Chapter 9 - The Name Written in Red
My mother began crying before Brandon finished speaking.
“What aren't you telling me?”
She didn't answer.
Mateo turned toward her.
“Tell her.”
My mother shook her head.
“I can't.”
“You can.”
Brandon's footsteps echoed somewhere beyond the wall.
My mother looked at me.
“Your father didn't die because he refused to cooperate.”
“Then why?”
“He had evidence.”
“What evidence?”
“Evidence against the person who ordered Mateo's brother's murder.”
Mateo's face hardened.
“Who?”
My mother closed her eyes.
“Victor Hayes.”
I looked at the ledger.
“But Victor disappeared.”
“He didn't disappear.”
My mother's voice cracked.
“He changed his identity.”
Mateo stared at her.
“Where is he?”
She looked at me.
“In Chicago.”
I felt sick.
“Who is he now?”
My mother whispered a name.
I didn't recognize it.
Mateo did.
His face changed.
“No.”
“What?”
“That man has been dead for six years.”
My mother shook her head.
“His death was staged.”
A sound came from the hallway.
The crypt door began opening.
Mateo pushed me behind him.
Brandon entered.
He held a gun.
“Enough.”
I stared at him.
“You knew.”
“I knew some of it.”
“Did you know about my father?”
“Yes.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No.”
“Did you help Victor?”
Brandon lowered his weapon slightly.
“I had no choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
He looked at me.
“You think I wanted to marry you?”
The words hurt.
Even though I already knew.
“You needed the money.”
“Yes.”
“And Gemma?”
“She was leverage.”
I swallowed.
“Did you ever love me?”
He didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
Mateo stepped forward.
“You're finished.”
Brandon smiled.
“Not yet.”
He raised the gun.
My mother screamed.
A shot rang out.
Mateo moved.
The bullet struck the wall.
Someone tackled Brandon from behind.
Salvatore.
He wrestled the gun away.
Brandon was dragged to the floor.
Mateo looked at me.
“Are you hurt?”
I shook my head.
Then I saw something on the floor.
A small photograph.
It had fallen from Brandon's pocket.
I picked it up.
It showed my father standing beside a younger Mateo.
But there was someone else in the background.
A little girl.
Me.
I turned the photograph over.
There was handwriting.
She was never supposed to know.
My mother covered her mouth.
Mateo took the photograph.
“What does this mean?”
My mother whispered:
“It means your father and my family made a deal.”
“What deal?”
She looked at me.
“Your father promised to protect you.”
“From whom?”
She hesitated.
Then said:
“From Mateo's family.”
Mateo stared at her.
Before anyone could speak, his phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
“Say that again.”
He listened.
Then looked at me.
“Gemma is gone.”
A second later, another message arrived.
BRING MAEVE TO THE OLD RESTORATION STUDIO.
May you like
Beneath it was one final line.
COME BEFORE YOU LEARN WHO YOUR FATHER REALLY WORKED FOR.
