Chapter 2 - The Name He Shouldn't Know
The post crashed sideways.
Dominic hit the floor with it.
Fire exploded across the boards.
Grace lunged for Maisie.
Matteo DeLuca raised the pistol.
“Don't!”
Dominic's voice tore through the shed.
Matteo looked toward him.
That hesitation saved Grace.
She grabbed Maisie and dove behind an old workbench as a gunshot cracked through the smoke.
The bullet struck wood.
Maisie screamed.
Dominic twisted violently.
The damaged post had partially splintered. Rope around his waist loosened.
Not enough.
But maybe enough if he could break the burned wood.
“Grace!” he shouted.
“I have her!”
“Get out!”
Matteo moved around the workbench.
Grace pulled Maisie closer.
“Don't come near us.”
Matteo laughed.
“You've spent four years running. Look where it brought you.”
“You weren't supposed to know we were here.”
“I know everything that happens on this property.”
Dominic froze.
On this property.
Grace had been hiding here?
Matteo saw his confusion.
“Oh, she hasn't told you.”
“Shut up,” Grace said.
Matteo looked delighted.
“Dominic deserves the truth.”
“Not from you.”
The fire spread between them.
A burning beam fell, blocking Matteo's path.
Grace seized the opportunity.
She scooped Maisie into her arms and ran toward the door.
“Mommy! Domic!”
“We're getting help!”
Dominic watched them escape.
Matteo raised the gun toward Dominic.
“Now we're back where we started.”
Dominic pulled one knee upward and kicked the weakened post.
Once.
Twice.
The wood cracked.
Matteo fired.
Dominic rolled.
The bullet struck the post where his chest had been.
He kicked again.
The lower section broke.
The rope around his legs slipped free.
Dominic surged to his knees.
His hands remained bound.
Matteo stepped closer.
“You always were stubborn.”
“You always were a coward.”
Matteo's jaw tightened.
Dominic smiled.
There.
That was the uncle he remembered.
Not calm.
Not controlled.
Matteo hated disrespect.
Hated being challenged.
Dominic had learned that as a teenager.
He had forgotten how useful it could be.
“What did my father make you do?” Dominic asked.
Matteo aimed at his head.
“You think Carlo controlled me?”
“You spent thirty years carrying his bags.”
Matteo's nostrils flared.
Dominic pushed.
“You couldn't run a parking lot without him.”
Matteo stepped closer.
Exactly what Dominic wanted.
“You spoiled little—”
Dominic launched himself forward.
His shoulder slammed into Matteo's knees.
Both men crashed onto the floor.
The pistol skidded beneath a shelf.
Dominic rolled over Matteo and drove his elbow into his face.
Matteo punched him in the ribs.
Dominic grunted.
His hands were still tied.
Matteo grabbed his throat.
“You should have died with your mother.”
Dominic stopped.
“My mother?”
That hesitation cost him.
Matteo slammed his head against the floor.
White light burst behind Dominic's eyes.
Then water struck both men.
A violent stream blasted Matteo sideways.
Dominic turned.
Grace stood in the doorway holding the hose.
Maisie crouched behind her.
Grace shouted, “Move!”
Dominic rolled away.
The stream struck the flames.
Smoke exploded upward.
Matteo crawled toward the pistol.
Dominic saw it.
So did Grace.
“Dominic!”
He kicked Matteo's wrist.
The gun slid into the fire.
A second later, ammunition popped from the heat.
Matteo backed away.
Dominic grabbed a piece of broken metal and sawed at the rope around his wrists.
Grace sprayed the fire between Matteo and the exit.
“Police are coming,” she shouted.
Matteo smiled.
“No, they aren't.”
Grace's face changed.
Dominic cut through one strand.
“Why not?”
“Because I own the men answering that call.”
A siren sounded faintly in the distance.
Matteo laughed.
“See?”
Dominic finally tore his hands free.
He stood.
Matteo did too.
For a moment, uncle and nephew stared at each other through smoke and fire.
Then Matteo ran toward a rear window.
Dominic chased him.
“Stop!”
Matteo kicked through the rotten frame and disappeared outside.
Dominic reached the opening.
By the time he climbed through, Matteo was already crossing the tree line.
Dominic took three steps.
Then heard Maisie cough.
He stopped.
Grace.
Maisie.
The answers could wait.
He ran back.
By the time he reached the front of the shed, Grace had carried Maisie onto the wet grass.
Maisie coughed but was conscious.
Dominic dropped beside them.
“Is she hurt?”
Grace looked at him.
Four years vanished.
For one second, he was back in her apartment, drinking terrible coffee and laughing as she accused him of stealing all the blankets.
Then reality returned.
Grace slapped him.
Hard.
Dominic stared.
“You followed the message,” she said.
