Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Should Have Been Dead
Maeve couldn't move.
The woman at the top of the stairs looked older.
Thinner.
Her hair had gone almost completely gray.
But the eyes were the same.
Maeve knew those eyes.
They had watched her blow out birthday candles.
They had cried when Maeve left for culinary school.
They had closed in a hospital morgue while nineteen-year-old Maeve stood behind glass because the body had been too damaged for an open casket.
"Mom?"
The woman gripped the stair railing.
"Oh, Maeve."
Marco moved instantly between them.
Maeve shoved his arm away.
"Don't."
"Maeve, we don't know who she is."
"I do."
The woman descended one step.
Luca raised a hand.
"Stop there."
Kathleen O'Connell looked at the three brothers.
Fear crossed her face.
Not fear of them.
Recognition.
"You're Antonio's sons."
Marco's eyes sharpened.
"You knew our father?"
Kathleen looked back at Maeve.
"I knew too many Falcones."
Maeve felt anger rise through the shock.
"You're dead."
Kathleen flinched.
"I know."
"Eleven years."
"I know."
"Don't say that."
Maeve's voice cracked.
"Don't stand there and say you know."
Kathleen's eyes filled.
Maeve hated that her first instinct was still to comfort her.
"Why?"
Kathleen descended another step.
Marco did not stop her.
"My death was the only way to keep you alive."
Maeve laughed.
It sounded broken.
"That is the kind of thing people say in terrible movies."
"I wish it were."
"You let me bury you."
Kathleen nodded.
"I did."
"You let me think I had nobody."
"No."
"Yes."
Maeve's hands shook.
"You don't get to rewrite that."
Kathleen reached the basement floor.
She stopped several feet away.
"I watched you."
Maeve's face hardened.
"What?"
"From a distance. Birthdays. Graduation. Your first restaurant job."
Maeve stepped backward.
"That's worse."
"I couldn't contact you."
"You chose not to."
"Because someone would have followed me."
Marco stepped forward.
"Who?"
Kathleen looked at him.
"Your uncle."
Luca frowned.
"Our father didn't have a brother."
"Not by blood."
Dante spoke.
"Vittorio?"
Kathleen's face confirmed it.
Marco's expression became cold.
Vittorio Salvi had served as Antonio Falcone's closest adviser for twenty-five years.
After Antonio's death, he had remained part of the family business.
He attended Christmas dinner.
He called the triplets nephews.
Maeve could see the betrayal forming before anyone spoke.
Marco said, "Why would Vittorio want Maeve?"
Kathleen looked at her daughter.
"Because of what her father left behind."
Maeve frowned.
"My father?"
Kathleen closed her eyes.
Maeve had almost no memories of him.
Her mother had said Patrick O'Connell left when Maeve was three.
No pictures.
No letters.
No contact.
"What did he leave?"
Kathleen shook her head.
"Not here."
Luca stepped toward her.
"You came into a locked estate. You knew about this basement. You appear eleven years after your funeral and expect us to follow you somewhere?"
Kathleen looked almost amused.
"You sound exactly like Antonio."
Luca's face went still.
Kathleen reached slowly into her coat.
Marco tensed.
She removed a folded photograph.
She handed it to him.
Antonio Falcone stood beside Patrick O'Connell.
Maeve knew because someone had written their names on the back.
Between them stood Elena.
All three were smiling.
Dated twenty-seven years earlier.
Maeve stared.
"My father knew yours."
Kathleen nodded.
"Patrick was Antonio's accountant."
Marco looked up sharply.
"For which company?"
"All of them."
Dante whispered, "Jesus."
Kathleen continued.
"He discovered money disappearing. Not thousands. Millions. Shell companies. False invoices. Bribes."
"Vittorio," Marco said.
Kathleen nodded.
"Patrick gathered evidence. Antonio believed him."
Luca frowned.
"Then why didn't our father remove Vittorio?"
"Because before Antonio could act, Patrick disappeared."
Maeve's throat tightened.
"My mother said he left us."
Kathleen looked at her.
"I lied."
"Was he killed?"
Kathleen's silence answered.
Maeve turned away.
Too much.
Her mother alive.
Her father murdered.
Elena connected.
The brothers' father involved.
Everything Maeve believed about her childhood was unraveling.
"Why breakfast?" she asked suddenly.
Everyone looked at her.
"The key was under Marco's breakfast plate. Why?"
Kathleen frowned.
"I don't know."
"You didn't put it there?"
"No."
"Then someone else knew I would be in that kitchen this morning."
Marco's eyes hardened.
"The delivery man."
Dante checked his phone.
"Security hasn't found him."
Kathleen looked toward the staircase.
"We have to leave."
Marco said, "No."
"If Vittorio knows I'm here—"
"He doesn't control this house."
Kathleen gave him a sad look.
"That's what Antonio thought."
Marco stepped closer.
"This is my house."
Kathleen whispered, "Then why could I unlock your basement from outside?"
Silence.
Marco looked at Dante.
Dante checked the security system again.
His face paled.
"There are administrator credentials I don't recognize."
Luca swore.
"Can you block them?"
"I'm trying."
Kathleen took Maeve's hands.
Maeve almost pulled away.
