Chapter 2 - The Door Beneath the Stairs
Marco caught Maeve's wrist before she could take three steps into the hallway.
"No."
She looked down at his hand.
Then up at him.
"Let go."
"You're not opening that door."
"Then why did someone send a phone into your kitchen telling me to?"
"Exactly."
Luca moved ahead of them.
Dante remained behind Maeve, scanning the corridor.
The Falcone brothers had changed in seconds.
At breakfast, they had almost seemed ordinary.
Now they were something else.
Silent.
Coordinated.
Dangerous.
Marco released Maeve's wrist only when she stopped moving.
The hidden door stood beneath the grand staircase at the far end of the corridor.
Maeve had walked past it twice the previous day without noticing it.
It blended almost perfectly into the dark wood paneling.
Now it stood open by less than an inch.
Luca approached first.
"Stay back."
He opened it.
Nothing.
A narrow staircase descended into darkness.
Maeve stared.
"You have a basement?"
Dante said, "Several."
"Of course you do."
Marco gave her a look.
"This isn't funny."
"I'm aware."
Luca reached inside and switched on the lights.
Bare bulbs illuminated stone stairs.
The air rising from below smelled cold and dusty.
Marco took out his phone.
"No camera feed?"
Dante checked.
"Nothing."
"Power?"
"Only the surveillance system."
Marco looked at Maeve.
"Upstairs."
"You already tried that."
"Maeve."
She folded her arms.
"Somebody scratched my initials onto a key and put it beneath your breakfast plate. I'm involved."
"Which is why you're staying away from the basement."
"What if whatever is downstairs is meant for me?"
Marco's jaw tightened.
"Especially then."
Maeve stepped closer.
"You don't know me well enough to order me around."
"No. But I know whoever entered this house knew your name."
That stopped her.
Marco lowered his voice.
"I also know what happened to Elena."
Fear entered his eyes for less than a second.
That frightened Maeve more than anger would have.
"What happened?"
Marco hesitated.
Then Luca said, "Tell her."
Marco looked at him.
"She's already in it," Luca continued.
Dante nodded.
Marco took a slow breath.
"Elena wasn't just a maid."
Maeve waited.
"She contacted me six months before she disappeared. She believed somebody inside our organization was stealing money."
Maeve frowned.
"You hired a maid to investigate your mafia finances?"
Dante winced.
"Technically, they're legitimate companies."
Maeve looked at him.
"You have tattoos, armored SUVs, and a basement behind a secret door."
Dante shrugged.
"Branding problem."
Despite herself, Maeve nearly smiled.
Marco didn't.
"Elena was an accountant."
"So why work here?"
"Because the theft was connected to this house."
Maeve stared toward the stairs.
"Did she find out who?"
Marco's expression darkened.
"She disappeared the night she said she had proof."
Luca descended two steps.
"There's something down there."
They followed his gaze.
At the bottom of the staircase sat a chair.
On it rested a white apron.
Maeve's breath caught.
Marco moved in front of her.
But she had already seen the name stitched onto the fabric.
ELENA.
A brown stain marked one pocket.
Luca descended carefully.
Dante followed.
Marco remained beside Maeve.
"Stay here."
She nodded this time.
Luca reached the bottom.
He lifted the apron.
Something fell from its pocket.
A photograph.
Dante picked it up.
Even from the stairs, Maeve could see his expression change.
"What?"
Dante looked at Marco.
"You need to see this."
Marco descended.
Maeve remained at the doorway for exactly five seconds.
Then followed.
Marco turned.
She lifted one eyebrow.
He exhaled sharply but said nothing.
The basement was larger than she expected.
Stone walls.
Storage shelves.
Wine racks.
Old furniture under white covers.
Dante handed Marco the photograph.
Maeve looked over his shoulder.
The picture showed Elena.
Young.
Dark-haired.
Smiling.
Standing beside someone outside a restaurant.
Maeve leaned closer.
Her heart stopped.
The second person in the photograph was Maeve's mother.
"That's impossible."
Marco looked at her.
"You know her?"
Maeve took the photograph.
Her fingers shook.
"That's my mother."
Luca stared.
"You're sure?"
Maeve glared.
"I think I'd recognize my own mother."
The picture was old.
Maybe fifteen years.
Her mother, Kathleen, looked younger than Maeve remembered her.
She had died when Maeve was nineteen.
Car accident.
At least that was what Maeve had always been told.
Maeve turned the photo over.
Three words were written across the back.
FOR MAEVE. SOMEDAY.
The handwriting belonged to her mother.
Maeve knew it instantly.
She had kept every birthday card.
Every recipe.
Every grocery list.
