Chapter 3 - The Man Behind the Door
"Bea..."
Beatrice stopped breathing.
Nobody called her that anymore.
Not Marco. Not Luca. Not anyone in Dominic Rossi's organization.
Her mother had called her Beatrice until the day she died.
Friends called her Bea occasionally, but never in that particular soft, careful way.
Only one person had ever made the single syllable sound like a promise that everything would be all right.
Her father.
Dominic moved in front of her.
"Stay back."
The apartment door opened another inch.
Darkness filled the narrow gap.
Beatrice grabbed Dominic's arm.
"Wait."
He glanced at her.
She shook her head.
The voice came again.
"Bea, don't let him—"
A crash sounded inside.
Then silence.
Dominic pushed the door open.
"Down!"
Beatrice dropped instinctively as something flew across the room.
A lamp shattered against the hallway wall.
Dominic rushed inside.
Beatrice followed before he could stop her.
Her apartment looked as if a storm had passed through it.
Drawers hung open.
Cushions had been thrown onto the floor.
Her bedroom door was broken.
The wooden boards beneath her bed had been ripped up.
Someone had found the hiding place.
But there was no man standing in the living room.
"Where did he go?" Beatrice whispered.
Dominic checked the kitchen.
Empty.
Then the bathroom.
Empty.
Beatrice looked toward the open balcony door.
Rain blew through it.
Dominic crossed the room and looked outside.
A metal fire escape descended toward the alley.
"He's gone."
"No."
Dominic turned.
Beatrice was staring at the floor.
A dark smear crossed the hardwood.
Blood.
Not much.
But enough.
It began near the front door and continued toward the bedroom.
Someone had been injured.
Beatrice followed it.
"Don't touch anything," Dominic said.
She ignored him.
The trail ended beside her bed.
There, half hidden beneath a fallen blanket, was an old leather wallet.
Beatrice recognized it immediately.
Her knees nearly gave way.
"No."
Dominic approached.
"You know it?"
She bent down slowly.
"My father carried this."
Dominic's expression hardened.
"You're sure?"
Beatrice picked it up with trembling fingers.
The leather had aged.
One corner was damaged.
There was a tiny burn mark near the stitching.
She opened it.
Inside was an old driver's license.
SAMUEL CLARK.
The photograph showed the same face Beatrice remembered.
Dark hair.
Patient eyes.
The faint smile of a man who had spent half his life pretending he wasn't worried.
Behind the license was a photograph.
Beatrice pulled it free.
Her father stood beside another man.
Dominic's father.
Antonio Rossi.
Both were younger.
Behind them stood the old Rossi warehouse by the river.
A date had been written on the bottom.
Twelve years ago.
The night before Samuel disappeared.
Dominic took the photograph.
"My father never told me about this."
Beatrice looked at him.
"You said your father knew mine."
"He did."
"You didn't say they were this close."
"I didn't know."
She searched his expression.
For twelve years, Beatrice had imagined meeting someone who could finally explain what happened to Samuel Clark.
She had imagined anger.
Relief.
Justice.
She had never imagined standing in her destroyed apartment beside the son of the man who might have been responsible.
"What aren't you telling me?"
Dominic looked at her.
"My father changed after Samuel disappeared."
"How?"
"He became paranoid."
"About what?"
"Everyone."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
Beatrice stood.
"You knew something upstairs."
"When?"
"When I received that message."
Dominic remembered the words.
ASK DOMINIC WHAT HIS FATHER DID THE NIGHT YOURS DISAPPEARED.
"I recognized the night."
Beatrice went still.
"What does that mean?"
Dominic looked toward the window.
"When I was twenty-six, my father came home covered in blood."
Beatrice stared at him.
"Whose blood?"
"I never knew."
"What did he say?"
"Nothing."
"Dominic."
"He went directly into his study. The next morning, Samuel Clark was missing."
Beatrice's face changed.
"And you never thought that mattered?"
"I was twenty-six and stupid enough to believe my father when he said family business wasn't my concern."
"Your father may have killed mine."
"If I believed that, I would tell you."
"Would you?"
Dominic stepped closer.
"Yes."
Beatrice wanted to believe him.
That was becoming a problem.
She turned away.
Her eyes landed on the brass key still lying in the hallway.
"Why leave the key?"
Dominic followed her gaze.
"Because whoever came here wants us to use it."
"Then we use it."
"No."
She gave him a look.
