Chapter 4 - The House My Mother Escaped
“Stop the car!”
I reached for the door handle.
Dominic caught my shoulder.
“No.”
“That’s my father!”
“That may be exactly what he wants you to think.”
“I know his face.”
“You knew his face sixteen years ago.”
I shoved his hand away.
“He buried my mother with me. He made pancakes shaped like stars because I wouldn’t eat breakfast. He taught me how to ride a bike.”
My voice cracked.
“And then I watched his coffin go into the ground.”
Dominic’s expression softened.
“If that man is Gabriel, then there was probably nothing inside the coffin.”
I stared through the window.
He was gone.
Another abandonment.
Even if only for seconds, it felt exactly like being eleven again.
Dominic ordered the driver around the block while Carlo contacted his men.
No sign of Gabriel.
By the time we entered the coffee shop, police had already determined the burglary happened before dawn.
The register hadn’t been touched.
Neither had the expensive espresso equipment.
Whoever entered had gone directly to the employee storage room.
My manager, Denise, hugged me.
“Eliza, what is happening?”
“I wish I knew.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
I almost smiled.
“You sound like him.”
She glanced at Dominic.
Most people did a double take when they recognized him.
Denise went pale.
“Oh.”
Dominic ignored it.
“Which locker belongs to her?”
Denise pointed.
Mine had been forced open.
I knelt.
Old shoes.
A scarf.
Apron.
No storage box.
“It’s gone.”
Dominic crouched beside me.
“The book?”
“Inside a cardboard box.”
“Anything else?”
“Old photographs. School papers. Nothing valuable.”
“To you, maybe.”
I thought of those strange numbers.
17.
18.
19.
“What if the numbers are an address?”
Dominic shook his head.
“Too short.”
“A code?”
“Likely.”
A young police officer approached.
“Ma’am, we found something.”
He held a plastic evidence bag.
Inside was an old brass key.
My breath caught.
“That isn’t mine.”
“Found on the floor beside your locker.”
Dominic stared at it.
Stamped onto the key were three numbers.
17426.
My mother’s numbers.
My pulse raced.
“Seventeen, four, twenty-six.”
The officer looked confused.
Dominic did not.
He knew.
“What?”
I demanded.
“Dominic?”
He stood.
“That’s not three numbers.”
“What is it?”
“A deposit box identifier.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
I could tell he did.
“You promised answers.”
“I promised nothing.”
“Then start.”
People were watching us.
I didn’t care.
Dominic lowered his voice.
“There was a private bank years ago that handled accounts for several families.”
“Criminal families?”
“Among others.”
“It still exists?”
“Not under the same name.”
“And the box?”
“If Isabella used that numbering system, it might.”
My knees weakened.
Twenty-seven years.
My mother may have left something waiting all that time.
A voice spoke behind us.
“She did.”
I turned.
My father stood inside the coffee shop.
Everything disappeared.
Police.
Dominic.
Broken glass.
Twenty-five years of hurt.
“Dad?”
He looked older, of course.
Gray touched his beard.
Lines surrounded his eyes.
But when those eyes filled with tears, I was nine years old again.
“Eliza.”
I crossed half the room.
Then stopped.
Anger arrived before love could reach him.
“You’re alive.”
“Yes.”
“You’re alive.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You let me think you were dead!”
An officer stepped forward.
Dominic raised a hand subtly.
The officer stopped.
My father moved closer.
“I had no choice.”
“There is always a choice!”
“If I stayed, you would have died.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes.”
His voice broke.
“I do.”
The certainty frightened me.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Gabriel.”
“Were you ever Daniel Marino?”
“To you.”
“Was anything real?”
His face crumpled.
“Every second I was your father.”
My eyes burned.
“Except the last sixteen years.”
He flinched.
Good.
I wanted it to hurt.
“You left an eleven-year-old girl in foster care.”
“I watched you.”
The sentence silenced everyone.
“What?”
“Every home.”
He swallowed.
“Every school.”
I stepped backward.
“That isn’t better.”
“I know.”
“You watched me get moved six times?”
“Yes.”
“You watched me work two jobs in high school?”
“Yes.”
“You watched me spend Christmas alone when I was seventeen?”
His eyes filled.
“Yes.”
