Chapter 2 - The Name Beneath Her Photograph
Dominic stared at the old personnel file until the letters stopped looking like a name and started looking like a warning.
CLARK, BEATRICE — EMERGENCY CONTACT: SAMUEL CLARK.
His fingers tightened around the folder.
Samuel Clark.
Dominic knew that name.
Every man who had survived long enough in his world knew it.
Twelve years earlier, Samuel Clark had been one of the most trusted security specialists working around the Rossi organization. He had never been a made man. He had never collected protection money, carried out executions, or demanded territory. Samuel had been something far more useful—a professional driver and security strategist who could look at a street and recognize an ambush before anyone else realized they were being watched.
Then one night, Samuel Clark disappeared.
Three days later, his burned vehicle was discovered beside the river.
No body was ever recovered.
Dominic had been twenty-six.
His father had still been alive.
And the Rossi family had ordered everyone to stop asking questions.
Dominic slowly lifted his eyes toward the security monitor mounted above his office desk.
On the screen, Beatrice stood downstairs beside the damaged Mercedes while two mechanics inspected the bullet holes.
Her floral dress was still damp.
A small cut crossed her cheek from the shattered glass.
Marco and Luca stood nearby.
Neither man was laughing now.
Dominic looked back at the file.
There was another detail.
Beatrice had joined his organization exactly three years earlier.
Her application listed no previous security experience.
No professional driving school.
No military background.
Nothing that explained what Dominic had witnessed tonight.
Yet during an ambush, she had reacted like someone trained for it.
She had recognized the trap before the first bullet.
She had refused Dominic's command to turn left because she somehow knew the road was blocked.
And she had escaped men who had clearly prepared their attack in advance.
Dominic closed the folder.
"Marco."
The office door opened seconds later.
Marco entered carefully.
He looked different from the arrogant man who had climbed into the back seat earlier.
His suit was wet.
Blood from a shallow glass cut had dried near his temple.
"You wanted me?"
Dominic pushed the file across the desk.
"Who hired Beatrice?"
Marco looked down.
"Transportation department."
"Who approved her?"
"I don't remember."
"Find out."
Marco nodded.
Dominic watched him.
"And Marco?"
He stopped.
"If I hear you mocking her again, you won't be driving with me."
Marco's expression changed.
"Boss, we were only joking."
"She saved your life."
Silence.
"Yes."
"Then remember that the next time you decide she's entertainment."
Marco lowered his eyes.
"Understood."
He turned toward the door.
"One more thing," Dominic said.
Marco looked back.
"Find everything you can about Samuel Clark."
Marco froze.
It lasted less than a second.
But Dominic saw it.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Dominic stood.
"You know that name."
"No."
"You hesitated."
Marco swallowed.
"I've heard it."
"Where?"
"My father."
Dominic's expression hardened.
Marco's father had worked for Dominic's father for almost thirty years.
"What did he say?"
Marco looked uncomfortable.
"That Samuel Clark was someone the old generation didn't talk about."
"Why?"
"He never told me."
Dominic stepped closer.
"Ask him."
Marco hesitated again.
"My father won't answer questions about those days."
"Then tell him I'm asking."
Marco nodded.
This time, when he left, Dominic noticed something else.
Fear.
Not fear of Dominic.
Fear of the name.
Downstairs, Beatrice heard footsteps approaching.
She turned.
Luca stopped several feet away.
For once, he had no joke prepared.
"You okay?"
Beatrice touched the small cut on her cheek.
"I'm fine."
"You saved us."
She looked at him.
Luca shifted awkwardly.
"I know I've said things."
"You've said many things."
"Yeah."
Beatrice waited.
"I'm sorry."
She studied him for a moment.
The apology sounded genuine.
"Thank you."
Luca nodded.
Then his eyes moved toward the mechanics.
"How did you know?"
"Know what?"
"That the left street was blocked."
Beatrice looked at the damaged car.
"There was a delivery truck parked across the entrance when we arrived."
Luca frowned.
"I didn't see it."
"I did."
"And the SUV?"
"I saw that too."
"When?"
"Before Dominic entered the warehouse."
Luca stared at her.
"You sat outside for almost forty minutes."
"Exactly."
"What were you doing?"
"My job."
Luca almost smiled.
Then his expression became serious.
"We thought your job was driving."
Beatrice met his eyes.
"It is."
She walked away.
But her heart was beating harder than she wanted anyone to know.
Because she had seen Dominic carrying the personnel folder upstairs.
And she knew what was inside it.
Samuel Clark.
Her father.
The name she had spent years avoiding.
Beatrice entered the small employee restroom and locked the door.
She leaned against the sink.
Her hands began trembling.
Not because of the attack.
Because of the past.
She opened her purse and removed an old photograph.
A younger Samuel Clark stood beside a black sedan, smiling with one arm around a teenage Beatrice.
On the back, written in faded blue ink, were eight words.
Always watch the exit before you enter, Bea.
