Chapter 3 - THE FAMILY NO ONE SPOKE ABOUTMaya did not believe him.
Not at the Caldwell estate.
Not in the ambulance.
Not while a nurse cleaned the cuts across her back at Greenwich Hospital.
And definitely not at two seventeen in the morning when Dominic DeLuca appeared outside her treatment room holding two paper cups of coffee and looking nothing like the terrifying man from the ballroom.
“No,” Maya said.
Dominic stopped at the doorway.
“You haven’t heard what I came to say.”
“I heard enough.”
Maya pulled the hospital gown tighter.
“My mother had one brother. Uncle Robert. He died before I was born.”
Dominic nodded.
“That’s what Eleanor wanted you told.”
“You expect me to believe she invented her family?”
“She didn’t invent them. She replaced them.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It will.”
Maya laughed without humor.
“You know what makes sense? You saw a necklace and decided I’m connected to someone you knew.”
“I didn’t decide anything.”
“You called her your sister.”
“She was.”
Maya pointed toward the door.
“Good night.”
Dominic didn’t move.
Maya raised her voice.
“Nurse.”
He immediately put the coffee on a nearby table.
“I’m leaving.”
That surprised her.
Men accustomed to fear usually interpreted boundaries as negotiations.
Dominic reached into his jacket.
Maya stiffened.
He removed an old photograph.
“I’ll leave this.”
He placed it beside the coffee.
Then walked away.
Maya waited until his footsteps disappeared before reaching for the photograph.
The picture was faded.
Three young people stood beside an old sailboat.
One was clearly Dominic, perhaps twenty-five years old.
Beside him stood another young man.
And between them—
Maya stopped breathing.
Her mother.
Not approximately.
Not someone with similar eyes.
Eleanor.
Young, laughing, windblown.
Around her neck hung Maya’s silver locket.
Maya flipped the photograph.
Handwriting covered the back.
Dom, Ellie & Michael — Newport, 1994.
Maya stared until the letters blurred.
Her mother had died in 2004.
Maya remembered fragments.
Vanilla perfume.
Old Motown songs.
Saturday pancakes.
A warm hand brushing tangles from her hair.
Never once had Eleanor mentioned a brother named Dominic.
By sunrise, Maya had been discharged.
A hospital social worker arranged for police photographs of her injuries.
Vanessa had been arrested on suspicion of assault and unlawful restraint after witnesses confirmed she had ordered security employees to block Maya from leaving.
The Caldwell family’s attorneys were already calling it a “misunderstanding.”
Maya suspected the word was expensive.
Her best friend, Tasha Reynolds, picked her up.
Tasha took one look at Maya’s face and hugged her carefully.
“I swear to God, rich people need hobbies.”
Maya almost smiled.
Then she handed her the photograph.
Tasha studied it.
“That’s your mom.”
“Yes.”
“And that creepy handsome old man?”
“Dominic DeLuca.”
Tasha nearly dropped it.
“As in DeLuca DeLuca?”
“Apparently.”
“You mean the guy every newspaper describes with phrases like ‘alleged associate’?”
“The same.”
Tasha stared.
“Why is he standing beside your mother?”
“He says he’s her brother.”
Tasha’s eyes widened.
Then narrowed.
“No.”
“That was my reaction.”
“But?”
Maya looked out the car window.
“But he has photographs.”
“Photos can be faked.”
“From thirty years ago?”
“Rich criminals probably have vintage Photoshop.”
Maya laughed despite herself.
It hurt.
The next afternoon, she called Dominic.
They met at a public restaurant in Manhattan.
Maya chose the location.
Dominic agreed without argument.
He arrived alone.
Mostly.
Maya spotted two men outside who somehow managed to look like accountants capable of breaking furniture.
She sat across from Dominic.
“No stories.”
“Fine.”
“I want proof.”
He slid a folder across the table.
Inside were copies of birth certificates.
Dominic Anthony DeLuca.
Eleanor Rose DeLuca.
Same parents.
Same Brooklyn address.
Maya kept reading.
School records.
Photographs.
Newspaper clippings.
Then a missing-person report.
Eleanor DeLuca, age 29. Last seen June 12, 1997.
Maya looked up.
“My mother was alive.”
“Yes.”
“She married my father in 1998.”
“I know.”
“You knew where she was?”
“No.”
Something in Dominic’s voice cracked.
“I spent sixteen years looking.”
Maya studied him.
