Chapter 6 - Six Months of Silence
Victor’s disappearance tore a crack through Dominic’s world.
For three days, nobody knew whether he had run, been taken, or deliberately disappeared.
Dominic said little.
He stopped going to Marlow’s.
He stopped calling Alex unless something related to the audit required an answer.
His messages became brief.
TRANSACTION 4471. WHAT IS IT?
Alex replied.
FAKE LEASE. SAME VENDOR AS BRIAR.
An hour later:
ARE YOU SAFE?
She stared at that one longer.
YES.
He responded:
GOOD.
That became the rhythm between them.
Numbers.
Warnings.
Silence.
Yet silence, Alex discovered, could become its own form of intimacy.
She learned when Dominic was awake because messages arrived at impossible hours.
He learned when Alex was still working because she answered them.
Once, at 3:40 a.m., he sent:
SLEEP.
Alex replied:
YOU FIRST.
No response.
The next morning a coffee appeared at Marlow’s with her name written on the cup.
Bobby looked impressed.
“That’s romantic.”
“It’s caffeine.”
“From a man who owns three restaurants.”
“He knows I hate fancy coffee.”
“He drove across town to buy your bad coffee.”
“He probably sent someone.”
A message arrived.
I DROVE.
Alex looked toward the diner window.
A black sedan pulled away.
She smiled before she could stop herself.
Weeks passed.
Victor remained missing.
The internal audit exposed theft, bribery, and unauthorized transfers, but nothing large enough to explain the structure Alex had found.
Then she discovered shell companies tied to Salvatore Grayson.
The transactions suggested someone inside Dominic’s organization had been feeding money and information to Grayson for years.
Dominic became colder.
People around him became frightened.
Alex watched from a distance.
Every Tuesday his booth stayed empty.
And every Tuesday she missed him.
One evening Marco came to Marlow’s alone.
Alex poured him coffee.
“You’re not Dominic.”
“I noticed.”
“Where is he?”
“Working.”
“That sounds ominous.”
Marco looked at her.
“You should call him.”
“Why?”
“Because he won’t call you.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Marco stirred sugar into his coffee.
“He thinks distance keeps you safe.”
Alex stared.
“He’s been paying someone to sit outside my building every night.”
Marco stopped stirring.
“That’s not distance.”
“He’s complicated.”
“He’s infuriating.”
“That too.”
Alex leaned on the counter.
“Is he okay?”
Marco’s expression answered before his words did.
“No.”
“What happened?”
“Not mine to tell.”
“Marco.”
“He found Victor.”
Alex straightened.
“Where?”
“Hospital.”
“What happened?”
“He was attacked.”
“By Grayson?”
“Probably.”
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
“Can he talk?”
“Barely.”
Alex looked toward the empty booth.
“What did he say?”
Marco hesitated.
“Ask Dominic.”
An hour later Alex did.
Dominic answered after six rings.
“What?”
“It’s Alex.”
His voice changed instantly.
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened to me.”
Silence.
“Marco told me about Victor.”
Another silence.
“I’m going to kill him.”
“Marco?”
“For telling you.”
“He was worried.”
“Marco doesn’t worry.”
“Apparently he’s evolving.”
Dominic exhaled.
Alex heard traffic in the background.
“Where are you?”
“Car.”
“Going where?”
“Home.”
“Your home?”
“Yes.”
She hesitated.
“How is Victor?”
“Alive.”
“What did he say?”
Dominic was silent long enough that Alex knew the answer mattered.
“He said my mother’s initials.”
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
“And?”
“He said, ‘Ask Elena.’”
“But she’s dead.”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
“He lost consciousness.”
Alex thought.
“The birthday transfer.”
“I know.”
“Maybe E.M. doesn’t mean Elena Russo.”
“He said Elena.”
“Maybe it refers to something she left behind.”
Dominic said nothing.
“What happened to your mother’s belongings?”
“Stored.”
“Where?”
“My father’s old house.”
“You’ve checked?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Another pause.
“Because I haven’t gone inside that house in eight years.”
Alex softened.
“You don’t have to explain.”
“Yes, I do.”
The traffic sound disappeared.
Dominic had probably pulled over.
“My father was killed in that house.”
Alex closed her eyes.
“My mother died six months later.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I took everything important and shut the place down.”
“Maybe she hid something.”
“Maybe.”
“Then go.”
Dominic gave a humorless laugh.
“That easy?”
“No.”
Alex looked toward the rain beginning outside Marlow’s.
“Necessary things usually aren’t.”
The next afternoon Dominic entered his childhood home for the first time in eight years.
Alex went with him.
He had not asked.
She had insisted.
The Russo house stood behind iron gates north of the city.
Not a mansion exactly.
Older.
Stone.
Dark shutters.
Empty windows.
Dominic unlocked the front door.
Dust floated through shafts of afternoon light.
Furniture remained covered beneath white sheets.
Family photographs lined the hallway.
Alex saw Dominic at ten.
At twelve.
At sixteen.
A different boy in every frame.
Same eyes.
Less weight behind them.
He stopped beside one photograph.
His mother.
Elena Russo was beautiful.
Dark hair.
Warm eyes.
Standing beside a piano.
“She looks like you,” Alex said.
Dominic almost smiled.
“She’d hate hearing that.”
They searched for hours.
Nothing.
Then Alex noticed the piano.
“Did she play?”
“Every evening.”
“Was there a song she liked?”
Dominic looked at her strangely.
“Why?”
“Just thinking.”
He crossed the room.
Opened the bench.
Sheet music.
Old letters.
Photographs.
Then his hand stopped.
Taped beneath the wooden seat was a small brass key.
Dominic stared at it.
Alex whispered, “Looks like your mother wanted somebody to find that.”
They searched the house again.
The key fit nothing.
Not the desks.
Not cabinets.
Not doors.
Near midnight Alex found a tiny keyhole beneath the antique grandfather clock in the library.
Dominic inserted the key.
A hidden compartment opened.
Inside sat a black notebook.
On the cover, handwritten in faded ink:
FOR DOMINIC—WHEN YOU’RE READY TO KNOW WHO YOUR FATHER REALLY TRUSTED.
Dominic opened the first page.
His face changed.
Alex looked over his shoulder.
One name appeared at the top.
Victor Hale.
Below it was another.
Salvatore Grayson.
May you like
And below both, a third name neither of them expected.
Marco DeLuca.
