Chapter 6 - THE GRAVE WAS EMPTYThe Moretti mansion felt different after Luca’s empty coffin was discovered.
Fear had entered the walls.
Not loud fear.
Quiet fear.
The kind that made armed men check windows twice and housekeepers lower their voices whenever children approached.
Claire noticed Adrian stopped sleeping.
At two in the morning, the light beneath his office door remained on.
At five, it was still there.
At breakfast, he appeared perfectly dressed and completely hollowed out.
Noah watched him over a bowl of cereal.
“Is Uncle Luca alive?”
Adrian’s spoon stopped.
Claire looked at Noah.
“How did you hear that?”
Noah shrugged.
“People talk.”
Adrian stared at him.
“No.”
Noah frowned.
“No, he isn’t alive?”
“No, you shouldn’t listen at doors.”
Caleb looked at Claire.
“That means yes.”
Miles whispered, “Can dead people become alive?”
Claire saw Adrian close his eyes.
This could not continue.
“Adrian.”
“Not now.”
“Yes. Now.”
He looked at her.
The children immediately became fascinated by their cereal.
Claire stood.
“Office.”
His eyebrows rose.
“This is my house.”
“Wonderful. Your office is still over there.”
Noah’s mouth twitched.
Adrian rose without another word.
Inside the office, Claire shut the door.
“You need to tell them something.”
“They’re six.”
“Which means they will invent explanations worse than the truth.”
“The truth is that their uncle’s body is missing from his grave and someone pretending to represent him may be threatening this family.”
“Obviously don’t say it like that.”
“What would you suggest?”
Claire thought.
“Tell them there are confusing things happening. Tell them you’re figuring it out. Tell them they’re safe.”
Adrian laughed without humor.
“I’m not certain they are.”
“They don’t need your certainty. They need your presence.”
That landed.
Claire softened.
“You can’t protect them from fear by pretending fear doesn’t exist.”
Adrian looked away.
“Elena used to say things like that.”
“Smart woman.”
“She was infuriating.”
“Also smart.”
He finally smiled.
Then his phone rang.
The smile vanished.
“Moretti.”
Claire watched his expression.
“Where?”
Pause.
“Send it.”
A photograph arrived.
Adrian stared at it.
Claire stepped closer.
It showed Luca Moretti.
Alive.
Standing outside Grand Central Terminal.
Timestamped twenty minutes earlier.
Claire’s heart jumped.
“That could be old.”
“It isn’t.”
“How do you know?”
Adrian enlarged the background.
A digital billboard displayed that morning’s date.
Claire whispered, “Your brother is alive.”
Adrian’s face became unreadable.
Then another message arrived.
COME ALONE. 3 P.M. CENTRAL PARK. ALICE IN WONDERLAND.
“No.”
Adrian looked at her.
Claire pointed at the message.
“That is the most obvious trap I have ever seen.”
“It’s also my brother.”
“Possibly.”
“You expect me to ignore it?”
“I expect you not to go alone.”
“It says—”
“I can read.”
“You’re not involved.”
Claire laughed.
“Someone climbed into my daughter’s bedroom and left fruit beside her head.”
Adrian’s expression darkened.
“They will never get that close again.”
“Good. Then stop treating me like a temporary employee who doesn’t need information.”
He stared at her.
“Temporary?”
Claire realized what she’d said.
She had stopped planning to leave.
At some point between Noah crying in her arms and Sophie building pillow forts with the triplets, the job had become more complicated than employment.
Claire looked away.
“I’m staying until this is resolved.”
Adrian’s voice lowered.
“That might take a long time.”
“Then I’ll renegotiate my salary.”
His mouth twitched.
At three o’clock Adrian went to Central Park.
Not alone.
Technically.
His men remained scattered hundreds of feet away.
Claire stayed home.
She hated every second.
At three-fifteen, Adrian found Luca.
His younger brother sat on a bench near the Alice in Wonderland statue wearing a baseball cap and cheap sunglasses.
Three years dead.
Three years hidden.
Adrian stopped ten feet away.
Luca removed the sunglasses.
They had the same eyes.
“You look old,” Luca said.
Adrian nearly hit him.
Instead, he whispered, “I watched them lower your coffin.”
“Empty coffin.”
“You let me bury you.”
“I needed you to believe it.”
“Why?”
“Because if you believed it, everyone else would.”
“Who?”
Luca looked around.
“The people who tried to kill Elena.”
Adrian froze.
“She’s alive?”
Luca closed his eyes.
“I don’t know anymore.”
Adrian grabbed him.
“You sent the photograph?”
“Yes.”
“The orange?”
“No.”
“The man at my house?”
“No.”
Adrian loosened his grip.
“Then someone else knows.”
“That’s why I came back.”
“Who tried to kill her?”
Luca looked straight at him.
“Your father.”
Adrian stared.
“My father died before the fire.”
“Six months before.”
“Exactly.”
“He ordered it before he died.”
“Why?”
“Because Elena found the ledgers.”
“What ledgers?”
Luca laughed bitterly.
“You really never knew.”
“Know what?”
“That Moretti money wasn’t only gambling, shipping, and protection.”
Adrian’s stomach tightened.
“What was it?”
“Trafficking.”
Adrian released him.
“No.”
“I said the same thing.”
“My father hated that trade.”
“Publicly.”
“No.”
“Elena found names. Girls. Payments. Judges. Police. Politicians.”
Adrian stepped backward.
Luca continued.
“She planned to give everything to federal investigators.”
“And you helped her?”
“Yes.”
“Then why the fire?”
“We staged it.”
Adrian stared at him.
“The fire was yours?”
“Yes.”
Rage exploded.
Adrian hit him.
Luca fell from the bench.
Adrian grabbed his shirt.
“My sons mourned their mother!”
“She was supposed to come back!”
“When?”
“When your father’s remaining partners were arrested.”
“They weren’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because someone betrayed us.”
Adrian let him go.
Luca wiped blood from his mouth.
“Elena disappeared for real two days after the fire.”
Adrian’s rage turned to horror.
“Who took her?”
“We never knew.”
“Then why fake your death?”
“I got too close.”
“To what?”
“Someone inside your organization.”
Adrian went still.
“A person who has been beside you since before the boys were born.”
“Name.”
Luca looked at him.
“I don’t have proof.”
“Name.”
Luca leaned forward.
“Your consigliere.”
Adrian’s breathing stopped.
“Victor?”
Victor Santoro had been Adrian’s father’s closest friend.
He had taught Adrian to drive.
He was godfather to the triplets.
He had stood beside Adrian at Luca’s funeral.
Luca nodded.
“I think Victor took Elena.”
Back at the mansion, Claire was helping Sophie and the triplets make cookies when Victor Santoro entered the kitchen.
He was sixty.
Silver hair.
Warm smile.
The boys ran to him.
“Uncle Victor!”
Claire looked up.
Victor handed Miles a small paper bag.
“For my favorite troublemakers.”
He smiled at Claire.
“You must be the famous Number Seven.”
Every instinct in Claire’s body went still.
“How do you know they call me that?”
Victor’s smile remained.
“The boys tell me everything.”
Noah frowned.
“We didn’t tell you.”
Victor looked at him.
For one tiny second, his smile vanished.
Then he reached into the paper bag.
“Chocolate?”
Claire saw his wrist.
A cuff shifted beneath his sleeve.
Underneath was a tattoo.
A crown.
Split by a vertical line.
The same mark worn by the dead intruder.
Claire’s blood turned to ice.
Victor looked up.
Their eyes met.
And Claire knew immediately.
He had seen her notice it.
Victor smiled.
May you like
Slowly.
Then locked the kitchen door.
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