Her father had taught her everything.
How to recognize a vehicle following her.
How to read reflections in storefront windows.
How to remember license plates without staring at them.
How to identify streets where an ambush could happen.
She had thought those lessons were games when she was a child.
Until Samuel disappeared.
After that, Beatrice understood.
Her father had been preparing her.
But for what?
She had spent twelve years trying to answer that question.
Three years earlier, one clue had brought her directly to Dominic Rossi.
She had joined his organization as a driver because drivers were invisible.
People talked around drivers.
They argued around drivers.
They revealed secrets around drivers.
And nobody suspected the quiet, curvy woman behind the wheel was listening to every word.
Tonight had changed that.
Dominic had noticed her.
That was dangerous.
Beatrice returned the photograph to her purse.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
She opened the message.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LET ROSSI DIE.
Her breathing stopped.
A second message arrived.
NOW HE WILL FIND OUT WHO YOU ARE.
Beatrice deleted both messages immediately.
Then she looked into the mirror.
Someone knew.
Someone had been watching her.
A knock came at the door.
"Beatrice?"
Dominic.
She quickly put the phone away.
"One second."
She washed her hands, opened the door, and found him standing alone.
His white shirt was still damp from the rain.
He had changed nothing since the attack.
But his expression was different.
"Come upstairs."
"Why?"
"I need to ask you something."
She already knew.
Still, she followed him.
The Rossi estate was quiet after midnight.
Most employees had disappeared into other parts of the building.
Dominic led her into his office and closed the door.
Beatrice immediately saw the folder on his desk.
There was no point pretending.
"You opened my personnel file."
Dominic raised an eyebrow.
"You don't sound surprised."
"I'm your employee. You're allowed."
"Sit."
"I'd rather stand."
Dominic studied her.
"Fine."
He picked up the file.
"Samuel Clark."
Beatrice said nothing.
"Your father?"
"Yes."
"You never mentioned him."
"You never asked."
Dominic almost smiled.
Almost.
"You've worked for me for three years."
"As a driver."
"And Samuel Clark worked for my father."
"So?"
"So you expect me to believe that's a coincidence?"
Beatrice's jaw tightened.
"I needed employment."
"You could have driven anywhere."
"I chose here."
"Why?"
"Good salary."
Dominic walked around the desk.
"You're lying."
Beatrice looked directly at him.
"Then why ask questions if you've already decided what you believe?"
That stopped him.
Very few people spoke to Dominic Rossi that way.
Beatrice suddenly understood why.
The silence he created could make people confess things they had never intended to reveal.
But she had spent twelve years learning how to live with silence.
Dominic placed the file down.
"My father knew Samuel."
"I know."
That was the first mistake.
Dominic caught it immediately.
"How?"
Beatrice looked away.
"Beatrice."
"My father told me."
"What did he tell you?"
"Almost nothing."
"Try me."
She hesitated.
"He said your father trusted him once."
"Once?"
"That's the word he used."
Dominic's eyes narrowed.
"When did he tell you this?"
"Before he disappeared."
"How old were you?"
"Seventeen."
"And you've spent twelve years carrying that information?"
"I spent twelve years carrying much more than that."
Dominic's expression softened slightly.
"What happened to him?"
"If I knew, I wouldn't be working here."
The answer came too quickly.
Dominic stared at her.
And Beatrice realized she had made her second mistake.
"You came here looking for something."
She remained silent.
"Not employment."
Silence.
"Answers."
Beatrice turned toward the window.
Rain moved across the glass.
"You don't understand."
"Then explain."
"I can't."
"Can't or won't?"
"Both."
Dominic stepped closer.
"Someone tried to kill me tonight."
"I noticed."
"You recognized the ambush."
"Yes."
"You knew the escape route."
"Yes."
"And now I discover your father worked for mine before disappearing under circumstances nobody will discuss."
Beatrice faced him.
"Do you think I arranged the attack?"
"No."
The answer surprised her.
"Why not?"
"Because if you wanted me dead, you had easier opportunities."
Beatrice almost laughed.
"You've thought about this."
"I think about everything."
"So do I."
"I noticed."
Their eyes held.
For the first time, there was no boss and driver between them.
Only two people standing on opposite sides of the same mystery.
Dominic lowered his voice.
"Help me understand."
Beatrice wanted to.
That frightened her more than his suspicion.
"My father came home one night twelve years ago," she said. "He was scared."
"Samuel Clark was rarely scared."
"You knew him?"
"I met him several times."
Beatrice's expression changed.
Dominic continued.
"I was young. He drove my father occasionally. Samuel treated me like I was just another kid who needed to wear a seat belt."
A tiny smile touched Beatrice's face.
"That sounds like him."
"What happened that night?"
She looked toward the door.
"He gave me a key."
Dominic waited.
"He told me never to use it unless someone from the Rossi family came looking for me."
Dominic became completely still.
"A key to what?"