"Five minutes ago you wanted it."
"Five minutes ago someone hadn't broken into your apartment and called you by a name only your father used."
"What if it was him?"
Dominic didn't answer.
"What if my father is alive?"
"Beatrice—"
"No body was found."
"I know."
"His wallet appears in my apartment after twelve years. Someone knows my nickname. Someone knows about the key."
"Which is exactly why this could be manipulation."
"And if it isn't?"
Dominic looked at her.
For the first time, he had no answer.
Footsteps thundered up the stairwell.
Dominic immediately moved between Beatrice and the door.
Marco appeared first.
Luca followed.
Both men looked around the apartment.
Marco's face changed when he saw the photograph.
"Where did you get that?"
Beatrice noticed his reaction.
"You've seen it."
Marco said nothing.
Dominic stepped toward him.
"Marco."
"My father has a copy."
Silence filled the room.
Beatrice stared at him.
"Your father?"
Marco nodded reluctantly.
Dominic handed him the photograph.
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"You're lying."
Marco looked toward Beatrice.
Then back to Dominic.
"My father told me never to mention Samuel Clark."
"Tonight would be a good time to ignore him."
Marco rubbed his jaw.
"When I was sixteen, I found a box in our basement. There were photographs. Documents. Your father. Samuel. My father. Other men."
"What documents?"
"I didn't read them."
Dominic stared at him.
Marco exhaled.
"Fine. I read one."
Beatrice stepped closer.
"What did it say?"
"It was a list."
"Of what?"
"Payments."
Dominic frowned.
"From whom?"
"I don't know. There were initials."
"Which initials?"
Marco looked uncomfortable.
"A.R."
Antonio Rossi.
Dominic's father.
"And S.C."
Samuel Clark.
Beatrice felt cold.
"What were they paying for?"
"Protection."
"Protection from whom?"
Marco shook his head.
"I don't know."
Dominic handed the photograph back to Beatrice.
"We're going to your father's house."
Marco immediately stiffened.
"Boss—"
"Now."
"My father said—"
"I don't care what he said."
Marco's phone rang.
He checked the screen.
His face drained of color.
"That's him."
"Answer."
Marco did.
"Dad?"
Nobody spoke.
Marco listened.
His expression changed.
"Dad, slow down."
Dominic moved closer.
"What happened?"
Marco raised one finger.
Then his father said something that made Marco stare directly at Beatrice.
"What do you mean she's there?"
Beatrice's heart jumped.
"Who?"
Marco turned on speaker.
An older man's frightened voice filled the apartment.
"Marco, listen to me. Don't bring Samuel's daughter here."
Beatrice stepped forward.
"Mr. DeLuca?"
Silence.
Then:
"Beatrice?"
"Yes."
The man inhaled sharply.
"You sound like your mother."
Beatrice froze.
"You knew my mother?"
"I knew both of them."
"Then tell me what happened to my father."
"Not on the phone."
"Where is he?"
Another silence.
Longer this time.
"I don't know."
"You called me Samuel's daughter before Marco told you who I was."
"I've known where you were for years."
Beatrice looked at Dominic.
"What?"
"I promised Samuel I'd watch you."
Her eyes filled despite herself.
"Then why didn't you ever speak to me?"
"Because he made me promise something else."
"What?"
"That if you ever started asking about him, I was supposed to disappear."
Dominic frowned.
"Why?"
The older man's voice dropped.
"Because the people who took Samuel were never looking for him."
Beatrice couldn't move.
"They were looking for what he had."
Her fingers closed around the brass key.
"What did he have?"
A sound came through the phone.
Glass breaking.
Marco straightened.
"Dad?"
Nothing.
"Dad!"
A muffled struggle followed.
Then the call ended.
Marco ran for the door.
Dominic followed.
Beatrice grabbed her coat.
"You're staying here," Dominic said.
"Absolutely not."
"Someone may still be watching this apartment."
"And someone just attacked the only living person who can tell me about my father."
Dominic knew arguing would waste time.
"Stay close."
They raced downstairs.
The drive to Marco's father's house took eleven minutes.
Beatrice drove.
Nobody mocked her now.
Marco sat forward in the back seat, calling his father repeatedly.
No answer.
Luca checked his weapon.
Dominic watched the streets.
"Turn here."
Beatrice already had.
Marco looked at her.
"How did you know?"
"I memorized the address when your father called."
Marco leaned back.