“Why did she disappear?”
Dominic looked toward the window.
“Because of me.”
Maya waited.
He rubbed his thumb over a scar on his knuckle.
“Our father built a trucking business. Legitimately at first.”
“At first.”
Dominic met her eyes.
“You’ve read about my family.”
“I Googled you in the cab.”
“That must have been cheerful.”
“Extremely.”
He almost smiled.
Then it disappeared.
“Our father crossed dangerous people. I was young and believed being feared was the same as being safe.”
“Was it?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
“I learned that much too late.”
Dominic continued.
“Eleanor hated the life around us. She became a nurse. She wanted nothing to do with family business. Then she met Michael Sullivan.”
“The man in the photograph?”
“Yes.”
“Who was he?”
“An assistant district attorney.”
Maya stared.
“She dated a prosecutor?”
“Secretly.”
Dominic gave a quiet laugh.
“You would have liked her.”
“I did like her. She was my mother.”
Dominic lowered his gaze.
“Of course.”
Maya noticed the shame.
For the first time, she wondered how many years this man had spent talking to memories.
“What happened to Michael?”
“He was murdered.”
The restaurant noise seemed to fade.
“When?”
“1997.”
Maya looked at the missing-person date again.
One week after Michael Sullivan died.
“You think she ran because she believed your family killed him.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
Maya searched his face.
“You hesitated.”
“I didn’t hesitate.”
“You changed.”
Dominic sat back.
“I didn’t kill Michael. I didn’t order his death. But my world killed him.”
“That sounds like a lawyer’s answer.”
“It’s the most truthful answer I have.”
Maya closed the folder.
“What does this have to do with me?”
Dominic took a slow breath.
“Michael was killed because he discovered someone inside my father’s organization was cooperating with a group moving guns through our shipping routes.”
Maya stiffened.
“He collected evidence. Names. financial records. Payoffs.”
“And?”
“The evidence disappeared when he died.”
Dominic pointed at the locket around Maya’s neck.
“Eleanor told me three days before she vanished that Michael had given her something important. She said if anything happened to him, she would make sure the truth survived.”
Maya instinctively touched the necklace.
“You think it’s inside this?”
“I don’t know.”
Maya opened the locket.
Inside was a tiny photograph of Eleanor holding six-year-old Maya.
Nothing else.
Dominic stared.
“What?”
“The photograph wasn’t there originally.”
“Obviously.”
“No.”
He leaned forward.
“The locket originally had a false backing.”
Maya’s fingers stopped.
“A what?”
“A hidden compartment.”
Maya looked down.
For twenty-two years, she had worn the necklace without knowing.
Dominic reached toward it, then stopped before touching her.
“May I?”
She hesitated.
Then unclasped it.
Dominic turned the locket over.
Pressed the edge with his thumbnail.
Nothing happened.
He frowned.
“Someone sealed it.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
A waiter approached.
Dominic immediately placed the locket down.
The waiter asked if they needed anything.
“No,” Maya said.
After he left, Dominic looked toward the street.
His expression hardened.
“What?”
Maya followed his gaze.
A black Mercedes stood across from the restaurant.
Two men sat inside.
“Friends of yours?”
“No.”
Maya’s stomach tightened.
“Maybe they’re waiting for someone.”
Dominic stood.
“They’ve been waiting since before you arrived.”
“How do you know?”
“Because my people photographed them.”
Maya pushed back from the table.
“You said you came alone.”
“I said I would sit with you alone.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No.”
He slipped the folder into his jacket.
“Stay beside me.”
“Why?”
The restaurant window exploded.
Maya screamed.
Glass flew across the table.
Dominic grabbed her and drove her to the floor as three gunshots tore through the booth where she had been sitting.
People screamed and ran.
Dominic covered Maya’s head with one arm.
Outside, tires shrieked.
His security men sprinted toward the street.
Maya’s ears rang.
Her heart slammed wildly against her ribs.
Dominic looked down.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I think so.”
He checked quickly.
No blood.
Then he noticed something.
The table.
The locket was gone.
Maya stared at the empty spot.
“No.”
Dominic stood.
Someone had entered during the panic.
Someone had taken it.
Maya looked toward the shattered window.
“What was inside that thing?”
Dominic’s face had become frighteningly still.
“I don’t know.”
“Then why would someone shoot at us to get it?”
May you like
He reached for his phone.
“That,” he said, “is exactly what I intend to find out.”
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