Chapter 3 - The Man My Family Feared
Vincent moved Clare behind him.
Isabella reached beneath her jacket.
Clare noticed.
“Please tell me that's not what I think it is.”
“It depends what you think it is.”
The elevator reached the floor.
The doors opened.
Jenna stepped out.
Clare nearly collapsed.
“Jenna?”
Her friend rushed forward.
“I've been calling you for an hour.”
Vincent's security guards lowered their hands.
Clare hugged her.
“What are you doing here?”
Jenna held up her phone.
“Someone sent me pictures of you.”
Clare pulled away.
“What pictures?”
“You and Vincent. Tonight. Yesterday at lunch. Outside your apartment.”
Vincent took the phone.
The messages came from an unknown number.
The final one said:
TELL CLARE TO STOP LOOKING.
Jenna's face tightened.
“What exactly did you get me into?”
Clare gave a humorless laugh.
“I think technically I got myself into it.”
Vincent arranged security for Jenna.
Then he told Clare she would not return to her apartment.
“No.”
“Clare.”
“I am not being hidden somewhere.”
“You're being protected.”
“I've heard that sentence from my father already.”
Vincent absorbed the blow.
“Then choose where.”
That stopped her.
“What?”
“Hotel. Your parents' house. Isabella's residence. One of mine. Choose.”
Clare studied him.
He wasn't ordering.
He was giving her control.
“Your place.”
Isabella raised an eyebrow.
Jenna's eyes widened.
Clare added, “Because whoever is doing this clearly expects me to run from him.”
Vincent nodded.
“Reasonable.”
His home surprised her.
Not a dark mansion.
Not armed men standing beneath chandeliers.
A penthouse overlooking Manhattan.
Quiet.
Modern.
Books everywhere.
Clare stopped before a framed photograph.
A younger Vincent stood beside an older man.
His father, presumably.
Beside them was another young man.
“Your brother?”
Vincent looked over.
“Cousin. Luca.”
“Where is he?”
Vincent's expression closed.
“Dead.”
Clare regretted asking.
“I'm sorry.”
“So am I.”
Later, after Jenna had been placed in a guest room, Clare found Vincent in the kitchen making espresso.
“Do feared mafia bosses usually make their own coffee?”
He looked at her.
“Only after midnight.”
“So you admit the mafia part?”
“I admit people call me things.”
“Are the things true?”
“Some.”
That answer was more honest than denial.
Clare sat at the counter.
“Did you know Ethan well?”
“No.”
“But you liked him.”
Vincent considered.
“I respected him.”
“Why?”
“He wasn't afraid of me.”
Clare smiled faintly.
“That sounds like Ethan.”
“He walked into my office with seventeen pages of evidence and told me someone was stealing from me.”
“What did you say?”
“I asked whether he understood whose office he was standing in.”
“And?”
“He said, ‘Yes. That's why I'm here.’”
Clare laughed.
Then cried.
It happened without warning.
Vincent did not touch her.
He placed a box of tissues on the counter.
That somehow made it worse.
“I spent five years thinking he fell asleep driving.”
“I know.”
“My parents let me believe that.”
“They were frightened.”
“So was Ethan.”
“Yes.”
“But he kept going.”
“Yes.”
Clare wiped her face.
“Then so will I.”
Vincent looked at her for a long moment.
“All right.”
No argument.
No paternalistic warning.
Just agreement.
They spent the next morning reconstructing Ethan's investigation.
The recovered files showed a network of companies moving millions through Moretti, Romano, and Bennett-connected businesses.
Clare's father's company had not participated intentionally.
But Robert had signed documents he hadn't understood.
Daniel had.
One signature appeared repeatedly.
D. Mercer.
Another appeared beneath several authorizations.
L. Moretti.
Clare stared at it.
“Luca?”
Vincent said nothing.
“Your dead cousin?”
“Yes.”
“Was he involved?”
“I thought so.”
“You thought?”
Vincent walked toward the window.
“Luca died six months after Ethan.”
“How?”
“Overdose.”
Clare watched him.
“You don't believe that.”
“No.”
Suddenly the puzzle changed.
Ethan had died.
Luca had died.
Both connected to Marcus Vale.
“What if Luca wasn't helping Vale?”
Vincent turned.
“What?”
“What if someone used his authorization?”
Vincent's expression sharpened.
Clare pointed at the screen.
“These transfers continued after Luca died.”
Silence.
