Chapter 3 - Blood Under the DoorThe apartment became a crime scene.
Police arrived.
Paramedics treated Clara for shock.
Mia refused to leave Adrian.
Every time someone approached, she reached for his hand.
Adrian didn't let go.
He was still processing the impossible.
He had spent three years believing that distance was protection.
Now his daughter was sitting beside him because someone had already found her.
A detective crouched near the shattered window.
“Mr. Moretti?”
Adrian looked up.
“We found something.”
The detective held a plastic evidence bag.
Inside was a tiny brass button.
Adrian stared at it.
“Not from the shooter's clothing,” the detective said. “It was underneath the window.”
Adrian recognized it.
A symbol had been carved into the front.
A wolf.
Volkov's mark.
Vincent saw it too.
“That's his.”
Adrian's expression darkened.
“Or someone wants us to think it is.”
The detective frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“It means nothing at this point.”
Adrian stood.
The room tilted.
He grabbed the edge of the table.
Vincent immediately moved toward him.
“Sit.”
Adrian shook him off.
His heart hammered.
For a moment he could hear nothing except blood rushing through his ears.
Then the sensation passed.
Mia was watching him.
“Are you sick?”
Adrian looked at her.
“Yes.”
“Are you going to die?”
Clara closed her eyes.
Vincent looked away.
Adrian crouched so he was at Mia's level.
“Everybody dies someday.”
Mia frowned.
“That wasn't my question.”
A tiny smile touched Adrian’s mouth.
“No. I don't plan on dying anytime soon.”
It was a lie.
Or maybe a promise.
He didn't know which.
Later that night, Adrian returned to his private safe house.
Doctors had ordered rest.
He ignored them.
Vincent spread photographs across the table.
Volkov.
Dmitri Sokolov.
Security footage.
The brass button.
The photograph of Mia.
Nothing connected cleanly.
“There's no reason for Volkov to fake Sokolov's identity,” Vincent said.
“There is if he wants us looking at him.”
Vincent nodded.
“We found something else.”
He slid over another photograph.
A surveillance image.
A man walking outside the school.
His face wasn't visible.
But his left hand was.
He wore a silver ring.
Adrian stared.
He knew that ring.
“That's impossible.”
“What?”
Adrian pointed.
“That belonged to Marcus.”
Vincent's expression changed.
Marcus Moretti had been Adrian's older brother.
He had died nine years earlier.
Shot during an ambush.
At least that's what everyone had believed.
“Could be another ring,” Vincent said.
“No.”
Adrian knew his brother.
Marcus had worn that ring every day.
A black stone set in silver.
Engraved inside with a single word.
HOME.
Vincent sat back.
“You think he's alive?”
Adrian said nothing.
Before Vincent could continue, Mia entered the room.
She had been told not to leave Clara’s side.
She ignored the rule.
“Daddy?”
Adrian turned.
She held a drawing.
“Can I show you something?”
He nodded.
She placed the paper on the table.
It showed a little girl.
Beside her was a tall man.
This time, the man had a face.
Adrian stared.
Mia had drawn his eyes.
His hair.
Even the scar on his eyebrow.
But there was something else.
Behind the man stood another figure.
A larger figure.
Faceless.
Black coat.
Silver ring.
Adrian's blood froze.
“Who is this?”
Mia shrugged.
“He's always there.”
“Where?”
“In my dreams.”
Vincent stood.
“Mia, when did you start dreaming about him?”
She looked at him.
“After Mommy started locking the doors.”
Adrian exchanged a glance with Vincent.
“When was that?”
Mia thought.
“The week before Christmas.”
Three months ago.
Someone had been watching the family long before Adrian knew it.
Adrian leaned closer.
“What does the man say?”
Mia hesitated.
“He asks me where Daddy is.”
Adrian felt the room disappear.
He stood too quickly.
Pain tore through his chest.
The monitor attached to his wrist began vibrating.
Vincent caught him.
“Sit down.”
Adrian breathed slowly.
But Mia was staring at him.
“Daddy?”
He forced himself to smile.
“I’m okay.”
She pointed at the drawing.
“The man says he knows you.”
Adrian looked down.
Underneath the drawing, Mia had written three words in a child's handwriting.
HE FOUND HOME.
At that exact moment, every light in the safe house went out.
Vincent drew his weapon.
Security alarms should have triggered.
They didn't.
Adrian heard footsteps.
One.
Two.
Three.
Coming from the hallway.
Vincent whispered, “Stay behind me.”
The door opened.
A man stepped into the room.
Tall.
Dark coat.
Silver ring.
Adrian's heart stopped.
The man removed his gloves.
And smiled.
“Hello, little brother.”
Vincent raised his gun.
May you like
Adrian couldn't move.
Because the dead man standing in front of him had the face of Marcus Moretti.
