Chapter 5 - MARCO DELUCA ASKED ME TO CALL HIM DAD, AND I WALKED OUT
Marco requested the meeting through Detective Santos.
Not a secret phone call.
Not men waiting outside my apartment.
Through a lawyer.
That mattered.
I still said no.
Then Maya’s surgery was scheduled for the next morning.
I sat beside her hospital bed watching her sleep and realized I was tired of other people knowing my history before I did.
So I changed my mind.
One meeting.
Police aware.
Public location.
Santos nearby.
No weapons at the table.
Marco agreed.
We met at a private room inside an Italian restaurant that did not belong to him.
I checked.
Santos checked twice.
Marco DeLuca arrived alone except for an attorney who remained outside.
He was sixty-one.
Silver hair.
Dark suit.
No visible bodyguard.
He looked at me the way people look at photographs of someone they buried.
That made me uncomfortable.
“Claire.”
“Mr. DeLuca.”
Pain moved across his face.
“Marco.”
“Mr. DeLuca.”
He accepted.
I sat opposite him.
Between us lay the photograph of him beside Karen.
“You met her.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She contacted me.”
“When?”
“Six weeks ago.”
“Before I found Emma.”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Marco looked at the photograph.
“She said Nora Bennett’s daughter was working inside Adrian Valente’s home.”
My stomach tightened.
“How did she know I was Nora’s daughter?”
“She had access to employee records.”
“That doesn’t explain why she connected me to you.”
“She had help.”
“Vincent.”
“Yes.”
“You knew Vincent knew about me?”
“Not until Karen said so.”
“Why did he know?”
Marco’s jaw tightened.
“Your mother kept records.”
“Of what?”
“Old money.”
My pulse changed.
“What money?”
“Before you were born, Nora handled accounts for restaurants I owned with two other men.”
“Vincent?”
“One.”
“And?”
“Lorenzo Velez.”
The man who approached Mom.
Marco continued.
“The businesses were legitimate enough.”
“Enough?”
He did not defend the phrase.
“Some money moving through them was not.”
I stared.
“My mother knew.”
“Yes.”
“Did she steal records?”
“No.”
“Then why did Vincent care?”
“She saw transactions showing Vincent taking from both sides.”
“What sides?”
“Mine and his family’s.”
I almost laughed.
“Crime bosses arguing over theft.”
Marco’s expression hardened.
“Your mother was not part of that.”
“I know.”
“She left because of me.”
I waited.
He looked down.
“I frightened her.”
Specific.
Not:
She misunderstood.
“I was possessive.”
My mother’s words.
You do not decide when we are finished.
“I did things that made her believe leaving openly was unsafe.”
“Was she wrong?”
“No.”
Good.
“At least you know.”
“I learned too late.”
I did not care about his redemption yet.
“Karen.”
Marco nodded.
“She told me you existed.”
“You already knew.”
“I knew you were born.”
“Then why act surprised?”
“I did not know where you were.”
“Did you look?”
“For several years.”
My jaw tightened.
“Mom said you stayed away.”
“I did after she married.”
“So you watched first.”
“Yes.”
Not comforting.
“I knew enough to know you were alive.”
“Then ‘not supposed to know I existed’ was a lie.”
“No.”
Marco looked at me.
“Your mother wanted my world to believe you did not exist.”
There.
Important distinction.
“Vincent knowing was the danger.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because blood creates leverage.”
Exactly what Mom said.
“Karen offered you information.”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“Your address.”
My skin crawled.
“Your job.”
“Your sister.”
I stood.
Marco raised both hands.
“I never contacted Maya.”
“You knew she was sick.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Karen.”
I wanted to leave.
“Claire.”
“No.”
“Please.”
I stopped.
Not because he deserved it.
Because I needed answers.
“What did Karen want?”
“Money.”
“For information about me?”
“At first.”
“How much?”
“Fifty thousand.”
“Did you pay?”
“Yes.”
My stomach turned.
“So you bought my privacy from a nanny.”
“I bought the information she already had.”
“Same thing.”
He accepted.
“Then she asked another question.”
“What?”
“If Adrian Valente would kill someone he believed harmed Emma.”
I went cold.
“What did you say?”
“That Adrian would burn the city before allowing anyone to hurt his child.”
Exactly what Karen needed.
“She was testing the plan.”
“Yes.”
“Did you realize?”
“Not then.”
“Convenient.”
Marco’s eyes hardened at himself, not me.
