Chapter 3 - The Boy With Mateo’s Eyes
Hazel reached the alley first.
“Noah!”
Nothing.
Mateo came behind her with his gun already drawn.
One of his men checked Mia.
“Alive.”
Hazel barely heard him.
She ran toward the street.
Mateo caught her.
“Let me go!”
“You’ll get yourself killed.”
“My son is out there!”
“Our son.”
Hazel slapped him.
The sound echoed between the buildings.
Mateo released her.
Neither spoke.
Then a small voice came from behind the dumpster.
“Mom?”
Hazel spun.
Noah crawled out.
She dropped to her knees and crushed him against her.
Mateo lowered his weapon.
For the first time in years, genuine fear showed openly on his face.
“What happened?” Hazel asked.
“A man came through the door.”
“Did he touch you?”
Noah shook his head.
“Mia tried to stop him. He pushed her. She fell.”
“Then why were you hiding?”
Noah held up his fist.
“He wanted this.”
Inside was a brass key.
Mateo crouched.
“Where did you get that?”
“The box.”
Hazel stared.
“You took it?”
“I thought it was treasure.”
Mateo almost laughed from sheer relief.
Instead, he extended his palm.
“May I see it?”
Noah studied him suspiciously.
“Are you a cop?”
“No.”
“A bad guy?”
Mateo glanced at Hazel.
“Depends who you ask.”
“Noah.”
“What?”
Hazel sighed.
Noah handed Mateo the key.
A number had been engraved on it.
Mateo’s expression changed.
“You recognize it,” Hazel said.
“Yes.”
“From where?”
“The old Union Station lockers.”
Mateo stood.
“They were removed years ago.”
“Then why number a key?”
“Because one section still exists beneath the east terminal.”
Hazel looked at Noah.
“Who knew we were here?”
“No one.”
“Someone did.”
Mateo’s men sealed the restaurant.
Mia woke with a concussion.
Police were told a masked robber had entered through the kitchen.
Hazel hated the lie.
She hated even more that she understood why Mateo told it.
An hour later, Noah sat at a table eating cake as though armed men had not transformed his birthday into a security operation.
Mateo watched him.
Noah noticed.
“Why do you keep staring at me?”
Mateo hesitated.
Hazel’s heart tightened.
She had imagined this conversation a thousand times.
Never like this.
“Noah,” she said, sitting beside him, “there’s something I need to tell you.”
Mateo remained standing.
Hazel looked at him.
“Sit.”
He obeyed.
That alone would have shocked everyone who knew Mateo Lombardi.
Hazel took Noah’s hand.
“You asked me before about your dad.”
Noah glanced at Mateo.
Hazel saw the moment understanding began.
“Is he?”
“Yes.”
Noah looked at Mateo for a long time.
Mateo, who could terrify grown men by entering a room, seemed unable to breathe under the scrutiny of a five-year-old.
Finally Noah asked, “Did you know?”
Mateo’s voice was quiet.
“No.”
“Mom didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Hazel answered.
“Because we hurt each other.”
Noah considered this.
“Did you say sorry?”
Mateo looked at Hazel.
“Not enough.”
Noah returned to his cake.
“Then you should.”
The absurd simplicity nearly broke her.
That evening, Mateo insisted they leave the restaurant.
Hazel resisted until he showed her the note from the wooden box.
BRING THE KEY TO 317. COME ALONE OR THE BOY LEARNS WHAT HIS UNCLE DID.
“Caleb,” Hazel whispered.
“I thought he was dead.”
“He disappeared from rehab four years ago.”
“You never told me.”
“You disappeared first.”
The words landed badly.
Mateo regretted them immediately.
Hazel stood.
“Don’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re angry because I kept Noah from you.”
“I am.”
“And I’m angry because you made me believe I meant nothing.”
“You never meant nothing.”
“Then why was it so easy?”
“It wasn’t.”
His voice changed.
Low.
Raw.
“Hazel, after you left, I slept in the kitchen for three nights because it still smelled like you.”
She stared at him.
Mateo looked away.
“I made the worst decision of my life in that foyer.”
Her defenses shifted.
Not disappeared.
Shifted.
“Why didn’t you keep looking?”
“Because whoever sent those photographs knew where you were every time I got close. I realized my search was leading them to you.”
“So you stopped.”
“I watched from a distance.”
Hazel’s face tightened.
“You watched me?”
“Not you. The threats.”
“And now?”
“Someone wants me close again.”
“Why?”
Mateo looked at the key.
“We find out.”
At midnight, Mateo entered Union Station alone.
Hazel was supposed to remain in the armored SUV.
She lasted seven minutes.
Then she followed.
Locker 317 was hidden behind a maintenance corridor.
Mateo inserted the key.
Hazel appeared behind him.
He turned sharply.
“I told you—”
“I stopped taking orders from you five years ago.”
He almost smiled.
Then he opened the locker.
Inside was a photograph.
Caleb.
Alive.
Older.
Thin.
Standing beside a man Mateo knew very well.
Victor Hale.
The same man who had been in the foyer the night Hazel left.
On the back were six words.
ASK VICTOR WHO SENT THE MESSAGES.
Hazel looked at Mateo.
“Victor works for you.”
“He has for fifteen years.”
A phone began ringing inside the locker.
Mateo found it beneath the photograph.
Unknown caller.
He answered.
A distorted voice spoke.
“You finally brought her.”
Mateo’s eyes moved to Hazel.
Then the lights in the corridor shut off.
May you like
A metal door slammed behind them.
And from somewhere in the darkness, Caleb whispered Hazel’s name.
