Chapter 3 - The Call Inside the Blanket
No one answered.
The phone stopped ringing.
Then immediately started again.
VITTORIO.
Matteo stared at it.
Antonio whispered, “Don’t touch it.”
“Why?”
“It may be tracked.”
Matteo laughed without humor.
“We’re already being tracked.”
I looked at Gabriel.
He was still drinking, unaware that a piece of technology hidden inches from his body might lead killers directly to us.
“Get it away from him.”
Antonio removed the phone using a pair of medical gloves.
He placed it inside a metal instrument box and closed the lid.
The ringing became muffled.
“We move now.”
We entered the tunnel.
Antonio went first.
I followed with my medical bag.
Matteo carried Gabriel.
The passage smelled of damp concrete and rust.
Old utility pipes ran overhead.
“You knew about this tunnel?” I asked Antonio.
“Mom showed me.”
“When?”
“After my cover was compromised.”
“You were in Boston after you disappeared?”
“Three times.”
I almost stopped walking.
“You came back?”
“Yes.”
“You came back and didn’t see me?”
“I watched you from across the street.”
That hurt worse than I expected.
“You watched me?”
“I needed to know you were safe.”
“You could have said hello.”
“And risked bringing people to you?”
“You don’t get to decide what twelve years of silence did to me.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Matteo spoke behind us.
“Argue later.”
I turned.
“Do criminals always give family therapy advice?”
His mouth almost moved into a smile.
Almost.
“Only when people are trying to kill us.”
We reached the far end of the tunnel.
Antonio opened another door.
The laundromat behind my building was dark.
Rows of machines stood silent.
A security light glowed over the rear exit.
Antonio checked outside.
“Clear.”
We crossed the alley.
A black SUV waited.
Matteo stopped.
“No.”
Antonio turned.
“What?”
“I’m not getting into a federal vehicle.”
“It isn’t federal.”
“Whose is it?”
“Mine.”
“That’s worse.”
I looked between them.
“Do either of you have a better idea?”
Neither answered.
“Then get in.”
Antonio drove.
I sat in the back beside Matteo and Gabriel.
“Where are we going?”
“Safe house in Cambridge.”
Matteo shook his head.
“No government property.”
“It’s private.”
“Controlled by whom?”
“Me.”
“That answer keeps getting worse.”
Gabriel finished the bottle.
Matteo looked alarmed.
“He stopped.”
“He’s full.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the bottle is empty.”
He stared at me.
I took Gabriel gently.
“Now we burp him.”
Matteo raised one eyebrow.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
I placed Gabriel against my shoulder and patted his back.
Thirty seconds later, a tiny burp escaped him.
Matteo looked shocked.
I laughed.
For the first time that night.
“He’s not a bomb.”
“I’m aware.”
“You looked impressed.”
“I’ve negotiated hostage releases with less uncertainty.”
Antonio glanced in the mirror.
“Never thought I’d see the day.”
Matteo’s expression froze.
“You haven’t.”
Antonio looked back at the road.
The truce lasted less than a minute.
Then headlights appeared behind us.
Antonio checked the mirror.
“Same car for four turns.”
Matteo shifted.
“Lose them.”
“I’m trying.”
The car accelerated.
So did the headlights.
Gabriel startled.
I held him close.
“Not too fast.”
“We either drive fast or they catch us.”
A second vehicle appeared ahead.
Black sedan.
It pulled sideways.
“Antonio.”
“I see it.”
He turned sharply down a side street.
Tires squealed.
Gabriel began crying.
Matteo braced one hand across the back of my seat.
“Get down.”
The rear window shattered.
I screamed.
Antonio accelerated.
Matteo covered Gabriel and me with his body.
Another crack.
Glass scattered.
“They’re shooting?” I shouted.
“Yes.”
“In Cambridge?”
“Yes.”
“I hate your family!”
“That makes two of us.”
Antonio took a turn so hard the SUV nearly jumped the curb.
A delivery truck blocked the pursuing car for several precious seconds.
We crossed an intersection.
Then another.
Five minutes later, Antonio pulled into an underground parking garage beneath an old brick apartment building.
He shut off the engine.
Silence.
Gabriel cried softly.
I checked him.
No injury.
Matteo leaned back.
Fresh blood had appeared through his shirt.
“You tore something.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding through your clothes.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“And I said you need stitches.”
Antonio pointed toward an elevator.
“Third floor.”
The apartment was small.
Anonymous.
One bedroom.
Plain furniture.
No personal photographs.
I placed Gabriel in a portable crib Antonio had apparently prepared.
Then I made Matteo sit at the kitchen table.
“Shirt off.”
Antonio coughed.
Matteo stared at me.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m stitching you.”
“I can do it.”
“With what? Arrogance?”
Antonio actually smiled.
Matteo slowly removed his jacket.
Then his shirt.
The wound was along his side.
A bullet graze.
Painful.
Bloody.
But not life-threatening.
I cleaned it.