Then didn't.
Her mother's fingers felt older.
Rough.
Real.
"I didn't want you here."
"You mean this house?"
"This world."
"Then why was my name sent to the employment agency?"
Kathleen stared.
"What?"
Marco turned.
"You didn't know?"
"No."
Maeve's heart sank.
Someone had arranged it.
Her placement.
Her contract.
Her arrival.
Breakfast might have been spontaneous.
But Maeve coming to Falcone Manor was not.
Marco said, "Who had access to the agency?"
Luca replied immediately.
"Vittorio's people handle staffing."
Everyone went silent.
Maeve pulled her hands from Kathleen's.
"So he brought me here."
Kathleen whispered, "Yes."
"Why?"
"Because Patrick hid something before he died."
"What?"
"The ledger."
Marco frowned.
"What ledger?"
Kathleen looked at him.
"Every payment Vittorio ever made. Every official he bought. Every company he stole from. Every murder he paid for."
Dante looked grim.
"And he thinks Maeve knows where it is."
"Patrick hid it for her."
Maeve shook her head.
"I was three."
"He didn't hide it with you. He hid the clue with something you would eventually inherit."
Maeve thought through the few belongings her mother had left her.
Recipes.
Jewelry.
A ceramic mixing bowl.
A wooden recipe box.
Her stomach dropped.
"The recipe box."
Kathleen looked at her.
"Do you still have it?"
Maeve nodded.
"In my apartment."
Kathleen went pale.
"We need to get there first."
Marco was already dialing.
"Car."
Luca grabbed his jacket.
Dante headed upstairs.
Maeve followed.
Marco caught her shoulder.
"You're staying."
"Absolutely not."
"Vittorio expects you."
"And apparently my dead father left something for me."
"Exactly why—"
Maeve stepped closer.
"Marco, I have spent eleven years thinking my mother died. Five minutes ago I found out my father was murdered and somebody has manipulated me into this house. You are not putting me in a bedroom while everyone else investigates my life."
Marco stared at her.
Kathleen said softly, "She's always been like this."
Maeve snapped, "You don't get nostalgic."
Kathleen lowered her eyes.
Marco almost smiled.
Almost.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed instantly.
"What?"
Pause.
"When?"
Another pause.
"Don't touch anything."
He hung up.
Maeve knew before asking.
"My apartment?"
Marco nodded.
"Broken into twenty minutes ago."
Maeve's pulse raced.
"The recipe box?"
"We don't know."
They moved quickly.
Outside, two black vehicles waited.
Marco insisted Maeve ride with him.
Kathleen sat beside her.
Nobody spoke during the drive.
Maeve stared out the window.
Her mother was alive beside her.
Marco sat opposite.
A man she had known for less than two days, yet somehow he felt like the only stable thing in the vehicle.
That disturbed her.
At the apartment, Luca's men had secured the building.
Maeve ran upstairs.
The door was destroyed.
Drawers emptied.
Mattress cut open.
Kitchen cabinets torn apart.
Maeve crossed to the shelf.
Empty.
Her recipe box was gone.
"No."
Kathleen entered behind her.
Maeve turned.
"It's gone."
Marco examined the floor.
"Not everything."
He bent down.
Beneath the shelf lay one recipe card.
Maeve picked it up.
Her mother's handwriting.
Irish soda bread.
Maeve had made it hundreds of times.
Marco looked over her shoulder.
"Anything unusual?"
"No."
Kathleen stared at the card.
Then whispered, "Turn it over."
Maeve did.
Nothing.
Kathleen touched one corner.
"Your father used lemon juice."
Maeve understood.
Invisible ink.
She carried the card to the stove.
Held it carefully above low heat.
Slowly, brown letters emerged.
Maeve read them aloud.
WHEN THREE BROTHERS EAT AT ONE TABLE, LOOK BENEATH THE FOURTH CHAIR.
Everyone stared at each other.
Marco whispered, "The dining room."
They returned to Falcone Manor at speed.
The formal dining room contained a table for twelve.
Marco walked around it.
Three chairs grouped near one end.
A fourth directly opposite.
Luca lifted it.
Nothing.
Maeve crouched.
Under the seat, taped beneath the upholstery, was a small brass key.
Different from the first.
Kathleen's face drained of color.
"I've seen that key."
"Where?" Maeve asked.
Kathleen looked toward the wall.
"Antonio's study."
Marco frowned.
"My father's study has been locked since he died."
"That's not the key to the door."
Kathleen walked to a portrait of Antonio Falcone.
She removed it.
Behind it was a small keyhole.
Marco stared.
"I've lived here my entire life."
Kathleen inserted the brass key.
The wall clicked.
A narrow compartment opened.
Inside sat a black ledger.
Maeve stopped breathing.
Marco reached for it.
Before his fingers touched the cover, the manor's alarm screamed.
Dante ran into the room.
"Everyone away from the windows!"
Glass shattered somewhere downstairs.
Luca drew the curtains.
Marco grabbed the ledger.
Then the lights went out.
In total darkness, a voice came from the doorway.
"Thank you, Maeve."
Maeve froze.
A man stepped inside.
May you like
And Kathleen whispered his name.
"Vittorio."