Under different circumstances, he might have laughed.
Tonight, nobody did.
They reached a modest brick house near the northern edge of the city.
The front door was open.
Marco jumped out before the car fully stopped.
"Dad!"
Dominic followed.
Beatrice entered behind him.
The living room had been destroyed.
A table overturned.
Broken glass everywhere.
But there was no body.
Marco searched upstairs.
Luca checked the backyard.
Beatrice remained near the hallway.
Something felt familiar.
Not the house.
The pattern.
Drawers open.
Furniture overturned.
Objects scattered.
Just like her apartment.
"They were searching for something," she said.
Dominic looked at her.
"The key?"
"Maybe."
Marco returned.
"He's gone."
Dominic's eyes moved around the room.
"Basement."
Marco stopped.
"What?"
"You said the box was in the basement."
Marco stared toward a door beneath the staircase.
They descended.
The basement smelled of dust and old wood.
Shelves covered the walls.
Marco crossed to a cabinet.
He pulled it open.
Empty.
"The box was here."
Beatrice looked around.
Her father's voice seemed to return from childhood.
Don't look where people hide things.
Look where they don't want you looking.
Her eyes moved toward the concrete floor.
A heavy workbench stood near the wall.
Its legs had left scratches.
"Move that."
Marco frowned.
"Why?"
"Just move it."
The men pushed the workbench aside.
Beneath it was a small metal hatch.
Marco stared.
"I never knew that was there."
Dominic crouched.
There was a lock.
Beatrice slowly removed the brass key.
Dominic looked at her.
"No way."
She inserted it.
Perfect fit.
The lock clicked.
Nobody spoke.
Beatrice lifted the hatch.
Inside was a narrow compartment.
A metal case rested at the bottom.
She pulled it out.
The same key opened that too.
Inside were photographs, documents, cassette tapes, and a small digital recorder.
On top sat an envelope.
BEATRICE.
Her hands shook as she opened it.
Inside was a single page in her father's handwriting.
Bea, if you're reading this, then I failed to keep you away from the Rossi family.
She swallowed.
Dominic stood beside her.
She continued.
Antonio Rossi did not betray me.
Dominic's expression changed.
Beatrice read faster.
He tried to save me.
Her eyes widened.
The next line had been underlined.
The betrayal came from inside his own house.
Beatrice stopped.
Dominic leaned closer.
"What else?"
She turned the page.
Nothing.
The bottom half had been torn away.
Marco searched the case.
"There's a recorder."
Dominic took it.
The battery was dead.
Luca found an old cable.
"There."
A power outlet sat behind the shelves.
They connected the recorder.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then the screen illuminated.
One audio file.
Dated twelve years earlier.
Dominic pressed play.
Static filled the basement.
Then Samuel Clark's voice emerged.
Beatrice covered her mouth.
She hadn't heard that voice since she was seventeen.
"If this recording survives, then Antonio was right. Someone close to the Rossi family has been selling routes, names, and meeting locations."
Dominic's jaw tightened.
Samuel continued.
"We found the source. Antonio wanted to confront him. I told him not to."
Static.
Then another voice.
Antonio Rossi.
"We need proof."
Samuel answered.
"The proof is in the ledger."
Dominic glanced at the documents.
Samuel's voice continued.
"If anything happens to me, Beatrice has the key. She doesn't know what it opens. Keep her out of this."
Then footsteps sounded on the recording.
Antonio whispered something.
Samuel suddenly said:
"He's here."
The audio distorted.
A third man's voice entered.
Beatrice leaned toward the recorder.
Marco's expression changed.
"No."
Dominic looked at him.
"You recognize him?"
Marco backed away.
"No."
"Marco."
"I said no."
The recording continued.
The third man laughed.
Then he spoke one sentence.
"You should have stayed a driver, Samuel."
Beatrice's blood turned cold.
She had heard that phrase before.
Not twelve years ago.
Tonight.
Luca had joked about her being "just the driver."
But the voice wasn't Luca's.
It belonged to an older man.
Someone she had heard recently.
Dominic recognized it too.
His face became stone.
Before either could say the name, headlights suddenly flooded through the basement window.
A vehicle had stopped outside.
Marco looked toward the stairs.
"Someone's here."
Then the front door opened above them.
Slow footsteps crossed the living room.
One step.
Two.
Three.
May you like
The basement handle began turning.
And from the other side, a familiar voice called Dominic's name.
