Chapter 3 - The Lie Behind the Engagement
I showed Marco the message.
He went pale.
That frightened me more than the threat itself.
Marco Bellini had a face built for bad news.
Scar beside his eyebrow.
Broken nose that had healed slightly crooked.
The calm expression of a man who had probably watched people die.
But when he saw the words THE BABY, his jaw tightened.
“Give me the phone.”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“No.”
“I need to trace it.”
“You can look without taking it.”
He glanced at me in the rearview mirror.
“You and Declan really are perfect for each other.”
“Don't insult me.”
The driver almost smiled.
Marco didn't.
He photographed the screen with his own phone and called Declan.
This time, he put the call on speaker.
“Say it,” Declan answered.
“We received direct contact.”
Silence.
Marco continued.
“Photograph of Henry Calloway. Alive. Timestamp current.”
Another pause.
“What demand?”
Marco looked at me.
I answered myself.
“The wedding happens.”
Declan's voice changed.
“Elena?”
“Yes.”
“Are you safe?”
“For the moment.”
“What else did they say?”
I hesitated.
Then read it.
“Or next time, we send you the baby.”
Nothing came through the speaker for several seconds.
When Declan finally spoke, his voice was so controlled that I understood how dangerous his anger was.
“Marco, take her to Site Six.”
“No,” I said.
Declan ignored me.
“Double the perimeter. Nobody uses phones within five hundred yards. Switch vehicles twice.”
“Declan.”
“Elena, please.”
That word again.
Please.
Not an order.
Somehow worse.
“I am going to Wisconsin.”
“No.”
“We agreed.”
“That location may be compromised.”
“By whom?”
“I don't know.”
“Exactly.”
“Elena—”
“If they know about the baby, they may know every property you own.”
He didn't answer.
“So we stop going where you expect.”
Marco looked at me through the mirror.
“What are you suggesting?”
“My grandmother's house.”
Declan spoke immediately.
“No.”
I smiled without humor.
“You lasted almost ten minutes.”
“Elena, the answer is no.”
“My grandmother died when I was seventeen. The house is in my aunt's name. I haven't been there in over a decade. It's outside Galena.”
Marco frowned.
“Anyone connect you to it?”
“Only family.”
Declan was silent.
Then: “Send Marco the address privately.”
“I'm not telling you?”
His voice softened.
“If my communications are compromised, I don't want to know.”
That was the first truly frightening thing he'd said.
Not because of the words.
Because Declan Voss trusted himself less than he trusted me.
We changed vehicles at a service station.
Then again near Rockford.
By dawn, we reached the old farmhouse.
It looked almost exactly as I remembered.
White siding.
Narrow porch.
Red barn leaning slightly toward a field.
The kind of place no one would connect to Chicago's most feared crime boss.
Marco's men checked every room.
I stood in the kitchen and remembered my grandmother making pancakes.
For the first time since the hospital, I cried without anger.
Just fear.
I touched my stomach.
“You're okay,” I whispered.
Maybe I was telling the baby.
Maybe myself.
The phone rang around noon.
Savannah Calloway.
I stared at her name.
Then answered.
“You have nerve.”
Her voice sounded nothing like the polished woman on television.
She sounded exhausted.
“Declan told me about the message.”
“You knew I existed?”
“Yes.”
That hurt.
“How long?”
“Three months.”
I closed my eyes.
“Wonderful.”
“Elena—”
“Don't.”
“I didn't agree to this because I wanted him.”
“You wore the ring beautifully.”
“My brother is tied to a chair somewhere.”
That ended my sarcasm.
Savannah continued.
“I know you hate me.”
“I don't know you well enough.”
“Good. Keep it that way until this is over.”
“Who sent the photograph?”
“We don't know.”
“Declan says you're helping search.”
“I am.”
“And your father demanded the marriage?”
Silence.
“Savannah.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because my father believes the only thing stronger than fear is blood.”
“What does that mean?”
“He thinks combining our families makes us impossible to divide.”
“Your father sounds charming.”
“He isn't.”
I sat at the kitchen table.
“Does Henry know about the engagement?”
“No.”
“How do you know he's alive?”
“The photograph.”
“You had nothing before?”
A pause.
“One finger.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“They mailed one of his fingers six months ago.”
I closed my eyes.
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be. Help me find him.”
“How?”
“By making Declan think.”
“He seems to do plenty of that.”
“No. Declan reacts when he thinks you're in danger. He stops seeing patterns.”
I couldn't disagree.
“What pattern?”
