Chapter 4 - The Dead Man's MessageThe room went silent.
Marcus looked at Leo.
Leo looked at Natasha.
"Carlo is dead."
"I know."
"You saw him?"
"No. His back."
"Then you could be wrong."
Natasha shook her head.
"I know how he stood."
Marcus frowned.
"Boss, the morgue identified him."
"Did you see the body?"
Leo didn't answer.
Natasha noticed.
Her pulse accelerated.
"You didn't?"
Leo looked away.
"Carlo's funeral is tomorrow."
"Exactly."
"What if the body isn't him?"
Leo's silence became the answer.
Marcus swore softly.
"Jesus."
Leo walked toward the monitor.
"Pull every camera."
They watched.
At 2:13 a.m., the figure entered.
At 2:18, he opened the concealed safe behind Leo's bookcase.
At 2:26, he left.
He never once looked toward the camera.
Then the image froze.
Marcus zoomed in.
A hand appeared.
There was a ring.
A black onyx signet.
Leo's face went pale.
"I buried that ring."
Natasha stared.
"What does that mean?"
Leo turned toward her.
"It means Carlo knew he might die."
He picked up the phone.
"Get me Father Vincent."
An hour later, they were in the private chapel beneath the Tomlin compound.
Father Vincent sat across from them.
He was seventy, thin, and tired.
Leo placed the photograph on the table.
"Did Carlo leave anything?"
The priest looked at it.
Then looked at Natasha.
"Not for me."
"For who?"
The priest hesitated.
"Her."
Natasha's stomach dropped.
"Me?"
Father Vincent nodded.
"Carlo told me six months ago that if he died, I was to give you something."
Leo leaned forward.
"What?"
The priest reached beneath his robes.
He removed a brass key.
Natasha stared.
"What does it open?"
"A box."
"Where?"
"Old Saint Matthew's Cemetery."
Leo stood immediately.
"We go now."
Father Vincent grabbed his arm.
"No."
Leo looked down at him.
"Why?"
"Because Carlo said you must not be there."
Leo's face hardened.
"Why?"
The priest looked at Natasha.
"Because he said the truth would be dangerous to you if Leo heard it first."
Natasha's heart pounded.
She looked at Leo.
He looked at her.
For the first time, neither of them knew what the other would do.
They left at midnight.
At the cemetery, rainwater streamed between the gravestones.
The box was hidden beneath a loose stone.
Natasha inserted the brass key.
The lock clicked.
Inside was a birth certificate.
A photograph.
A blood test.
And a letter.
Natasha unfolded it.
The handwriting was Carlo's.
Natasha,
If you're reading this, I failed to keep you away from the family.
You were never supposed to marry Leo.
Her heart stopped.
She read on.
Not because I believed you were beneath him.
Because I knew who your father was.
She looked up.
Leo stood ten feet away.
"Give me the letter."
Natasha held it tighter.
"No."
He took one step closer.
"Natasha."
"You said you wanted the truth."
"I do."
"Then read it with me."
She continued.
Viktor Volkov was not merely a Russian associate.
He was the man who built the Chicago operation before the Tomlins took it.
He was also the biological father of Leo Tomlin.
Natasha looked at Leo.
His face was expressionless.
Then her eyes fell to the blood test.
Two columns.
One for Viktor.
One for Natasha.
The result said:
BIOLOGICAL RELATIONSHIP: 99.98%
Natasha stopped breathing.
"He's my father."
Leo's eyes widened.
"What?"
Natasha lifted the paper.
"My father."
Neither spoke.
Then Leo looked at the date.
His face changed.
Because the blood test had been conducted one year before Carlo's death.
One year before Leo ever met Natasha.
One year before their relationship began.
And beneath the test was a second document.
A marriage certificate.
Viktor Volkov.
Elena Volkov.
Then a handwritten note.
Leo and Natasha are half-siblings.
The box fell from Natasha's hands.
"No."
Leo didn't move.
"No."
The word came from both of them.
Then headlights appeared between the graves.
Cars.
Four.
Men got out.
Guns came up.
A voice shouted through the rain.
"Take Natasha alive."
Leo pulled his gun.
"And kill Leo."
Natasha looked at him.
May you like
The man who had just discovered she might be his sister did the only thing his body knew how to do.
He stepped in front of her.
Related Stories
