Chapter 5 - The Man Dominic Buried
Dominic slammed his palm against the control-room door and shouted, “Show yourself.”
The door opened another inch.
A gold Serrano signet ring appeared around the edge.
Dominic knew that ring.
He had removed it from his father’s hand before the coffin was closed.
“Son.”
Dominic stopped breathing.
Mara gripped the brass key marked 317.
Rosa whispered, “Don’t open that door.”
Dominic didn’t look away.
Seven years earlier, he had stood beside Vittorio Serrano’s coffin.
He remembered the dark suit.
The rosary Isabella had placed between her husband’s hands.
The scar beneath Vittorio’s left ear from a childhood accident.
Dominic had touched his father’s cold wrist.
He had watched the coffin close.
He had carried it.
He had watched it lowered into the Serrano family crypt.
And now his father’s voice was coming from the other side of a locked door.
“Open it,” Dominic ordered.
His security chief raised his weapon.
“Boss—”
“Open it.”
The door moved.
Slowly.
A man stepped into the corridor.
Mara’s fingers closed around Dominic’s sleeve.
The man was elderly.
Silver hair.
Dark suit.
Broad shoulders diminished by age.
The same nose.
The same hard mouth.
The same eyes Dominic saw every morning in the mirror.
Vittorio Serrano.
Alive.
Dominic said nothing.
Neither did Vittorio.
For several seconds, father and son simply stared at each other.
Then Vittorio smiled faintly.
“You look like me now.”
Dominic hit him.
The punch sent Vittorio crashing into the control-room wall.
Celeste screamed somewhere behind them.
Dominic grabbed his father by the collar before the older man could fall.
“You died.”
Vittorio wiped blood from his mouth.
“So I was told.”
Dominic shoved him against the wall.
“I buried you.”
“You buried a coffin.”
“I saw you inside it.”
“You saw what you were supposed to see.”
Dominic’s fist tightened again.
Mara caught his wrist.
“Dominic.”
He looked at her.
“Not yet.”
Two words.
Enough.
Dominic released Vittorio.
His father straightened his jacket.
“You chose well.”
Dominic stepped forward.
“Don’t talk about my wife.”
Vittorio’s faint smile disappeared.
“Then perhaps you should have protected her better.”
Dominic moved again.
Mara blocked him.
“That's what he wants.”
Vittorio looked impressed.
Rosa wasn't.
She stood several feet away, staring at him with open hatred.
“You should have stayed dead.”
Vittorio finally noticed her.
“Rosa.”
“You remember me.”
“I remember everyone who betrayed me.”
Rosa laughed.
“You always confused betrayal with survival.”
Footsteps approached.
Isabella entered the corridor.
She stopped.
Her face emptied.
Vittorio looked at his wife.
“Hello, Bella.”
Isabella collapsed against the wall.
Celeste caught her.
“No.”
Vittorio tilted his head.
Isabella shook violently.
“No. No, you are dead.”
“Apparently not.”
“You promised.”
That word changed Dominic’s expression.
He turned toward his mother.
“Promised?”
Isabella realized her mistake.
Vittorio smiled.
Dominic looked between them.
“You knew.”
“No.”
“Mother.”
“I didn't know he was alive now.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
Isabella closed her eyes.
Dominic stepped toward her.
“You knew his death was staged.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
“For one night.”
Celeste stared.
“What?”
Isabella covered her face.
“He told me he had to disappear.”
“When?” Dominic demanded.
“The night before.”
Dominic felt something inside him go cold.
“You helped him.”
“No.”
“You knew.”
“He said enemies were coming. He said if anyone knew he survived, all of you would become targets.”
“And you believed him?”
“I was his wife.”
Mara’s voice was quiet.
“That doesn't answer Dominic’s question.”
Isabella looked at her.
Mara did not retreat.
“Did you help him fake his death?”
“No.”
“Did you know the body in the coffin wasn't his?”
Isabella hesitated.
Dominic saw it.
“Mother.”
“I wasn't sure.”
Celeste laughed bitterly.
“You weren't sure who we buried?”
Isabella began crying harder.
Vittorio watched all of them without emotion.
Dominic turned toward him.
“Whose body was it?”
Vittorio said nothing.
Dominic stepped closer.
