Chapter 2 - The Sister Who Disappeared
Bianca didn’t scream.
That was the first mistake the man made.
He expected fear to paralyze her.
Instead, she grabbed the ceramic bowl beside the sink and threw it directly at his face.
He ducked.
The bowl shattered against the wall.
Bianca ran.
She reached the hallway before a hand caught the back of her shirt.
Fabric tore.
She slammed her elbow backward and heard a grunt.
Her mother had spent fifteen years teaching her that survival rarely looked graceful.
It looked desperate.
Ugly.
Fast.
Bianca kicked backward, broke free, and reached the front door.
Her fingers closed around the handle.
Locked.
She had locked it herself.
The attacker grabbed her shoulder.
Bianca spun and drove the heel of her palm upward.
He staggered.
She unlocked the door.
A second man appeared in the hallway.
Bianca’s stomach dropped.
The first man laughed behind her.
“End of the road.”
Then the elevator doors opened.
Luca stepped out.
He took in the scene instantly.
Bianca.
Two strangers.
Torn shirt.
One man reaching inside his jacket.
Luca didn’t ask questions.
The first attacker went down before he finished drawing whatever he was reaching for.
The second turned to run.
Two of Adrian’s security men appeared from the stairwell.
Thirty seconds later, both strangers were on the floor.
Bianca stared at Luca.
He adjusted one cuff as though he had just completed an unpleasant but routine business meeting.
“Ms. Vale?”
She backed away.
“Don’t.”
“Adrian sent us.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“It probably should.”
“It really doesn’t.”
Luca looked over her shoulder into the apartment.
“You shouldn’t stay here.”
“I’m aware.”
“We can take you somewhere secure.”
“No.”
“Ms. Vale—”
“I said no.”
Luca sighed.
“You have your brother’s personality.”
Bianca went still.
He immediately realized his mistake.
Neither spoke.
Finally Bianca asked, “He knows?”
“Part of it.”
“How?”
“He visited his mother.”
Bianca closed her eyes.
Of course.
There had never been many people who knew.
When she opened them again, anger had replaced fear.
“I told him to leave it alone.”
“Yes. Adrian has famously respected instructions his entire life.”
Despite everything, something almost resembling a laugh escaped her.
It disappeared immediately.
“Where is he?”
“On his way.”
“No.”
The elevator chimed.
Adrian stepped out.
Bianca stared at him.
He stared back.
For a strange second neither seemed capable of moving.
Fourteen years existed between them.
Fourteen years of birthdays missed.
Christmas mornings spent in different cities.
Funerals attended alone.
Lives built around an absence neither had chosen.
Adrian looked at Bianca’s torn shirt.
Then at the men restrained on the floor.
His face changed.
“Who did this?”
Bianca folded her arms.
“You need to leave.”
“Who are they?”
“I don’t know.”
Adrian looked at Luca.
“We haven’t identified them yet.”
“Do it.”
“We’re working on it.”
Adrian turned back to Bianca.
“You’re coming with me.”
“No.”
“That wasn’t a question.”
“Good, because the answer is still no.”
His jaw tightened.
Bianca almost smiled.
There it was.
The same expression he had worn at eighteen whenever she told him something he didn’t want to hear.
The recognition hurt more than she expected.
Adrian noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You looked at me.”
“I’m currently looking at you.”
“No. Before.”
Bianca shook her head.
“We’re not doing this in the hallway.”
“Then come with me.”
“No.”
Another pause.
Adrian lowered his voice.
“You’re my sister.”
Bianca flinched.
Hearing it aloud was different.
She hated that her eyes immediately burned.
“You don’t get to say that.”
His expression hardened.
“Why?”
“Because you don’t remember.”
“I’m trying.”
“You’re trying now.”
“I didn’t know you existed.”
“You did know.”
The words landed hard.
“You knew everything.”
Bianca’s voice trembled despite her effort to control it.