“How did you—”
“You always follow the message.”
She looked furious.
Terrified.
Alive.
Dominic almost laughed from the sheer impossibility of it.
“You're alive.”
Grace's eyes filled.
“Not because your family wanted me to be.”
Dominic looked at Maisie.
The little girl was hugging Bunny.
She stared at Dominic curiously.
“Domic.”
He swallowed.
“Hi.”
Maisie smiled faintly.
Then Grace stood.
“We need to leave.”
Dominic rose.
“Not until you tell me if she's mine.”
Grace froze.
Maisie looked between them.
Grace's face lost color.
“Who told you?”
“Matteo.”
“Then Matteo wanted you to know.”
“Is it true?”
Grace looked toward the burning shed.
Firefighters were approaching from the estate.
Security vehicles followed.
Dominic saw several familiar guards.
Men hired by his father.
His uncle's words returned.
I own the men answering that call.
Grace grabbed Dominic's arm.
“Not here.”
“Grace—”
“Maisie is your daughter.”
Dominic forgot how to breathe.
Grace continued.
“I found out I was pregnant the week before your father ordered me killed.”
Dominic stared at Maisie.
His daughter.
Three years.
He had missed her first word.
First step.
First birthday.
He had not known she existed.
Rage rose beneath the shock.
“My father ordered it?”
Grace looked at him.
“Carlo wanted me dead because I found something.”
“What?”
“Evidence.”
“Of what?”
She glanced toward the approaching security team.
“Dominic, we have seconds.”
“Evidence of what?”
Grace whispered, “Your mother.”
Dominic's entire body went cold.
His mother, Sofia DeLuca, had died when he was twelve.
Car accident.
At least that was what he had been told.
“What about my mother?”
Grace took Maisie's hand.
“She didn't die in an accident.”
Dominic stared.
A black SUV pulled onto the grass.
Four DeLuca security men climbed out.
Grace stepped backward.
“We have to go.”
Dominic saw their hands.
All four were reaching beneath their jackets.
Not for radios.
For weapons.
He grabbed Grace.
“Run.”
They sprinted toward the gardens.
Maisie's small legs couldn't keep up.
Dominic scooped her into his arms.
She gasped and clutched his shirt.
For the first time in his life, Dominic DeLuca held his daughter.
There was no time to understand what that meant.
Bullets struck the ground behind them.
Grace screamed.
They ran through hedges.
Past fountains.
Across a stone path.
Guests at the charity luncheon began shouting.
Dominic pushed through the crowd.
“Call the police!”
A woman stared.
Dominic recognized her.
His father's housekeeper, Elena.
Her face went white when she saw Grace.
“You,” Elena whispered.
Grace stopped.
“You knew?”
Elena looked toward the security men entering the garden.
“Not here.”
She opened a side door.
“Inside.”
Dominic hesitated.
Grace didn't.
She dragged him through.
Elena locked the door behind them.
“This way.”
They rushed through a service corridor.
Maisie still clung to Dominic.
He could feel her heartbeat against his chest.
Tiny.
Fast.
Real.
His daughter.
Elena opened a pantry and moved a shelving unit.
A narrow staircase appeared.
Dominic stared.
“I've lived here thirty years.”
“And you've never known your own house,” Elena said.
They descended.
The shelving unit closed behind them.
Darkness.
Elena switched on a flashlight.
The stairs led underground.
Grace whispered, “You kept it?”
Elena nodded.
“Everything.”
Dominic stopped.
“What is this place?”
Elena looked at him.
“The reason your mother died.”
They reached a steel door.
Elena entered a code.
The lock clicked.
Inside was a hidden room.
File boxes.
Photographs.
Old ledgers.
Computer drives.
Dominic slowly walked toward the nearest wall.
Pictures covered it.
Politicians.
Judges.
Police chiefs.
Businessmen.
His father.
Matteo.
Grace.
And Sofia DeLuca.
Dominic stared at one photograph.
His mother stood beside a car.
The date printed below it was three days after her supposed death.
“No,” he whispered.
Grace came beside him.
“I found that four years ago.”
“You said she was murdered.”
“I thought she was.”
Dominic turned.
Grace looked shaken.
“Then what am I looking at?”
Elena closed the steel door.
“Your mother survived the crash.”
Dominic stared.
“Where is she?”
Elena didn't answer.
“Where is my mother?”
A sound came from the dark corner of the room.
Maisie lifted her head.
Someone was breathing behind the shelves.
Dominic moved toward it.
Grace grabbed his arm.
“No.”
The shelves shifted.
A narrow door opened.
A woman stepped into the light.
She had silver hair now.
Lines around her eyes.
A scar crossing one cheek.
But Dominic knew her instantly.
May you like
The woman looked at him and whispered:
“My son.”