“Whose?”
“A man who had no family.”
Rosa spat, “Everyone has someone.”
Vittorio glanced at her.
“Not him.”
Dominic wanted to ask a hundred questions.
Instead he chose the one that mattered.
“Elena.”
Vittorio’s expression changed.
Barely.
But Dominic saw it.
“Where is she?”
“I don't know.”
Dominic grabbed him again.
“Wrong answer.”
“Dominic,” Mara warned.
He ignored her.
“You staged her kidnapping.”
“Yes.”
Celeste gasped.
Isabella whispered, “Vittorio, don't.”
He looked at her.
“Why protect lies that have already failed?”
Dominic tightened his grip.
“Why?”
“Elena stole from me.”
“Records.”
“Yes.”
“She discovered Bellweather.”
“She discovered things she didn't understand.”
“She understood enough to run.”
Vittorio’s eyes hardened.
“She was twenty-two.”
“She was your daughter.”
“She was reckless.”
Dominic shoved him harder.
“She was scared of you.”
“She should have been.”
Mara flinched.
Dominic’s hand went for his father’s throat.
Mara grabbed him.
“Dominic.”
His father smiled.
Again.
That smile stopped Dominic.
Mara was right.
Vittorio wanted anger.
Angry men missed details.
Dominic released him.
“Peter Callahan.”
Vittorio’s smile disappeared.
Mara stepped closer.
“What did my father discover?”
Vittorio looked at her for a long time.
“You have his eyes.”
Mara's expression hardened.
“And you have ten seconds.”
Dominic almost looked at her.
Vittorio did.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.
“I understand why my son married you.”
“Nine.”
“Mara.”
“Eight.”
Vittorio’s amusement faded.
“Your father found Elena before I did.”
“Seven.”
“He hid her.”
“Six.”
“He helped her copy the remaining Bellweather records.”
“Five.”
“And then he made a mistake.”
Mara stopped counting.
“What mistake?”
“He trusted someone.”
“Who?”
Vittorio looked toward Rosa.
Rosa’s face changed.
Dominic saw it.
“You?”
Rosa shook her head.
“No.”
Vittorio smiled.
“She wishes.”
“Then who?” Mara asked.
Vittorio looked directly at Isabella.
The corridor became silent.
Mara stared at Dominic’s mother.
“My father trusted Isabella?”
Isabella whispered, “Peter called me.”
“When?”
“After Elena disappeared.”
“You told us that.”
“No.”
Isabella shook her head.
“The first time.”
Dominic frowned.
“There was another call?”
“Before the ransom.”
Vittorio said, “Now we're getting somewhere.”
Dominic ignored him.
“What did Peter want?”
Isabella looked at Mara.
“To know whether Elena could trust Dominic.”
Dominic froze.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
Isabella’s face crumpled.
“I said no.”
Celeste stared.
Dominic felt as though the floor shifted beneath him.
“Why?”
“You were twenty-six. You worked beside your father every day.”
“I didn't know what he was doing.”
“Elena didn't know that.”
“So you told her not to trust me.”
“I told Peter.”
“Same result.”
Isabella wiped her tears.
“I thought I was protecting you.”
“From my sister?”
“From Vittorio.”
Dominic turned toward his father.
Vittorio looked almost bored.
Mara stepped closer to Isabella.
“What happened after my father called you?”
“I met him.”
“Where?”
“Grand Central.”
“Was Elena there?”
“No.”
“What did he give you?”
Isabella looked toward the brass key in Mara’s hand.
Everyone followed her gaze.
Mara slowly raised it.
“This?”
Isabella shook her head.
“Another key.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
“To what?”
“A safe-deposit box.”
Mara looked at the number.
“317?”
“No.”
Isabella swallowed.
“318.”
Rosa went still.
Dominic noticed.
“You know it.”
Rosa shook her head.
“Peter only told me about 317.”
Vittorio laughed softly.
“Of course he did.”
Mara turned.
“What’s in 318?”
Vittorio looked at her.
“The reason your father died.”
Silence.
Mara’s face drained.
Dominic stepped between her and Vittorio.
“You killed Peter.”
Vittorio did not answer.
That was answer enough.
Mara moved before Dominic could.
She slapped Vittorio across the face.
