Chapter 2 - The Mafia Boss Knew My Dead Mother—But the Safe-Deposit Box She Left Behind Contained a Photograph That Made Him Question His Own FamilyThe first bullet struck the hospital door at chest height.
Glass exploded.
Dominic fired back.
“Down!”
I dropped.
Lucas ripped IV from arm.
Blood appeared instantly.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving.”
“You almost died six hours ago!”
“Complain later.”
Another shot.
Dominic shouted into radio.
No response.
The attackers had jammed communications.
Lucas grabbed my wrist.
“Can you run?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Barely.
We escaped through adjoining bathroom into empty patient room.
Lucas moved like a man whose body had forgotten it was injured.
But I saw pain.
Every breath hurt.
My CPR had fractured ribs.
Poison had nearly stopped his heart permanently.
Still, he kept moving.
We reached service stairs.
Lucas stopped.
“You first.”
I stared.
“What?”
“If someone is below us—”
“You're injured.”
“Bailey.”
“No.”
His expression darkened.
“Are you always difficult?”
“Only when Mafia Bosses try using themselves as human shields six hours after cardiac arrest.”
For one astonishing second, he almost laughed.
Dominic caught up.
“Romance later.”
My face burned.
Lucas looked amused.
“This isn't romance.”
“Wonderful,” Dominic said. “Then argue after we're not being shot at.”
We descended.
On seventh floor, Bennett security met us.
Attackers disappeared.
One was found dead in laundry room.
No identification.
Burner phone.
Synthetic poison injector.
And photograph.
Me.
Leaving apartment three weeks earlier.
My stomach dropped.
Someone had been watching before Lucas collapsed.
This wasn't spontaneous.
It was planned.
Lucas transferred us to private safe house overlooking Lake Michigan.
I objected.
Repeatedly.
Then Dominic showed me photograph from attacker's pocket.
I stopped objecting.
Safe house was not mansion.
Industrial loft.
Concrete walls.
Steel doors.
Bullet-resistant glass.
No decoration except one old photograph of Lucas with young woman.
His sister.
“Is that her?”
Lucas followed gaze.
“Elena.”
“She died?”
His jaw tightened.
“Fifteen years ago.”
“My mother treated her?”
“Yes.”
“How old?”
“Seventeen.”
Lucas poured water.
His hands were unsteady.
I noticed.
“Sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“You were dead yesterday.”
“Temporarily.”
“That isn't reassuring.”
He sat.
I checked pulse.
Fast.
“Does this hurt?”
I touched bruising near ribs.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“Good?”
“Means you're not dead.”
He smiled.
Tiny.
Real.
Dangerous in entirely different way.
I pulled hand away.
“Tell me about my mother.”
Lucas became serious.
Fifteen years earlier Elena Bennett was brought to St. Catherine's with respiratory failure after inhaling smoke during warehouse fire.
Publicly accident.
Actually assassination attempt.
Someone had locked her inside.
Rebecca Carter was respiratory therapist on duty.
She noticed Elena kept repeating name while sedated.
Victor.
Victor Bennett.
Lucas's uncle.
“Your uncle tried killing your sister?”
“I didn't know then.”
“Why?”
“Elena found financial records proving Victor had been stealing from family and working with rival organization.”
“What does that have to do with Mom?”
“Rebecca heard Elena.”
“And?”
“She reported it.”
“To police?”
“To my father.”
“Bad choice?”
“The worst.”
Lucas's father, Michael Bennett, confronted Victor privately.
Two days later Michael died in car crash.
Elena died three weeks later from hospital-acquired infection.
Lucas believed tragedies unrelated.
Rebecca didn't.
She began collecting records.
“Why?”
Lucas looked at me.
“Because she blamed herself.”
My heart twisted.
That sounded exactly like Mom.
She carried guilt as though it were duty.
“She thought telling my father got him killed.”
“So she investigated Mafia?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds insane.”
“It was.”
I smiled despite myself.
“She could be stubborn.”
“So can daughter.”
“Don't.”
He almost smiled.
“Rebecca eventually contacted my mother, Evelyn.”
“Your mother knew?”
“Yes. Together they copied Victor's records.”
“And safe-deposit box?”
Lucas nodded.
“Your mother kept one key. Mine kept other.”
“Why not give evidence police?”
“Some officers were on Victor's payroll.”
Of course.
“What happened to your mother?”
“Shot during robbery.”
“You think Victor ordered it.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“She called me twenty minutes before.”
Lucas stared toward lake.
“She said if anything happened, trust Rebecca Carter.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
That answer surprised me.
“Why?”
“I was twenty. Angry. I wanted revenge. My father dead. Sister dead. Then mother. I took over family operations before I understood them.”
“You became Mafia Boss.”
“Yes.”
“You say that very casually.”
“Would dramatic music help?”
I stared.
Then laughed.
I hadn't expected humor.
He watched me.
Something softened.
“Why didn't you contact Mom later?”
“I did.”
My laughter stopped.
“When?”
“Eleven years ago.”
“What happened?”
“She told me stay away from you.”
“Why?”
“She believed Victor didn't know you existed.”
“That makes no sense. I wasn't secret.”
“Not existence generally.”
Lucas leaned forward.
“Existence as Rebecca Carter's daughter.”
Cold moved through me.
Mom used maiden name professionally before marriage.