Marco looked at her.
"Maeve?"
"My mother died eleven years ago."
Dante went still.
"How?"
"Car accident."
Silence.
Luca looked at Marco.
Maeve saw it.
"What?"
Marco didn't answer.
"What are you not saying?"
Dante spoke first.
"Elena's car wasn't the first vehicle found in that quarry."
Maeve's stomach tightened.
"How many?"
Luca answered.
"Four."
Marco's voice was quieter.
"One belonged to a Kathleen O'Connell."
Maeve stared at him.
The room tilted.
"No."
Marco reached for her.
Maeve stepped back.
"No."
"Maeve."
"You knew my mother's name?"
"Not until now."
"But you knew about the car."
"Yes."
"And nobody contacted me?"
"The vehicle was registered under another name."
"Whose?"
Marco looked toward the photograph.
"Elena Russo."
Maeve's knees almost gave out.
Dante caught her elbow.
She pulled away.
"My mother knew Elena."
"Apparently," Marco said.
"No. More than knew her."
Maeve looked again at the picture.
They stood close.
Not acquaintances.
Friends.
Maeve remembered pieces of childhood.
Her mother working late.
Whispered phone calls.
A woman named Ellie who sometimes brought pastries.
Maeve had forgotten.
No.
She had been a child.
She hadn't understood.
"Elena was Ellie."
Marco stepped closer.
"What?"
"She came to our apartment when I was little. My mother called her Ellie."
Luca looked toward the apron.
"So Elena knew Maeve years before she came here."
Maeve turned to Marco.
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"Yes."
She laughed once.
Bitterly.
"Convenient."
Marco's face tightened.
"I didn't know you before yesterday."
"But somebody did."
Nobody could argue.
Dante began searching the room.
Luca examined the chair.
Marco stayed with Maeve.
She studied the photograph.
There was something in the background.
A sign.
A restaurant.
She recognized it.
"That's Brennan's."
Marco looked.
"Brennan's?"
"It closed years ago. My mother worked there."
"Where?"
"Boston."
Dante turned from the shelves.
"Elena lived in Boston."
Marco looked at him.
"When?"
"Before she came here."
Maeve's thoughts raced.
Two women.
Boston.
A quarry.
Falcone Manor.
And somehow Maeve had taken a job at the exact house where one of them disappeared.
Coincidence was becoming impossible.
Luca called from the far wall.
"There's writing here."
They crossed the basement.
Behind an old cabinet, carved faintly into the stone, were several words.
KATHLEEN WAS RIGHT.
Below them:
THE THIRD BROTHER DOESN'T KNOW.
Maeve looked at the three Falcone men.
Marco read it twice.
Luca stepped backward.
Dante whispered, "What the hell does that mean?"
Maeve studied their faces.
Three brothers.
One secret.
"The third brother doesn't know what?"
No answer.
Marco rubbed his jaw.
"Could mean anything."
"Or one of you knows."
Luca stared at him.
"Don't start."
"I'm not."
Dante said quietly, "Which one is the third brother?"
Maeve looked between them.
"Birth order?"
Luca shook his head.
"We were born within eleven minutes."
"Who was third?"
Silence.
Maeve looked at Marco.
Then Luca.
Finally Dante spoke.
"Me."
Maeve felt the room change.
Dante stared at the writing.
THE THIRD BROTHER DOESN'T KNOW.
"Apparently," he said, "there's something everyone forgot to tell me."
Marco placed a hand on his shoulder.
"We'll figure it out."
Dante pulled away.
"Will we?"
"Dante."
"No. Elena disappears. Maeve's mother is connected. Somebody writes this on our basement wall, and now suddenly we're all pretending we trust each other?"
Luca snapped, "We do trust each other."
"Then tell me what I don't know."
Nobody spoke.
Dante laughed without humor.
"That's what I thought."
Maeve noticed Marco's expression.
Not confusion.
Guilt.
She looked directly at him.
"Marco."
He avoided her gaze.
Her stomach dropped.
"You know something."
Luca turned sharply.
"Marco?"
Marco closed his eyes for one second.
When he opened them, he looked at Dante.
"Our father left instructions before he died."
Dante froze.
"What instructions?"
Marco hesitated.
"About you."
The silence became unbearable.
Dante took one step forward.
"What about me?"
Before Marco could answer, a sound came from the staircase.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Descending.
Everyone turned.
A shadow appeared at the top.
Then a woman's voice whispered into the basement.
"Maeve?"
Maeve stopped breathing.
She knew that voice.
Impossible.
Eleven years impossible.
The woman stepped into the light.
May you like
And Maeve whispered one word.
"Mom?"