Something inside me shattered.
I slapped him.
The sound cracked through the coffee shop.
Gabriel didn’t move.
“I deserved that.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Eliza—”
“Don’t make yourself noble.”
I turned away.
Dominic was watching me, but there was no judgment in his face.
Only understanding.
My father took out an envelope.
“Your mother left this.”
I stared.
“For when?”
“When you found the key.”
“Why didn’t you give it to me before?”
“Because finding the key meant the Venturis had found you.”
I looked at Dominic.
He nodded slightly.
My hands trembled as I accepted the envelope.
Inside was a single photograph.
My mother holding me as a newborn.
Behind us stood an older man.
Salvatore Venturi.
My grandfather.
On the back, handwritten:
Blood can tell you where you came from. It cannot tell you who deserves your loyalty.
My mother’s handwriting.
I pressed the photograph to my chest.
“What’s in the box?”
Gabriel looked toward Dominic.
Dominic said, “Tell her.”
“A ledger.”
My father’s answer was barely audible.
“What kind of ledger?”
“The kind people kill for.”
Of course.
I laughed bitterly.
“My mother couldn’t leave me a savings bond?”
Gabriel almost smiled.
“She left you more than that.”
“How much?”
“Not money.”
He looked at the key.
“Proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“That your grandfather betrayed everyone.”
Dominic stepped forward.
“How?”
Gabriel met his eyes.
“For fifteen years Salvatore secretly gave information to federal investigators while publicly blaming rival families for arrests.”
Dominic’s face hardened.
“He started wars.”
“Yes.”
“He had men killed.”
“Yes.”
“And Isabella found the records.”
Gabriel nodded.
“She stole the ledger before we ran.”
I felt sick.
“What did she plan to do with it?”
“Expose him.”
“Why didn’t she?”
“Because you were born.”
His eyes met mine.
“She chose keeping you alive.”
I looked at the key.
“Then why keep it at all?”
“Insurance.”
Dominic turned toward the window.
“And Salvatore?”
“Dying.”
That explained everything.
The sudden search.
My birthday.
The message.
“Why now?”
Gabriel’s answer terrified me.
“Because when Salvatore dies, control of the Venturi organization passes to whoever can prove Isabella’s claim.”
“What claim?”
My father stared directly at me.
“You.”
I laughed again.
“No.”
“Eliza—”
“No.”
“You are his oldest living grandchild.”
“I serve cappuccinos.”
“Blood doesn’t care.”
“I do.”
Dominic looked almost amused.
“This isn’t funny.”
“I know.”
“You look like you’re trying not to laugh.”
“I’m impressed.”
“By what?”
“You’ve been told you could inherit a criminal empire and your first objection is your employment history.”
Despite myself, I nearly smiled.
Then the front window exploded.
Everyone dropped.
Dominic pulled me behind the counter.
Police shouted.
Carlo drew his weapon.
Another impact struck the brick outside.
No one appeared injured.
Dominic shielded me with his body.
“Stay down.”
A vehicle screamed away outside.
My father crawled toward us.
“They know.”
“Know what?” I shouted.
“That you have the key.”
Dominic’s men surrounded the shop.
Sirens echoed.
I clutched the evidence bag.
Everything my mother had died protecting might be inside a box somewhere in Chicago.
Something powerful enough to make people chase me after twenty-seven years.
Dominic looked at me.
“We need to move.”
My father nodded.
“There is one place they won’t attack.”
Dominic immediately said, “No.”
I stared between them.
“Where?”
Gabriel hesitated.
“The old Venturi estate.”
Dominic’s face darkened.
“That is the last place she should go.”
“It’s where Salvatore is.”
My pulse stumbled.
“My grandfather is alive?”
Gabriel nodded.
“And asking for you.”
I stood.
Dominic grabbed my arm.
“Eliza, don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because if you walk into that house, they may not let you walk out.”
I looked at the broken window.
Then at my father.
Then at Dominic.
For my entire life, people had decided what truth I could survive.
My mother.
My father.
Now Dominic.
I was done.
“Then you’re coming with me.”
Dominic stared.
“That wasn’t a request.”
For the first time, Dominic Romano smiled.
A real one.
May you like
“Now you sound like your mother.”
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