Chapter 3 - The Secret She Carried Without Knowing It
Maya had always believed her life was simple.
Not easy.
Simple.
She worked.
She paid bills.
She protected Sophie.
She slept when she could.
She did not think about criminals, political corruption, hidden organizations, or men like Dominic Russo.
Now, those things had entered her life without permission.
Dominic moved her temporarily to a townhouse.
Maya hated it.
It had marble floors.
Three bedrooms.
A library.
Security cameras.
A woman named Rosa who insisted Maya eat breakfast.
“I can feed myself,” Maya told her.
Rosa looked offended.
“I know.”
“Then why are you cooking?”
“Because you're too thin.”
Maya stared.
“I am average.”
“You are exhausted.”
“Same thing.”
Rosa laughed.
“Eat.”
Maya ate.
For two weeks, Dominic barely appeared.
He sent messages.
You need rest.
She ignored them.
You have an appointment with your sister.
She replied that she knew.
One evening he returned unexpectedly.
Maya was in the kitchen reviewing medical paperwork.
He walked in.
She looked up.
“You're late.”
He paused.
“Were you waiting?”
“No.”
“You said I'm late.”
“I meant you are objectively late for dinner.”
“There is dinner?”
“You live here half the time.”
He sat.
Maya served him pasta.
He stared at the plate.
“You cooked.”
“I know.”
He took a bite.
“This is good.”
“I know.”
His lips twitched.
“You always answer like that?”
“When people state obvious things.”
He ate another bite.
For a few minutes, they were simply two people having dinner.
Then Dominic said quietly,
“Your mother knew my father.”
Maya's fork stopped.
“What?”
He watched her carefully.
“Your mother. Elena Bennett.”
Maya's heart began racing.
“How do you know her name?”
“I had someone search old records.”
“That is not an answer.”
Dominic put his fork down.
“Your mother worked at one of my family's clubs in the late nineties.”
“No.”
“You were born shortly after.”
Maya shook her head.
“My mother was never around rich people.”
“She was.”
“Why would she hide that?”
“I don't know.”
Maya looked away.
“You're wrong.”
Dominic reached into his jacket.
He placed a photograph on the table.
Maya picked it up.
Her mother.
Twenty-six years old.
Standing outside a restaurant.
Beside her was a younger man.
Dominic's father.
Maya's fingers shook.
“What is this?”
“I don't know yet.”
“That is my mother.”
“Yes.”
“She hated this city.”
“Maybe afterward.”
Maya looked at him.
“What happened?”
“I don't know.”
“Then find out.”
He stared at her.
“You want to?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I deserve to know who my mother was.”
Dominic nodded.
“Then we find out.”
The investigation uncovered something strange.
Elena Bennett had worked for Dominic's family for three years.
Then one night, she vanished.
There had been no police report.
No missing-person case.
Nothing.
Only a bank withdrawal.
One hundred thousand dollars.
Maya stared at the record.
“My mother took this?”
“Apparently.”
“She left because of money?”
“Maybe.”
“That doesn't sound like her.”
“What was she like?”
Maya hesitated.
“Beautiful.”
Dominic waited.
“Impulsive.”
Another pause.
“Sometimes selfish.”
“Anything else?”
Maya looked down.
“Afraid.”
Dominic's eyes narrowed.
“Of what?”
“I never knew.”
They found another photograph.
Elena.
Dominic's father.
And a third man.
Dominic recognized him.
His face went cold.
“That is Antonio Bellini.”
“Who?”
“My father's accountant.”
“Where is he now?”
“Dead.”
“When?”
“Twenty-seven years ago.”
Maya stared.
“That's impossible.”
“No.”
She looked at Dominic.
“What's going on?”
He did not answer.
That night Maya woke to voices downstairs.
She moved quietly.
Dominic was speaking to one of his men.
“Someone inside the old organization knew Elena.”
“Maybe.”
“Find everyone who worked here then.”
“Already started.”
Maya stepped into the hallway.
“Stop.”
Both men turned.
Dominic's jaw tightened.
“You shouldn't be awake.”
“I heard you.”
He walked toward her.
“This isn't your problem.”
“My mother is my problem.”
He stopped.
“You're right.”
She stared.
“Then let me help.”
He looked at her for several seconds.
“Your strength is your weakness.”
“What?”
“You care.”
“And you don't?”
His expression hardened.
“I cared once.”
Maya didn't know why, but she wanted to know what happened.
Instead she said,
“Then maybe it's time you cared again.”
He looked away.
The next morning, they went to an old warehouse.
The place had belonged to the Russo organization decades earlier.
Dust covered everything.
Maya walked between crates.
Her fingers traced old labels.
Then she stopped.
A faded mark.
Three diagonal stitches.
She touched it.
“What?”
Dominic looked over.
“These boxes.”
“What about them?”
“They were packed in Naples.”
“How do you know?”
“My mother taught me.”
He looked at the stitches.
“What do they mean?”
“Safe transport.”
She opened a crate.
Inside were old ledgers.
Dominic approached.
Maya carefully lifted one.
“Someone used tailoring marks to hide financial codes.”
He stared.
“You can read them?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I spent half my life sewing.”
She turned pages.
Numbers.
Dates.
Names.
One name appeared again and again.
ELENA BENNETT.
Maya's breath stopped.
Then she found another.
SOPHIA BENNETT.
Her little sister.
Impossible.
Sophie was nineteen.
These records were decades old.
Dominic took the ledger.
He read it.
Then looked at Maya.
“Maya.”
“What?”
“This is not about your mother.”
“What do you mean?”
He showed her a coded entry.
ELENA — PROTECTED.
SOPHIA — TRANSFERRED.
Maya stared.
“Transferred where?”
May you like
Dominic's expression darkened.
“We need to talk to your sister.”
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