after your father's death, the records disappeared."
Margaret untied the green string.
Inside were bank statements, handwritten notes, and photographs of families standing outside modest houses.
I recognized one photograph immediately.
A woman with dark hair stood beside two little girls.
The older girl had a missing front tooth.
The younger wore a yellow dress.
I reached toward the photograph.
My fingers went numb.
"Where did you get this?"
Margaret looked at me.
"Claire?"
I picked it up.
The woman in the photograph was my mother.
The older girl was me.
The younger was Lily.
I couldn't breathe.
"That's my family."
Matteo turned sharply.
"What?"
I held up the photograph.
"That's my mother."
The room seemed to tilt.
I stared at the date written beneath the picture.
June 2004.
I had been five years old.
Lily was a baby.
Matteo approached slowly.
"Claire, what was your father's name?"
I swallowed.
"Thomas Bennett."
Robert's face changed.
"Thomas Bennett?"
I looked at him.
"Yes."
He sat down heavily.
Matteo noticed.
"Robert?"
The attorney stared at the photograph.
"Thomas Bennett worked for your father."
I shook my head.
"No."
Everyone looked at me.
"My father was a mechanic."
Robert nodded slowly.
"He was."
"He worked at a repair shop."
"Yes."
I stared at him.
"Then how did you know him?"
Robert's voice was quiet.
"Because the repair shop serviced DeLuca vehicles."
My mouth went dry.
My father had died when I was six.
My mother always told us he had been killed in a workplace accident.
A hydraulic lift had failed.
That was all I knew.
Robert looked toward Matteo.
"Thomas was one of the employees who raised concerns about missing money from the Harbor fund."
Matteo's face hardened.
"When?"
"Shortly before his death."
I felt cold.
"What are you saying?"
Robert looked at me.
"Claire, I don't know what happened to your father."
"Then why is my family in these papers?"
Margaret turned another page.
There was a letter addressed to my mother.
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
She had kept every birthday card my father ever wrote.
The same slanted letters appeared across the page.
I read the first sentence.
"Anna, if anything happens to me, please don't believe it was an accident."
My knees buckled.
Matteo caught my elbow before I fell.
I stared at the letter.
"No."
Nobody spoke.
I shook my head.
"No, my mother would have told me."
Eleanor began crying.
"Sweetheart—"
"She would have told me."
Margaret reached toward me.
"Claire, your mother was trying to protect you."
I stepped backward.
"Protect me from what?"
Margaret's expression crumpled.
"From the people your father was investigating."
I looked at Matteo.
Then Robert.
Then the photograph of my mother holding Lily.
All those years, I had believed our family had simply been unlucky.
My father died.
My mother worked two jobs.
Medical bills piled up.
And I took a job cleaning a mansion because I couldn't afford to finish college.
Now I was standing inside that mansion, holding evidence that my father's death might have been connected to the same people threatening my sister.
I felt sick.
Matteo spoke gently.
"Claire, sit down."
I shook my head.
"No."
"Please."
"I need to go home."
He stepped aside.
"Of course."
I moved toward the doorway.
Then Margaret spoke.
"There's one more thing."
I stopped.
She looked at the letter in my hand.
"Your mother came to see Isabella DeLuca three weeks before she died."
Matteo turned.
"My mother?"
Margaret nodded.
"She brought a box of documents."
"What documents?"
"Records Thomas had hidden before his death."
My heart pounded.
"Where are they?"
Margaret hesitated.
"Isabella put them somewhere safe."
Matteo looked at her.
"Where?"
Margaret's eyes filled with tears.
"She never told me."
A terrible silence followed.
Then Eleanor whispered, "She told me."
Everyone turned toward her.
Eleanor looked at Matteo.
"Your mother said that if the Bellinis ever came for the cottages, we should look where your father kept his promises."
Matteo frowned.
"What does that mean?"
Eleanor shook her head.
"I don't know."
But I did.
Or at least, I thought I did.
Six weeks earlier, while cleaning Matteo's private study, I had noticed an unusual inscription beneath a framed photograph of his parents.
It was carved into the dark wood.
A promise made in love cannot be buried by fear.
I looked at Matteo.
"Your father's photograph."
He stared at me.
"What?"
"In your study."
I swallowed.
"The frame has an inscription."
Matteo's expression changed.
He turned toward Daniel.
"Get the keys."
We hurried upstairs.
Matteo's study occupied the far end of the mansion's west wing.
The room smelled of leather, old books, and cedarwood.
Above the fireplace hung a portrait of his parents.
But the photograph I remembered stood on a smaller shelf.
Matteo lifted it.
He turned the frame over.
Nothing.
Then he examined the carved wooden base.
His fingers stopped.
There was a tiny brass latch.
He pressed it.
A hidden compartment opened.
Inside lay a folded paper and a small silver key.
Matteo removed both.
The paper contained a single handwritten sentence.
He read it aloud.
"When the truth becomes dangerous, trust the girl whose father refused to lie."
He looked at me.
I stared at the note.
My father.
The room went silent.
Then Matteo unfolded the second side.
There was an address.
An old warehouse near the Chicago River.
May you like
And beneath it, four words.
ASK CLAIRE ABOUT THE FIRE.