My birth certificate listed father's surname originally.
After he died when I was four, Mom legally changed mine to Carter.
“She thought Victor had forgotten her?”
“More accurately, thought he believed she died.”
“What?”
“Rebecca staged death once.”
I stared.
Lucas explained.
Thirteen years earlier someone ran Mom's car off road.
Vehicle burned.
Body inside identified as Rebecca through jewelry.
But body wasn't hers.
A terminal patient with no family had died earlier that night; records were manipulated.
“That's impossible.”
“Your mother disappeared six months.”
I remembered.
When I was eleven, Mom told me we were moving temporarily because hospital contract.
We lived in Wisconsin under name Collins.
I attended different school.
Six months later returned Chicago.
I had never questioned.
Children accept worlds adults give them.
“Why come back?”
“Victor believed she was dead.”
“She lived publicly afterward.”
“Rebecca Carter did. But Victor's people were looking for Rebecca Collins, the name she used when treating Elena.”
I sat.
My mother had hidden entire war beneath ordinary childhood.
“What did she want me protected from?”
Lucas's answer came quietly.
“The box.”
“She didn't give it to me.”
“She may have left instructions.”
I remembered jewelry box.
Key.
After Mom died, I packed belongings into storage.
I had not opened box in three years.
We went that night.
Lucas insisted coming.
Dominic objected.
I agreed with Dominic.
Lucas ignored both.
Storage facility fluorescent lights buzzed.
My unit smelled cardboard and dust.
I found box labeled MOM.
Hands shook.
Lucas stood several feet away.
Not touching.
Not rushing.
I opened.
Sweaters.
Books.
Ceramic mug.
Hospital badge.
Then jewelry box.
Silver key inside.
Identical.
Underneath was note.
BAILEY—IF YOU EVER SEE THE OTHER KEY, TRUST THE PERSON CARRYING IT ONLY AFTER HE TELLS YOU ELENA'S LAST WORD.
I looked at Lucas.
He went pale.
“What were they?”
His throat moved.
I waited.
He whispered:
“Tell Lucas the monster is already inside the house.”
I closed eyes.
Correct.
Because beneath Mom's note, in different handwriting, was second line.
ELENA'S LAST WORDS WERE: THE MONSTER IS ALREADY INSIDE THE HOUSE.
I looked at him.
“Okay.”
Lucas exhaled.
Safe-deposit box belonged to private bank downtown.
Opened at 8 a.m.
Inside:
A flash drive.
Three ledgers.
Photographs.
A cassette recorder.
And envelope labeled:
FOR BAILEY CARTER AND LUCAS BENNETT—ONLY TOGETHER.
My mother's handwriting.
I opened.
Bailey,
If Lucas is beside you, then everything I hoped would never happen has happened.
Victor found you.
Lucas, if you are reading, I am sorry I lied.
Your mother asked me to.
There is something you don't know about Elena's death.
Lucas stiffened.
I continued.
Elena did not die from infection.
She survived.
“What?”
Lucas stood so fast chair fell.
“What?”
I read again.
She survived.
Evelyn and I moved her under another identity because Victor would keep trying.
For eleven months she lived in Wisconsin.
Then she disappeared.
I don't know whether she ran or someone found her.
Lucas stared.
“My sister lived?”
“At least eleven months.”
His face broke.
I kept reading.
Before she vanished, Elena gave birth to a daughter.
Silence.
Lucas looked at me.
“No.”
I read.
The child's father was a young prosecutor named Thomas Hale.
Dominic's last name.
My mind raced.
Lucas whispered:
“Dominic?”
Door opened.
Dominic stood there.
He had heard.
His face was white.
“My father?”
Lucas stared.
“You knew?”
“No.”
Dominic looked genuinely shaken.
“My father died when I was nine.”
My hands trembled as I continued.
The baby was placed with family outside Illinois.
Victor never knew.
I have protected her identity because if Victor discovers Elena's child lives, he may consider her a threat to Bennett inheritance.
Lucas whispered:
“My niece.”
Then we reached photograph.
A baby.
Elena holding her.
Rebecca beside bed.
On back:
SOPHIE ELENA HALE — FEBRUARY 14, 2010
Dominic stared.
“My sister's name is Sophie.”
Everything stopped.
“What?”
“My younger sister.”
Lucas turned slowly.
“How old?”
“Fifteen.”
“Your father told you she was—”
“Adopted.”
Dominic looked at photograph.
Then collapsed into chair.
Sophie Hale was not Dominic's biological sister.
She was his cousin.
Lucas Bennett's niece.
Elena's daughter.
Alive.
Lucas grabbed phone.
“Where is she?”
Dominic was already dialing.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
He called school.
His expression changed.
“She never arrived.”
My blood went cold.
Lucas looked at me.
Then ledgers.
Then photograph.
Victor had not poisoned Lucas merely to kill Mafia Boss.
He was cleaning the family tree.
Lucas.
Me.
And now Sophie.
Three people connected to secret Rebecca Carter had protected for fifteen years.
Dominic's phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A man's voice.
Old.
Calm.
“Hello, nephew.”
Lucas became stone.
Victor Bennett.
“I have Sophie.”
Lucas's hand tightened.
May you like
Victor continued.
“And now that Rebecca Carter's daughter has finally opened the box, I would like Bailey too.”
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