Vincent came closer.
She was right.
Someone had continued using Luca's credentials for fourteen months after his death.
Vincent called his cybersecurity director.
Within an hour they identified the source of several old logins.
A private office inside Moretti Holdings.
The office had belonged to Vincent's uncle.
Salvatore Moretti.
Vincent's father's younger brother.
Clare watched his face.
“You trust him?”
“I did.”
At noon, Salvatore arrived.
Sixty-three.
Silver hair.
Expensive suit.
Warm smile.
He embraced Vincent.
Then noticed Clare.
“So this is the woman everyone is talking about.”
Clare extended her hand.
“Clare Bennett.”
“I know.”
She caught the wording.
Vincent did too.
They sat.
Vincent showed him nothing.
Instead he asked about Luca.
Salvatore became emotional.
Convincingly so.
“He was my son.”
Clare's heart skipped.
She had assumed Luca was merely a cousin.
Vincent watched his uncle.
“Did Luca ever mention Ethan Bennett?”
Salvatore looked at Clare.
“No.”
Too fast.
Clare saw it.
Vincent did too.
Salvatore left twenty minutes later.
As soon as the elevator closed, Vincent's security director entered.
“He lied.”
“About what?”
“We checked archived visitor logs.”
He placed a tablet on the table.
“Ethan Bennett visited Salvatore Moretti three times.”
Clare's pulse quickened.
“When?”
“The month before he died.”
Vincent's face hardened.
Clare whispered, “Your uncle knew him.”
“Yes.”
Her phone rang.
Vanessa.
Clare answered.
“Where are you?”
Vanessa's voice trembled.
“I left Daniel.”
“Where are you?”
“A hotel.”
“Which one?”
“I can't say.”
“Vanessa, listen to me—”
“I found something else.”
Clare put the call on speaker.
“What?”
“Daniel kept a storage unit in Queens.”
Vincent moved closer.
“I went there this morning.”
Clare closed her eyes.
“Please tell me you didn't go alone.”
“I did.”
“Vanessa.”
“There were boxes. Financial records. Ethan's name was everywhere.”
Vincent took the phone.
“Tell me the address.”
Vanessa did.
Then she said, “There's something else.”
“What?”
“A photograph.”
Clare's stomach tightened.
“Of who?”
“Daniel and Marcus Vale.”
“That isn't surprising.”
“No.”
Vanessa started crying.
“There was another man with them.”
Clare looked at Vincent.
“Who?”
Vanessa whispered the name.
“Salvatore Moretti.”
Vincent went completely still.
Then the call disconnected.
“Vanessa?”
Nothing.
Clare called back.
No answer.
Vincent's security team moved immediately.
They reached the hotel twenty-three minutes later.
Vanessa's room was empty.
No struggle.
Her phone remained on the bed.
Beside it sat a key.
Storage unit 417.
They drove to Queens.
The storage facility manager opened the unit.
Boxes lined the walls.
Vincent examined one.
Clare opened another.
Financial records.
Photographs.
Copies of Ethan's notes.
Then she found a small voice recorder.
A strip of masking tape had been attached.
ETHAN—FINAL MEETING.
Clare's hands trembled.
Vincent stood beside her.
“You don't have to listen now.”
“Yes, I do.”
She pressed play.
Static.
Then Ethan's voice.
“You told me Luca was responsible.”
A man's voice answered.
Clare recognized it.
Her father.
Robert Bennett.
Then another voice spoke.
Older.
Controlled.
Salvatore.
“You've gone too far, Ethan.”
Clare gripped the recorder.
Ethan answered.
“If anything happens to me, Clare gets everything.”
The recording ended.
Clare stared at the device.
“He left something for me.”
Vincent nodded.
“But I never got it.”
Behind them, a box shifted.
Both turned.
A false panel had fallen loose from the rear wall.
Vincent pulled it aside.
Inside was a small metal safe.
Clare entered Ethan's birthday.
Wrong.
She tried hers.
The lock clicked.
Inside was a single sealed envelope.
Her name was written across it in Ethan's handwriting.
CLARE.
She reached for it.
Then Vincent's phone rang.
His security chief spoke rapidly.
Vincent's face changed.
“What?”
Clare looked at him.
He ended the call.
“Vanessa has been found.”
“Is she okay?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Vincent stared at the envelope in Clare's hand.
“At your father's house.”
May you like
Clare froze.
“And she says your father was expecting her.”