Hard.
The sound cracked through the corridor.
Vittorio stared at her.
Mara’s eyes burned.
“My father died alone on a highway.”
Vittorio touched his cheek.
“Your father made choices.”
“So did you.”
“Yes.”
“And one of yours was murdering him?”
Vittorio’s expression became cold.
“I didn't kill Peter Callahan.”
Mara froze.
“You just said—”
“I said his death was connected to 318.”
“Who killed him?”
Vittorio looked toward Dominic.
“That question will cost your husband more than he wants to pay.”
Dominic stepped forward.
“Try me.”
Vittorio’s gaze moved to the security room.
“You should worry about Hale first.”
Everyone remembered at once.
The control room.
Dominic’s security chief pushed past Vittorio and entered.
“Hale?”
No answer.
Dominic followed.
The room was empty.
A chair lay overturned.
Several monitors displayed static.
One screen remained active.
Mara entered behind him.
“What is that?”
Security footage.
A hallway.
Not this house.
Dominic recognized the marble floor.
“The Serrano Foundation building.”
The timestamp was live.
12:41 A.M.
The building should have been empty.
Then someone walked into frame.
A woman.
Emerald dress.
Dark hair.
Curvy figure.
Mara.
Everyone looked at the real Mara.
She stared at the screen.
“That isn't me.”
The woman on camera walked toward the gala ballroom.
Dominic stepped closer to the monitor.
The resemblance was deliberate.
Same hair.
Same body shape.
Same emerald dress Dominic had sent Mara weeks earlier.
The second gown.
The one Mara had returned.
“She has my dress.”
Mara whispered.
Dominic turned toward Vittorio.
“What is this?”
Vittorio’s face had changed.
For the first time, the old man looked worried.
“I don't know.”
Dominic grabbed him.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I didn't arrange this.”
On-screen, the woman entered the ballroom.
Lights came on.
Rows of empty tables appeared.
She walked to the center.
Then looked directly into the camera.
She removed her wig.
Celeste screamed.
Dominic released his father.
The woman on the monitor had dark hair beneath it.
Older now.
But recognizable.
Celeste stepped toward the screen.
“No.”
Isabella collapsed into a chair.
“Elena.”
Dominic couldn't move.
His sister stared through the camera at him from another building.
Alive.
Twelve years older.
But alive.
She raised a sheet of paper.
Four words were written across it.
MARA HAS THE WRONG KEY.
Mara looked down at 317.
Elena dropped the paper.
Then held up another.
VITTORIO WANTS 318.
Dominic slowly turned toward his father.
Vittorio was gone.
“Where is he?”
The security chief ran into the corridor.
Dominic followed.
Empty.
Rosa checked the basement.
“Tunnel.”
Dominic cursed.
His phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
“Elena?”
Silence.
Then his sister’s voice.
Older.
Shaking.
“Dominic.”
His knees nearly gave way.
“Elena.”
“Listen to me.”
“Where are you?”
“Don't come here.”
“I'm coming.”
“No!”
Her fear stopped him.
“Elena—”
“Dad isn't the one you should be afraid of.”
Dominic looked toward the basement.
“Then who?”
A sound came through the call.
A door opening.
Elena gasped.
“Dominic, find Mara's key before they do.”
“Mara has it.”
“No.”
He looked at Mara.
Elena whispered, “317 isn't a locker number.”
Dominic frowned.
“What is it?”
“The date.”
Mara stared at the key.
March 17.
“Date of what?”
Elena began crying.
“The day Peter found out who was really controlling Bellweather.”
Dominic’s grip tightened around the phone.
“Who?”
A man's voice sounded behind Elena.
She went silent.
Dominic heard her breathing change.
“Elena?”
No answer.
“Elena!”
The call remained connected.
Then Elena whispered three words.
“He found me.”
A struggle erupted.
The phone struck something.
Dominic shouted her name.
Then another voice came onto the line.
A voice Mara recognized instantly.
Her face went white.
She grabbed Dominic’s wrist.
“That’s impossible.”
Dominic stared at her.
“Who is it?”
Mara could barely speak.
The voice on the phone calmly said her childhood nickname.
Only one person had ever called her that.
May you like
Mara backed away.
“My father.”
