Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO SHOULDN'T BE ALIVEGlass sprayed across the room.
Everyone dropped.
Marcus shouted.
The three armed men spun toward the shattered window.
Elena dragged me down.
“Stay low!”
A bullet punched through the closet door.
Then another.
The men scattered.
I could hear Marcus screaming orders.
“Find the shooter!”
Elena grabbed my arm.
“Now.”
She pulled me deeper into the closet.
I followed until my shoulders hit a hidden wooden panel.
She pressed her palm against it.
Nothing happened.
Then she twisted a metal hook concealed behind a jacket.
The panel clicked.
A narrow passage opened.
I stared.
“You knew about this?”
“Move!”
We slipped inside.
Elena closed the panel behind us.
We stood in darkness.
I could hear gunfire above.
“Where does this lead?”
“To the old wine cellar.”
“How do you know?”
She didn't answer.
“Elena.”
She finally looked at me.
“Because I was looking for your brother.”
My blood turned cold again.
We reached the cellar.
Elena opened a concealed exit into an alley behind the estate.
We emerged into the cold Manhattan night.
I turned toward her.
“You have ten seconds.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“For what?”
“To explain why my maid knows about secret tunnels, carries a gun, knows my nephew is hunting me, and claims my dead brother was murdered.”
She stared at me.
Then said:
“Because Adrian Moretti isn't dead.”
I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because the alternative was insanity.
“Elena, I buried my brother.”
“No.”
She pulled a photograph from her coat.
She handed it to me.
The image showed a man standing beside a lake.
Older.
Thinner.
Gray at the temples.
But the face was unmistakable.
Adrian.
My brother.
Alive.
My fingers began to shake.
“When was this taken?”
“Three months ago.”
“Where?”
“Buenos Aires.”
I stared at the photograph.
Then noticed the man standing beside him.
Marcus.
My nephew.
I looked at Elena.
“Marcus found him.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“Adrian found Marcus.”
Before I could speak, headlights appeared at the end of the alley.
A black SUV accelerated toward us.
Elena shoved me aside.
The SUV slammed into the wall where I had been standing.
I raised my gun.
The rear door opened.
A man stepped out.
He was wearing a dark coat.
He looked directly at me.
I forgot how to breathe.
He lifted his face into the light.
Adrian.
My dead brother.
He said one sentence.
“Vincent, you should never have come home tonight.”
Then he disappeared into the darkness.
My phone vibrated.
A message appeared.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
ASK YOUR NEPHEW WHY HE HAS YOUR BROTHER'S BLOOD ON HIS HANDS.
Then another message arrived.
A photograph.
Marcus standing over a body.
The body was my brother.
May you like
But if Adrian was alive...
Whose body had Marcus killed?
Related Stories
