Chapter 2 - The Man Who Knew I Was Alive
Declan drew his weapon before the door opened.
The four guards moved with him.
I did not.
I could not.
For four years, I had trained myself to run whenever the past found me.
My legs simply refused to remember how.
The handle stopped turning.
No one spoke.
Then came four knocks.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
My private signal.
Run.
Declan looked at me.
“You taught someone that code?”
“No.”
“Then how—”
“I don’t know.”
Luca positioned himself beside the door.
Two guards aimed from the opposite wall.
Declan gestured for me to move behind him.
I almost laughed.
Four years disappeared for one ridiculous second.
He had done that throughout our marriage.
Storm.
Argument.
Gunshot.
Threat.
He always moved in front of me.
“I don’t need you shielding me.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
“Still controlling.”
“Still impossible.”
Something flickered in his eyes.
Almost familiarity.
Almost pain.
Then the door opened.
A man collapsed inside.
Not the scarred man.
A busboy.
Young.
Maybe nineteen.
Blood covered the shoulder of his white uniform.
I rushed toward him.
Declan caught my arm.
“Wait.”
“He’s hurt.”
“It could be a trap.”
“He’s a kid.”
I pulled free and dropped beside him.
His eyes found mine.
“You’re Evelyn.”
My stomach tightened.
“How do you know that?”
He struggled to breathe.
“They told us…”
“Who?”
“The people downstairs.”
“What people?”
His fingers closed around my wrist.
“They said you were dead.”
“I’m not.”
“I know.”
He started laughing weakly.
It became a cough.
Declan knelt beside us.
“Who shot you?”
The boy looked at him.
Fear widened his eyes.
“Mr. Rossi.”
“Who?”
“They came through the kitchen.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
“Where are they now?”
The busboy looked toward me.
“They’re looking for her.”
Declan stood.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
“Lock the floor.”
Luca spoke into his radio.
No response.
He tried again.
Nothing.
“Comms are dead.”
Declan’s eyes narrowed.
“Backup channel.”
“Dead too.”
Isabella backed toward the windows.
“This is ridiculous. I’m leaving.”
“You’re staying,” Declan said.
“I am not standing here while armed men—”
“You’re staying.”
She stared at him.
I watched her carefully.
Her fear looked real now.
But real fear did not make her innocent.
Declan helped the busboy into a chair.
“Name?”
“Ethan.”
“Ethan, listen to me. Is there another way onto this floor?”
The boy nodded weakly.
“Private elevator.”
“That requires biometric clearance.”
Ethan looked at Isabella.
“So did they.”
Every head turned.
Isabella went pale.
“What?”
“They used her clearance.”
“That’s impossible.”
Luca pulled out a tablet.
“No. It isn’t.”
He accessed the building security logs.
“Private elevator opened at 9:11.”
Declan looked at Isabella.
“Your biometric ID.”
“I was here.”
“Exactly.”
“I didn’t authorize anyone.”
“Someone did.”
I stood.
“Could they copy it?”
Luca nodded.
“If they had prolonged access to her phone, possibly.”
Isabella snapped, “Why would anyone target me?”
“They didn’t,” I said.
“They targeted me.”
She glared.
I walked toward her.
“Four years ago, someone wanted me erased.”
“You think I care?”
“No.”
I looked at her phone on the table.
“I think someone expected you to bring me closer to Declan without realizing it.”
Declan’s eyes sharpened.
The possibility settled over the room.
I had applied for the waitress job eight weeks earlier.
The restaurant had hired me unusually fast.
Two interviews waived.
Background check delayed.
VIP rotation reassigned only this morning.
And Isabella had specifically asked for me to serve the private dinner after seeing me downstairs.
At the time, I thought she wanted someone to humiliate.
Now I wondered if someone else had arranged the entire sequence.
Declan seemed to reach the same conclusion.
“Who assigned her tonight?”
The maître d’ swallowed.
“Mr. Carmine.”
Declan turned.
“Carmine D’Angelo?”
“Yes.”
My skin prickled.
I knew that name.
Not from Declan.
From captivity.
One of the men guarding me had received calls from someone named Carmine.
I had heard it through a basement vent.
Never seen his face.
Never knew whether it was a first name, last name or code.
“He knew,” I whispered.
Declan looked at me.
“Who?”
“Carmine.”
The maître d’ took a step backward.
Declan noticed.
“Where is he?”
“He left two hours ago.”
“Call him.”
The maître d’ pulled out his phone.
Declan stopped him.
“Speaker.”
The call rang.
Once.
Twice.
A man answered.
“Everything finished?”
The maître d’ froze.
Declan’s expression changed.
Carmine did not say hello.
He asked whether everything was finished.
Declan took the phone.
“No.”
Silence.
Then Carmine laughed softly.
“Declan.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I sound surprised.”
“Where are you?”
“Not where you can reach me.”
Declan glanced toward me.
“You knew Evelyn was alive.”
A pause.
Not long.
Long enough.
