Chapter 7 - The Wife He Buried TwiceWe left the safe house through a narrow underground passage that connected the basement to an abandoned service garage.
The attackers had vanished.
So had the cardboard box on the rear steps.
Whatever they had intended to accomplish, they had gained enough time to escape, and the police were already searching for them.
I sat in the back of a reinforced black sedan with Vincent beside me and Nico driving. My arm throbbed beneath the bandages, and every turn sent a dull ache through my shoulder.
But I scarcely noticed it anymore.
My mother was alive.
Vincent's wife was alive.
My father might be alive.
For the first time, I began to understand why people went mad trying to uncover the truth. There was no clear boundary between hope and terror when the things you had mourned suddenly became possible again.
“Tell me about Lucia,” I said.
Vincent looked out the window.
“You should save your strength.”
“I've had enough people deciding what I should know.”
He turned toward me.
For a moment, I thought he would refuse.
Then he began.
“Lucia grew up in Queens. Her father owned a small restaurant, and she worked there after school. We met when I was twenty-three. She had no interest in my family or my business, and she made that very clear.”
“Why did she marry you?”
“Because I lied to her.”
I stared at him.
He gave a humorless smile.
“I told her I was leaving the family business. I intended to, at first. Then my father became ill, my brother disappeared during a violent dispute, and everything changed.”
“Did she know what you did?”
“Eventually. She knew enough to understand that I wasn't the man I'd promised to become.”
“And she stayed?”
“For a while.”
The city passed beyond the tinted windows.
“I loved her,” he continued. “But loving someone doesn't automatically make you safe for them.”
That was the most honest thing I had heard from him.
“Did you hurt her?”
“Not physically.”
I watched him carefully.
“Did you control her?”
His eyes returned to mine.
“Sometimes. I told myself it was protection. I decided where she could go, whom she could speak to, and what she should know. I thought that if I controlled every danger around her, I could keep her alive.”
He paused.
“Then she disappeared anyway.”
I understood more than I wanted to.
For years, Aaron had told me he watched my phone because he worried about me. He had forbidden me from visiting friends because the neighborhood was dangerous. He had insisted that I stop working evening shifts because he couldn't bear the thought of another man looking at me.
Every restriction had come wrapped in a promise.
I'm doing this because I love you.
But love that required obedience had gradually become a cage.
“Maybe Lucia left you,” I said quietly.
Vincent didn't move.
“Maybe she escaped.”
The words seemed to strike deeper than I expected.
He looked away.
“That's possible.”
“Would you be angry if she did?”
He considered the question.
“I would be angry at myself.”
I watched his reflection in the window.
For the first time, I wondered whether Vincent Moretti's greatest weakness was not his enemies but his inability to accept that the people he loved had the right to choose their own lives.
The car slowed as we approached the harbor.
Old warehouses lined the road. Rainwater collected in potholes, reflecting the glow of orange security lights. Farther away, the river looked black beneath the clouded sky.
Nico parked behind a row of shipping containers.
“Police are two minutes out,” he said. “We shouldn't enter until they arrive.”
Vincent checked his phone.
“Has the signal moved?”
“No. Both locations are still broadcasting from somewhere in the terminal.”
I opened my hand.
The brass key lay against my palm.
Its tiny waves caught the overhead light.
“Could this really open something there?”
“We don't know.”
“What if they know where we are?”
“They already know.”
I looked at him.
“And you're still bringing me?”
“You said you've been there before. Your memories may help identify the place. But you're not going inside until we understand the layout.”
That sounded reasonable.
I hated that it sounded reasonable.
A few minutes later, Detective Ortiz arrived with two officers. She approached the vehicle, opened the back door, and glanced at my bandaged arm.
“You shouldn't be here.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because someone has my mother.”
Mara's expression softened.
She leaned down so we could speak without being overheard.
“Listen to me. I have officers positioned around the perimeter. We have a medical team waiting nearby. You will not go into that warehouse alone.”
“I won't.”
“And if you feel faint, confused, or overwhelmed, you tell someone immediately.”
I nodded.
She studied Vincent.
“If anything happens to her because you ignored my instructions, I'll put you in handcuffs myself.”
Vincent opened the car door.
“Get in line.”
Mara gave him a look that would have frightened most people.
Then she turned toward the terminal.
We approached the entrance on foot.
A rusted sign hung above the loading bay.
PIER 19.
The sight of it triggered something inside my head.
I smelled oil.
I heard the metallic clatter of chains.
A woman was crying somewhere nearby.
My father knelt in front of me, his hands wrapped around my shoulders.
Whatever happens, Lena, remember the water.
I staggered.
Vincent caught me.
“What is it?”
“I remember this place.”
“Tell me what you remember.”
“Water. Chains. My father.”
“Was he here with you?”
“Yes.”
A flash of memory appeared.
A man in a dark suit crouched beside a wooden crate. My father was shouting, telling him to leave me alone. Somewhere behind them, a younger Vincent Moretti was bleeding from the side of his head.
Then a gunshot.
I cried out and clutched Vincent's sleeve.
“Your brother was there.”
Vincent went completely still.
“What?”
“Gabriel. He was there. He was alive.”
Nico looked toward the terminal.
“Sir, we've got movement inside.”
A figure appeared behind the frosted glass of an office door.
The silhouette was tall and broad-shouldered.
Then the light illuminated his face.
Vincent stared.
The figure lifted a hand and placed it against the glass.
Five fingers.
A gold serpent ring.
And a smile.
Gabriel Moretti opened the door from the inside.
“Hello, little brother.”
Vincent raised his weapon.
The police officers moved into position, but Gabriel seemed unconcerned.
He looked at me.
“Lena Marlowe. You've grown up.”
My mouth went dry.
“You know me.”
“Your father used to carry your drawings in his briefcase. You drew terrible cats, if I remember correctly.”
I remembered the drawings.
I remembered showing them to my father while he worked at the kitchen table.
I remembered a tall stranger who had brought me candy one afternoon and asked about my birthday.
But I did not remember Gabriel.
“Where is my mother?” I demanded.
Gabriel smiled.
“Safe. For now.”
“Where is she?”
“Nearby.”
“Let me see her.”
“Of course.”
He stepped aside and gestured toward the warehouse.
Vincent didn't move.
“Send her out.”
Gabriel laughed.
“Still giving orders. Did you learn nothing from the last fifteen years?”
“I learned that you're a liar.”
“And yet here you are, standing in front of me, desperate to recover what you threw away.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“What do you want?”
Gabriel looked at the brass key in my hand.
“The same thing Father wanted.”
Vincent's expression changed.
“Our father died before the ledger disappeared.”
“That's what he wanted everyone to believe.”
The warehouse suddenly seemed enormous.
I could hear the rain falling on the roof, the water moving beneath the pier, and my own breathing.
Gabriel extended his hand toward me.
“Come inside, Lena.”
Vincent stepped between us.
“No.”
Gabriel sighed.
“Then I suppose we'll have to make this more interesting.”
He snapped his fingers.
A door opened behind him.
Two men appeared, each holding a woman by the arm.
My mother stumbled into the light.
Beside her stood Lucia Moretti.
Both were alive.
Both looked exhausted.
And both were wearing identical silver pendants around their necks.
My mother saw the key in my hand.
Her face went white.
“No,” she whispered.
She shook her head frantically.
“Lena, don't let him open the vault.”
Gabriel smiled.
“Too late.”
May you like
He glanced at the pendant around my mother's neck.
“Your daughter has already brought the key.”
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