Chapter 4 - THE MAN WHO DIED TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS AGO
Dominic's father was dead.
Everyone knew that.
There had been a funeral.
A grave.
Obituaries.
Photographs.
Yet the man in the hospital security image had his face.
Exactly.
I looked at Dominic.
“That's impossible.”
“Yes.”
“You said your father died.”
“He did.”
“Then who is that?”
Dominic stared at the screen.
“I don't know.”
Victoria whispered—
“You do.”
Dominic turned toward her.
“What does that mean?”
“You know exactly who that is.”
Victoria shook her head.
“That's not your father.”
“Then who?”
She looked at me.
“His brother.”
Dominic froze.
“My father had no brother.”
Victoria's voice trembled.
“He did.”
Dominic stepped back.
“Who?”
“Jonathan Russo.”
The name meant nothing to me.
It clearly meant something to Dominic.
He sat down.
“My father told me he was an only child.”
Victoria looked away.
“Your father lied about many things.”
Dominic turned to me.
“You need to go home.”
“No.”
“Casey.”
“No.”
“My family is involved in this.”
“So is mine.”
He didn't argue.
That frightened me more than anything.
We left the restaurant through the private entrance.
Dominic drove.
I sat beside him.
Neither of us spoke for ten minutes.
Then I asked—
“Why did your father want my mother dead?”
“I don't know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it's true.”
“Then tell me what you do know.”
He tightened his hands around the steering wheel.
“My father had a private network.”
“I know.”
“No. You don't.”
He looked at me.
“His business wasn't built on crime alone.”
“What was it built on?”
“Information.”
He continued.
“Contracts. Debt. Political favors. Property transfers. Old family agreements.”
“The kind of agreement I saw tonight.”
“Yes.”
“Your father used legal language as a weapon.”
Dominic nodded.
“And your mother knew how to read it.”
I stared through the windshield.
“Then why did she stay?”
“She probably didn't have a choice.”
“Neither did you?”
He looked at me.
“What?”
“Your father.”
Dominic didn't answer.
We arrived at my apartment just after midnight.
I expected darkness.
Instead, the front door was open.
I stopped.
Dominic immediately reached for his gun.
“Stay behind me.”
We entered.
Nothing appeared disturbed.
Then I saw my mother's room.
The wooden jewelry box was gone.
I ran inside.
“Mom kept this here.”
Dominic followed.
“What was inside?”
“The pendant.”
He looked around.
“Anything else?”
I pointed to the empty drawer.
“Photographs.”
“What photographs?”
“My childhood.”
He became still.
“Someone wasn't looking for jewelry.”
I nodded.
“They were looking for evidence.”
Then I noticed something beneath the bed.
A small metal suitcase.
It had been hidden under a loose floorboard.
I pulled it out.
Locked.
Dominic examined it.
“No key.”
I remembered the pendant.
“The pendant.”
He looked at me.
“It had a key.”
We searched the apartment.
Nothing.
Then I remembered my mother had once told me never to open the back panel of the old kitchen clock.
I took it down.
Behind it was a tiny brass key.
Dominic looked at me.
“Your mother planned for this.”
I inserted the key.
The suitcase opened.
Inside were documents.
Photographs.
A rosary.
A train ticket.
And a cassette tape.
Dominic stared at the ticket.
“That's from 1999.”
I picked it up.
Chicago to New York.
One way.
Two passengers.
Mary Evelyn Miller.
And another name.
Eleanor Russo.
Dominic looked stunned.
“My mother.”
I picked up the photograph.
It showed my mother and Eleanor standing together outside a train station.
They were both younger.
And between them stood the little girl from the photograph.
The child wore the bracelet.
On the back was written:
WE SAVED HER ONCE. WE HAVE TO DO IT AGAIN.
Dominic picked up the cassette.
“What is that?”
“A recording.”
We found an old player in the kitchen.
Dominic pressed play.
Static.
Then my mother's voice.
Older.
Tired.
Terrified.
“If you're hearing this, Eleanor failed.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
My mother's voice continued.
“Casey must never know who her father was.”
I stopped breathing.
Dominic looked at me.
The recording continued.
“Because if he discovers that Casey survived, he will come for her.”
A man's voice interrupted.
My mother gasped.
Then the recording ended.
I stared at Dominic.
“Who is my father?”
He didn't answer.
I looked at the train ticket again.
Then the photograph.
Then the rosary.
A small photograph was tucked inside the rosary beads.
I pulled it free.
It showed my mother holding me as a baby.
Beside her stood a man.
I had never seen him.
But Dominic recognized him immediately.
His face turned pale.
“Who is he?”
Dominic whispered—
“That's my father.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“But you said—”
“I know what I said.”
He turned the photograph over.
There was a date.
Two months after my father's supposed death.
Dominic stared.
Then he saw something else.
A wedding ring on the man's hand.
Not his father's wedding ring.
Another ring.
With an unfamiliar crest.
Dominic whispered—
“He wasn't pretending to be my father.”
“What?”
“He had another identity.”
I looked at the photograph.
Then at the cassette.
Then at Dominic.
“Why would your father have another identity?”
Dominic's phone rang.
He answered.
Marco's voice was urgent.
“Boss, we found the man from the hospital footage.”
“Where?”
“At the old Russo warehouse.”
Dominic stood.
“Who is he?”
Marco paused.
“His name is Jonathan Russo.”
Dominic looked at me.
May you like
Then Marco added—
“And Casey's mother is with him.”