“I knew rumors.”
“You arranged her shift.”
“I arrange a lot of things.”
“Why?”
Carmine sighed.
“You still ask the wrong questions.”
Declan’s hand tightened around the phone.
“Give me the right one.”
Carmine answered immediately.
“Ask your wife why she never came home.”
I stared at the phone.
Declan looked at me.
Carmine continued.
“Ask her what she was shown.”
My throat closed.
No.
“Ask her whose signature she saw.”
Declan’s eyes hardened.
I had never told anyone about the documents.
Not even during the escape.
Not even after.
Because the signature at the bottom of those orders had been Declan’s.
Or a perfect copy.
Carmine laughed again.
“She remembers.”
Declan spoke quietly.
“Carmine, if you hurt her—”
“I didn’t.”
“Then who did?”
“That depends on whether you want the truth or someone convenient to kill.”
The call ended.
Nobody moved.
Declan looked at me.
“What signature?”
I wrapped my arms around myself.
The room was suddenly too warm.
“I was shown documents.”
“What documents?”
“Orders.”
“What kind?”
I looked at him.
“Orders authorizing my detention.”
Isabella stared.
Declan’s face became unreadable.
“They had your name.”
“My name.”
“And your signature.”
His jaw clenched.
“You believed them?”
“I was chained in a basement, Declan.”
His face flinched.
“They showed me photographs of you meeting men who guarded me.”
“What men?”
“I didn’t know their names.”
“Describe them.”
“One had gray hair. One wore a ring with a black stone. Another had the scar.”
Declan went completely still.
“What?”
“You know them.”
He did not answer.
“Declan.”
“The man with the black ring.”
“Yes?”
“My father wore one.”
I stared at him.
“Your father was dead before I disappeared.”
“I know.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying the ring belonged to him.”
Luca interrupted.
“Boss.”
He held up the tablet.
A security camera had come back online.
One corridor.
Private elevator level.
Three armed men stood outside.
And between them was Carmine D’Angelo.
He looked directly into the security camera.
Then he raised his left hand.
A long scar ran across his palm.
My knees weakened.
Carmine.
The guard.
The man who had watched me for eleven months.
The man who had told me Declan would die if I returned.
Declan saw my reaction.
“That’s him.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
His face became terrifyingly calm.
“Open the elevator.”
Luca stared at him.
“Boss—”
“Open it.”
“You want them up here?”
“I want Carmine in front of me.”
The elevator indicator changed.
Isabella backed away.
“You’re insane.”
Declan ignored her.
My hands shook.
Declan noticed.
“You can go into the safe room.”
“No.”
“Evelyn.”
“I ran for four years.”
The elevator reached 33.
“I’m done.”
The doors opened.
Three men stepped out.
Carmine stood in the middle.
Older than I remembered.
Thinner.
Same eyes.
Same scar.
He smiled when he saw me.
“There she is.”
Declan raised his gun.
Carmine raised both hands.
“I came to talk.”
“You kidnapped my wife.”
“I kept her alive.”
“You chained her in a basement.”
“I kept her alive.”
Declan stepped closer.
“You have ten seconds before I forget I want answers.”
Carmine looked at me.
“Did you keep the locket?”
I tightened my hand around it.
His smile faded.
“Good.”
“What does it have to do with anything?”
“Everything.”
He looked at Declan.
“Your wife was never supposed to be killed.”
Declan’s voice dropped.
“Then why fake her death?”
“Because someone wanted you to become exactly what you became after losing her.”
Declan stared.
Carmine continued.
“Cold. Isolated. Predictable.”
“Who?”
“You already know.”
“I don’t.”
Carmine smiled sadly.
“That’s the problem.”
I stepped forward.
“You told me he ordered it.”
Carmine looked at me.
“I told you what I needed you to believe.”
“Why?”
“To keep you from coming back too soon.”
“Too soon for what?”
He glanced toward Isabella.
She froze.
Carmine looked at Declan.
“For his engagement.”
Declan turned toward Isabella.
Her mouth opened.
“No.”
Carmine laughed.
“You still don’t see it.”
Isabella shook her head.
“Declan, he’s lying.”
“Maybe.”
Carmine reached slowly inside his coat.
Every gun in the room rose.
“Easy.”
He removed an envelope.
Yellowed.
Folded.
Marked with my name.
EVELYN ROSSI.
He placed it on the table.
“That was written the night she disappeared.”
Declan stared at it.
“By who?”
Carmine’s answer was almost a whisper.
“Your mother.”
Declan’s face drained of color.
His mother had been dead for twelve years.
Luca picked up the envelope.
“There’s something inside.”
He opened it.
A photograph fell onto the table.
Declan looked down.
Then everything inside him seemed to stop.
The photograph showed me unconscious in the basement.
Standing beside me was Carmine.
And beside Carmine was a woman Declan had buried twelve years earlier.
His mother.
May you like
On the back were six handwritten words.
DECLAN MUST NEVER KNOW I SURVIVED.