“Everyone targeted so far had access to one specific thing.”
“What?”
“Port schedules.”
I frowned.
“Declan's people?”
“And ours.”
“So someone wants shipping routes.”
“Maybe.”
“Drugs?”
“Could be weapons. Money. People.”
The thought made me sick.
Savannah lowered her voice.
“I found something this morning.”
“What?”
“A ledger.”
“Where?”
“Henry's apartment.”
“Eight months later?”
“My father sealed the place.”
“And now?”
“I went in without permission.”
I almost smiled.
Perhaps Savannah and I had something in common after all.
“What did you find?”
“Three payments made to an LLC called Northstar Strategic Consulting.”
I waited.
She continued.
“One from Henry.”
“One from Declan's dead accountant.”
“And one from a man named Victor Hale.”
My skin prickled.
“Who is Victor Hale?”
Savannah didn't answer immediately.
Then she said, “Declan's uncle.”
I stood.
“I thought his family was dead.”
“His parents are.”
“What about his uncle?”
“Very much alive.”
I had never heard the name.
Not once.
Savannah continued.
“Victor helped raise Declan after his father was killed.”
“Then why doesn't Declan talk about him?”
“Because Declan believes Victor betrayed the family fifteen years ago and disappeared.”
“Believes?”
“No body was ever found.”
I looked out the farmhouse window.
Snow covered the field.
One of Marco's men stood by the barn.
“What does Northstar do?”
“Officially? Corporate risk consulting.”
“And unofficially?”
“I don't know.”
“Find out.”
A humorless laugh.
“I was hoping you'd say that.”
The call ended.
I sat for nearly an hour thinking.
Then Marco came inside.
“Everything okay?”
“No.”
“Good. Normal day, then.”
I almost laughed.
“Do you know Victor Hale?”
Marco's face became still.
That was answer enough.
“Where did you hear that name?”
“Savannah.”
He cursed.
“Tell me.”
“Victor was Declan's mother's brother.”
“Was?”
“He disappeared.”
“Why?”
Marco looked toward the window.
“Declan's father was killed in an ambush. His mother died six months later.”
“How?”
“Car accident.”
“You don't believe that.”
“No.”
“Victor?”
“Declan did.”
“What happened?”
“Declan was nineteen. Angry. He found evidence Victor had been meeting with the family responsible for the ambush.”
“So he confronted him.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Victor vanished that night.”
I felt cold despite the heater.
“Did Declan kill him?”
“No.”
“You sound sure.”
“I was there.”
That surprised me.
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-one.”
“What happened?”
Marco's gaze hardened.
“Victor told Declan one day he'd understand why betrayal was sometimes the only way to save someone you loved.”
The words echoed.
Betrayal.
Save someone you loved.
Declan announcing an engagement to protect me.
History repeating itself.
“Did Declan let him go?”
Marco nodded.
“He regretted it for fifteen years.”
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number again.
This time there was no photograph.
Only an address.
Chicago.
Then:
COME ALONE IF YOU WANT THE TRUTH ABOUT DECLAN'S FATHER.
Marco saw my face.
“What?”
I locked the phone.
“Nothing.”
“Elena.”
“Spam.”
“You're a terrible liar.”
“I've had bad teachers.”
He stepped closer.
“Show me.”
I didn't.
Because another message appeared.
IF DECLAN LEARNS ABOUT THIS, HENRY DIES.
Then another.
IF MARCO LEARNS, YOU DO.
I looked at Marco.
He was watching me carefully.
I forced myself to breathe.
“I'm tired.”
“Get some sleep.”
“I will.”
I went upstairs.
Locked the bedroom door.
Sat on the bed.
And stared at the Chicago address.
I knew going would be reckless.
Stupid.
Possibly fatal.
I also knew one thing Declan had taught me.
When someone desperately wanted you afraid of the truth, the truth mattered.
At 2:07 a.m., I heard a vehicle leaving the driveway.
At 2:11, footsteps moved downstairs.
At 2:13, I opened my bedroom window.
There was a ladder against the side of the house from repairs my aunt had never finished.
I climbed down.
A spare car sat inside the old barn.
My grandmother had hidden the keys in the same place for twenty years.
I found them.
Three hours later, I reached Chicago.
The address led to an abandoned church on the South Side.
I stepped through the broken door.
A single light burned near the altar.
Someone sat in the front pew.
He slowly stood.
He had Declan's eyes.
May you like
And when he turned toward me, Victor Hale said,
“You're carrying my nephew's child.”