He didn’t flinch until the antiseptic touched deeper tissue.
“You can admit that hurts.”
“No.”
“Of course not.”
I began stitching.
“You always insult patients?”
“Only ones who bring gunfire to my clinic.”
He looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
My hand stopped.
I had not expected that.
“For what?”
“Your clinic.”
I resumed.
“You didn’t shoot the windows.”
“My life brought them there.”
“That sounds dangerously close to accountability.”
His mouth moved slightly.
“You’re very comfortable speaking to me.”
“Should I be afraid?”
“Yes.”
“Are you planning to hurt me?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll save my fear for the people shooting at us.”
His eyes held mine.
Something passed between us.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Recognition.
Antonio placed the hidden phone on the counter.
“I blocked the signal.”
Matteo stood despite my protest.
“Can we recover anything?”
“Maybe.”
Antonio connected the phone to a laptop.
I checked Gabriel.
He had fallen asleep.
The room finally felt quiet.
Then Antonio made a sound.
“What?”
He turned the laptop.
A folder had opened.
Photographs.
Documents.
Audio files.
Lucia had hidden evidence on the device.
Pages of financial transfers.
Names.
Dates.
Police officers.
Judges.
Businesses.
Matteo stared.
“She was building a case.”
Antonio nodded.
“Against Vittorio.”
“Why put it in the baby’s blanket?”
“Because she knew no one would search a newborn carefully if she had to run.”
I looked at a list.
One name stood out.
Dr. Samuel Keene.
My former supervisor at St. Catherine’s Hospital.
I pointed.
“What is he doing there?”
Antonio zoomed in.
The document showed payments.
Monthly.
For four years.
“What does Keene have to do with the DeLucas?” I asked.
Matteo’s expression darkened.
“He ran private medical work for my uncle.”
My stomach turned.
“I worked for him.”
“Maybe that’s how Lucia knew about you,” Antonio said.
“No.”
I shook my head.
“Keene didn’t know about my mother.”
Antonio opened another file.
Audio.
A woman’s voice filled the apartment.
Lucia.
“If you’re hearing this, I didn’t make it.”
Matteo sat down hard.
Her voice continued.
“Gabriel is Daniel Mercer’s son. Vittorio knows. Daniel has evidence that can destroy him, but Vittorio believes I hid the final ledger.”
Matteo covered his mouth.
“Matteo, I’m sorry I didn’t trust you sooner.”
His eyes closed.
“You were becoming like Dad. I was afraid you wouldn’t understand.”
The recording crackled.
“But Elena Rossi’s mother understood.”
I stepped closer.
“Maria Rossi helped me because she knew what the DeLucas had done before.”
My heart pounded.
“What did they do?”
Lucia’s recording continued.
“She told me there was one secret Vittorio would kill to keep buried. It involved Elena’s family.”
Antonio looked at me.
Neither of us spoke.
“If Gabriel survives, Elena must know the truth.”
A pause.
Then Lucia whispered:
“Antonio is not Maria Rossi’s only son.”
The recording ended.
I stared at my brother.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mom had another son?”
“I never heard anything.”
Matteo looked between us.
Antonio searched the files.
“There’s another audio track.”
He clicked it.
Static.
Then my mother’s voice filled the apartment.
Older.
Tired.
“Elena, if you ever hear this, I need you to forgive me.”
My knees weakened.
Antonio reached for me.
I pulled away.
Mom continued.
“There is something about your father’s death that I never told you.”
I froze.
My father had died when I was seven.
Heart attack.
That was what I had always been told.
“He did not die from natural causes.”
Antonio went pale.
My mother’s voice trembled.
“He was killed because he discovered who Vittorio DeLuca really was.”
The recording stopped.
A password box appeared.
File corrupted.
Antonio cursed.
“We need the rest.”
I stared at Matteo.
“Your uncle killed my father?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe you?”
“I was nineteen when your father died.”
“You knew what your family did.”
“Not everything.”
“Convenient.”
“Elena.”
“No.”
I stepped away.
Gabriel woke and started crying.
I picked him up.
The baby’s warmth steadied me.
My father.
My mother.
My brother.
Every memory now seemed built on missing pieces.
Antonio’s phone buzzed.
He checked it.
His expression changed instantly.
“What?”
“My contact inside the Bureau.”
He read the message twice.
“Daniel Mercer is alive.”
Matteo stood.
“Where?”
Antonio looked at us.
“He’s being held at St. Catherine’s Hospital.”
My former hospital.
My former boss’s hospital.
The place connected to Dr. Keene.
I tightened my arms around Gabriel.
Antonio looked at the next line of the message.
Then his face went white.
“What else?”
He turned the phone toward me.
There was a photograph.
A hospital surveillance image.
A man being moved through a private corridor.
Beside him stood Dr. Samuel Keene.
And next to Keene was someone I recognized immediately.
My mother.
May you like
The timestamp was from forty-eight hours ago.
Two years after I buried her.