“I thought she wanted to know whether bringing you near Adrian put you at risk.”
“She did.”
“I know that now.”
“Did Karen tell you about Vincent?”
“She said she was working for someone inside Adrian’s family.”
“But no name.”
“No.”
“Did you ask?”
“Yes.”
“She refused.”
“Then why meet her again?”
“Because she showed me a copy of your employee photograph.”
I closed my eyes.
Marco continued.
“You looked like Nora.”
“Do not.”
He stopped.
“I wanted to see you.”
“You could have gone through a lawyer.”
“I should have.”
“But?”
“I had spent twenty-seven years telling myself staying away was protection.”
He looked at me.
“Then suddenly someone put your face in front of me.”
For one second, I understood.
Not forgave.
Understood.
Then Marco said:
“I wanted my daughter.”
My body went cold.
“I am not your daughter.”
His face changed.
“Biologically—”
“Do not.”
I stood.
“Blood does not buy a title.”
He stared.
“My mother raised me.”
“Yes.”
“My father was David Bennett.”
His jaw tightened.
“He married my mother and changed my diapers and taught me to ride a bike and sat beside me when I broke my wrist.”
Marco said nothing.
“He died when I was thirteen.”
“I know.”
That angered me.
“You researched him.”
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
“Claire—”
“You do not get to appear because a nanny sells you my file and ask me to rearrange my definition of family.”
“I didn’t ask you to call me—”
“Yes, you did.”
Silence.
“You did it with your face before you did it with words.”
Marco looked down.
Then:
“You’re right.”
I was getting very tired of powerful men learning that phrase around me.
I picked up my coat.
“Wait.”
“No.”
“I know something about Vincent.”
I stopped.
Marco continued.
“Emma’s first birthday triggers an independent trust review.”
I frowned.
“What trust?”
“Her mother’s.”
Adrian’s wife had died when Emma was two months old.
Lucia Romano Valente.
Her family owned shipping and property interests that merged with the Valente businesses.
Marco continued.
“Lucia left voting shares in trust for Emma.”
“What does that have to do with Vincent?”
“Vincent has interim administrative authority over part of the holdings until Emma turns one.”
My stomach dropped.
“Then what?”
“Independent trustees assume control.”
“And audit.”
Marco nodded.
“There were rumors Lucia suspected Vincent was moving money before she died.”
“Did Vincent kill Lucia?”
“No evidence.”
“Then don’t imply it.”
He almost smiled.
“Your mother really did raise you.”
I ignored that.
“If Emma dies before one?”
“The trust terms become complicated.”
“How?”
“Some control reverts temporarily to a family management structure where Vincent has influence.”
There.
Motive.
“Money.”
“Control.”
“Both.”
I thought about a seven-month-old baby freezing in a dumpster.
“Why frame me?”
“To make Adrian believe DeLuca attacked his daughter.”
“War.”
“Yes.”
“You.”
Marco’s jaw tightened.
“Vincent wanted Adrian focused outward while he cleaned internal accounts.”
“And if Adrian killed me?”
Marco looked at me.
“He expected me to retaliate.”
A war built around the murder of a woman neither crime boss had known was in danger.
I stared at him.
“Karen knew all this?”
“Pieces.”
“Did she know Emma might die?”
“I don’t know.”
“She drugged a seven-month-old baby and put her in a dumpster.”
“Yes.”
“She knew.”
Marco did not argue.
I walked to the door.
Then he said:
“Claire.”
I turned.
“If Maya needs anything—”
“No.”
“I know.”
He swallowed.
“I only wanted you to know the offer exists.”
“It doesn’t.”
He nodded.
I left.
Outside, Santos waited.
“How was it?”
“I need a shower.”
She almost smiled.
Then her phone rang.
Her face hardened.
“What?”
She listened.
Then looked at me.
“They found Karen.”
My pulse jumped.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Church basement.”
“Was she hiding?”
“No.”
Santos’s eyes sharpened.
“She was tied to a chair.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who found her?”
“A priest.”
“Can she talk?”
“Barely.”
“Did she say who did it?”
“One name.”
“Vincent?”
Santos shook her head.
“No.”
“Who?”
“Dante.”
Everything inside me stopped.
Adrian’s right-hand man.
The man who had helped get me out.
The man who had told me the medical evidence proved I saved Emma.
The man I had almost started trusting.
Karen was claiming Dante was part of it.
May you like
And if she was telling the truth, then Adrian’s enemies were not only inside his family.
They were standing directly behind him.
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