Chapter 7 - THE SECRET ELENA HAD BURIED FOR EIGHT YEARS
“Elena.”
She looked away.
I hated that more than the photograph.
“What does it mean?”
Marco quietly left the room and shut the door.
Lily was downstairs with a security team and two nurses.
For once, we were alone.
Elena sat near the window.
Chicago burned gold beneath the setting sun.
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“When you weren’t dying.”
“Try now.”
She rubbed her good hand over her face.
“The night we met wasn’t the first time I had seen you.”
I waited.
“My brother knew Anthony.”
My entire body went still.
“What?”
“My older brother, Mateo, drove for your family.”
I searched my memory.
Mateo Ramirez.
Twenty-six.
Quiet.
Killed the same month as Anthony.
I had attended his funeral.
“You’re Mateo’s sister.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because the Romanos believed Mateo betrayed Anthony.”
My voice hardened.
“He did.”
“No.”
I stared at her.
“Mateo gave the route to the men who ambushed my brother.”
“That’s what Vincent told your father.”
Something cold entered the room.
“What are you saying?”
“Mateo called me the night before he died.”
Elena’s eyes filled.
“He said somebody inside the Romano family was feeding information to a rival crew. He had proof.”
“Who?”
“He didn’t tell me over the phone.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“He asked me to meet him the next morning.”
“But he died that night.”
“Yes.”
Officially, Mateo Ramirez had been killed by the same rival group that murdered Anthony.
At least that was the story Vincent had brought us.
“You think Vincent killed him.”
“I know he did.”
“How?”
“Because Mateo left me something.”
She opened her purse and removed an old brass key.
“I’ve carried this for eight years.”
“What does it open?”
“A safe-deposit box.”
I stared at her.
“You had evidence for eight years?”
“I had a key. I didn’t know where the box was.”
“Until?”
“Three months ago.”
The pieces moved.
“The man following Lily.”
“He dropped his wallet while I was trying to get away from him. Inside was an access card to North Shore Continental Bank.”
I knew the bank.
Vincent used it.
“So you went.”
“Yes.”
“What was in the box?”
“Documents. Photographs. A flash drive.”
“What kind of documents?”
“Payments from Vincent to the crew that killed Anthony.”
I stopped breathing.
Elena continued.
“Mateo discovered Vincent was arranging small attacks between your family and rival organizations. He created conflicts, then solved them. Every solution made your father trust him more.”
My stomach turned.
Vincent had built his power through manufactured wars.
Anthony had discovered something.
So had Mateo.
Both died.
“And Vanessa knows?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I made a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“I confronted her.”
I stared at Elena.
“You what?”
“Before I came to work for you.”
I stood too quickly.
The room spun.
Elena moved toward me.
I waved her away.
“You confronted a woman you believed was connected to a man who killed your brother?”
“I wanted her to know I had evidence.”
“Why?”
“To make them leave Lily alone.”
I laughed once without humor.
“You threatened them.”
“I was desperate.”
“You put yourself in their sights.”
“We were already in their sights.”
She was right.
I hated that too.
“What did Vanessa say?”
“She smiled.”
That sounded like Vanessa.
“She told me Mateo had misunderstood things, then offered me two million dollars to disappear.”
“You refused.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Mateo died believing everyone would remember him as a traitor.”
Her voice broke.
“I wanted his name back.”
I sat slowly.
“And Lily?”
Elena glanced toward the door.
“Vanessa knew Lily was yours because Mateo knew I had met you.”
“So the photograph saying she was never mine…”
“Psychological warfare.”
“Or bait.”
“For what?”
“For you to doubt me.”
I looked at her.
“Do I have reason to?”
Pain crossed her face.
“You tell me.”
I thought about eight years.
The silence.
The lies.
The fact that she had entered my house under false pretenses.
Then I remembered her throwing herself in front of a bullet.
“No.”
Her expression softened.
“I’m still angry.”
“I know.”
“But I believe you.”
Tears filled her eyes.
She looked away before they fell.
That was the moment I understood I was in trouble.
Not mafia trouble.
Not legal trouble.
Something far more dangerous.
I still cared about her.
Maybe I had never stopped.
That night, DNA results came back.
Dr. Harris had taken the samples with Elena’s consent earlier that morning.
Probability of paternity: greater than 99.99 percent.
Lily was mine.
No photograph could change that.
I read the result three times.
Then once more.
At nine, Lily came upstairs carrying two cups of pudding.
She gave me one.
“Mom says you can’t have junk food.”
“This is hospital pudding.”
“That’s still junk food.”
“You brought it.”
She shrugged.
“I’m eight.”
Fair argument.
She climbed into the chair beside me.
“Are you really my dad?”
“Yes.”
“Like scientifically?”
I handed her the paper.
She pretended to understand it.
“Wow.”
“Impressed?”
“No.”
I laughed.
Then she became serious.
“Are you going to disappear?”
The question cut deep.
“No.”
“My mom says people say things when they’re scared.”
“I’m not saying it because I’m scared.”
“You are scared.”
Too perceptive.
“Yes.”
She studied my face.
“Then promise when you’re not scared too.”
I held out my hand.
“When I’m scared, when I’m angry, when I’m sick, and when I’m fine.”
She hooked her pinky around mine.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
At 2:17 that morning, I was awake.
Dr. Harris had removed every contaminated medication.
My temperature remained stable.
No violent shaking.
No teeth slamming together.
For the first time in six weeks, 2:17 passed like an ordinary minute.
I watched the clock change to 2:18.
Then 2:19.
I had not realized how much power a number could have until it lost it.
Marco entered at 2:24.
“We found Vincent.”
“Where?”
“He contacted three captains.”
“What did he want?”
“Support.”
I smiled.
“How many agreed?”
“Two.”
Not good.
“Who?”
“Rossi and Palmer.”
Old men.
Old loyalties.
Men who thought bloodline leadership was weakness when the bloodline was thirty-two.
“Vanessa?”
“Still missing.”
Marco placed another file in front of me.
“We also found something in Vincent’s accounts.”
“What?”
“A payment scheduled for tomorrow night.”
“To whom?”
Marco’s expression darkened.
“A contract team.”
“For me?”
“No.”
He turned the file around.
The target sheet had three photographs.
Elena.
Lily.
And Dr. Harris.
A cleanup operation.
Tomorrow night.
Except Vincent did not know one crucial thing.
May you like
I was no longer dying.
And if he wanted a war, I was finally strong enough to stand up for it.