"I don't know."
"You never used it?"
"No."
"Where is it?"
"Somewhere safe."
Dominic moved closer.
"My family came looking for you tonight."
"No. You found my file."
"That sounds like the same thing."
"It isn't."
"Beatrice."
"No."
Her voice was stronger now.
"My father disappeared after working for your family. Your people refused to explain what happened. His car was burned. His body was never found. And now someone tried to kill you on the same night you discovered his name connected to mine."
Dominic stared at her.
"You think the two things are connected."
"I think coincidences are what people call patterns before they're brave enough to look at them."
Dominic's phone rang.
Marco.
He answered.
"Talk."
Marco's voice sounded tense.
"I spoke to my father."
"And?"
"He told me to leave it alone."
"That's not an answer."
"I know."
"Where is he?"
"At home."
"Bring him here."
There was silence.
"Marco?"
"My father said something else."
Dominic glanced at Beatrice.
"What?"
"He asked if Samuel's daughter was with you."
Dominic's eyes shifted toward her.
Beatrice's face lost color.
"How does he know she's here?"
"I didn't tell him."
Dominic straightened.
"What exactly did he say?"
Marco repeated it.
Dominic ended the call.
Beatrice stepped forward.
"What did his father say?"
Dominic hesitated.
She immediately understood.
"He knows me."
"Apparently."
"I've never met Marco's father."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Dominic walked toward the desk.
"We need that key."
Beatrice shook her head.
"No."
"Whatever your father hid could explain tonight."
"Or it could get us killed."
"Someone already tried."
Beatrice reached for her purse.
Dominic watched.
"What are you doing?"
"Leaving."
"Where?"
"Home."
"Absolutely not."
She stared at him.
"You don't control where I go."
"Someone just sent armed men after this car."
"You don't know they were after me."
"And you don't know they weren't."
Beatrice froze.
Dominic had noticed more than she thought.
He pointed toward her purse.
"Your phone."
"No."
"You received something downstairs."
Her eyes narrowed.
"How do you know?"
"Security camera."
Beatrice almost cursed.
"What did the message say?"
"Nothing important."
"You're terrible at lying."
"I'm actually very good at it."
"Not tonight."
Dominic extended his hand.
She did not move.
Then her phone vibrated again.
Both looked toward the purse.
Beatrice slowly removed it.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Her apartment.
Taken from across the street.
The lights were on.
Beatrice stopped breathing.
She had turned them off before work.
Under the photograph was a message.
COME HOME ALONE IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO SAMUEL.
Dominic read it over her shoulder.
"No."
Beatrice looked at him.
"That's my father."
"That's bait."
"It could be both."
"You are not going alone."
"They specifically said—"
"I don't care."
"This is my life."
"And someone used an attack on me to pull you into the open."
She stared at the photograph again.
Something near her apartment window caught her attention.
A small shape.
Beatrice enlarged the image.
Her stomach dropped.
A lamp was visible through the curtain.
Beside it stood a framed photograph.
Her father's photograph.
But she kept that photograph locked inside a drawer.
Someone had deliberately placed it where she would see it.
Beatrice grabbed her coat.
Dominic reached for his jacket.
"What are you doing?"
"Coming."
"No."
"That wasn't a request."
Twenty minutes later, their replacement vehicle stopped one block from Beatrice's apartment.
Marco and Luca followed in another car.
Dominic ordered them to remain outside.
Beatrice stared at the building.
One upstairs window glowed.
Her window.
"Stay behind me," Dominic said.
She looked at him.
"I saved your life an hour ago."
"And I'm trying to return the favor."
They entered.
The hallway was silent.
Beatrice climbed the stairs slowly.
Second floor.
Third floor.
Her apartment stood at the end of the corridor.
The door was closed.
No visible damage.
Dominic reached beneath his jacket.
Beatrice noticed.
"Don't."
"If someone is inside—"
"I know."
She approached.
Something lay on the floor.
A small brass key.
Beatrice stopped.
Dominic looked down.
"Is that—"
"Yes."
The key her father had given her twelve years ago.
The key she had hidden inside a locked box beneath her bedroom floor.
Her pulse thundered.
Someone had entered her apartment.
Someone had found the box.
And instead of stealing the key...
They had placed it outside the door.
Dominic whispered, "Beatrice, don't touch it."
Then they heard movement inside.
One slow footstep.
Then another.
Beatrice stared at the handle.
A man's shadow crossed beneath the door.
Her phone vibrated.
Another message.
She looked down.
ASK DOMINIC WHAT HIS FATHER DID THE NIGHT YOURS DISAPPEARED.
Beatrice slowly raised her eyes toward him.
Dominic had gone pale.
"You know something," she whispered.
Before he could answer, the lock clicked.
Once.
Then twice.
Beatrice stepped backward.
The apartment door slowly began opening from the inside.
A man's voice came through the darkness.
May you like
And he whispered her childhood nickname.
"Bea..."