“You found me when I was fifteen. You came to our apartment because you discovered letters your father had hidden. You stood in my mother’s kitchen and told me I was your sister.”
Adrian didn’t move.
“You took me for ice cream because you said siblings were supposed to do normal things together.”
A fragment hit him.
Chocolate ice cream.
A girl laughing because he spilled some on his shirt.
Adrian pressed a hand against the wall.
Bianca saw.
Her anger vanished for a moment.
“What?”
“I remembered something.”
“What?”
“Ice cream.”
Bianca’s face crumpled.
She immediately turned away.
Adrian had survived gunshots without making a sound.
Watching Bianca try not to cry hurt more.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t choose to forget you.”
“But you did.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“No.”
She turned back.
“It isn’t.”
Her eyes were wet.
“None of it was fair.”
The corridor fell quiet.
Adrian looked toward the apartment.
“Five minutes.”
“For what?”
“Pack whatever you need.”
“I said—”
“Two men just entered your home.”
“I noticed.”
“They knew where you lived.”
“Yes.”
“They knew you had seen me tonight.”
Bianca hesitated.
That was the part she hadn’t wanted to consider.
Adrian stepped closer.
“If you hate me tomorrow, fine.”
His voice softened.
“But tonight you stay alive.”
Bianca stared at him.
Somewhere deep inside, beneath fourteen years of anger, she heard the eighteen-year-old Adrian again.
No matter what, you have me.
She hated herself for wanting to believe him.
“Fine.”
Adrian nodded.
“Five minutes.”
“Ten.”
“Seven.”
Bianca gave him an irritated look.
For the first time that night, the corner of Adrian’s mouth moved.
“Still stubborn.”
Her breath caught.
“That’s what you used to say.”
The almost-smile disappeared.
“I wish I remembered.”
“So do I.”
---
Adrian brought Bianca to a secured penthouse overlooking the river.
It was one of several properties he owned under companies few people could trace.
Bianca walked inside and stared at the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“You live here?”
“No.”
“Then why own it?”
“Privacy.”
“That is the most rich-person answer imaginable.”
Adrian looked at her.
“You used to insult me this much?”
“More.”
“Good to know.”
Luca nearly smiled behind them.
Adrian pointed toward the guest rooms.
“Choose whichever you want.”
Bianca placed her small bag on the sofa.
“I’m not staying long.”
“We’ll see.”
“We won’t.”
Adrian removed his jacket.
“Coffee?”
Bianca blinked.
“What?”
“You drink coffee?”
“Yes.”
“At midnight?”
“I work nights.”
Adrian headed toward the kitchen.
For the first time since entering, Bianca looked uncertain.
This wasn’t what she expected.
She had imagined confrontation.
Questions.
Commands.
Not coffee.
Adrian opened a cabinet.
“What kind?”
“Black.”
He glanced over.
“No sugar?”
“No.”
A fragment of memory.
Bianca at fifteen making a disgusted face.
Coffee tastes like burned dirt.
Adrian dropped the mug.
It shattered.
Bianca rushed forward.
“What happened?”
He gripped the counter.
“You hated coffee.”
She stopped.
“When I was fifteen.”
“You called it burned dirt.”
Bianca’s eyes widened.
“You remember that?”
“I don’t know.”
He closed his eyes.
The memory disappeared almost as quickly as it arrived.
“Pieces.”
Bianca slowly sat at the kitchen island.
Adrian swept the broken ceramic aside.
“You said someone taught you the Vale name could be dangerous.”
“My mother.”
“What was her name?”
“Sarah Bennett.”
Another fragment.
A woman opening an apartment door.
Same dark eyes as Bianca.
Older.
Suspicious.
“You look exactly like him.”
Adrian breathed sharply.
Bianca stood.
“What?”
“Your mother.”
“You remember her?”
“Her face.”
Bianca looked down.
“She died eight months ago.”
Adrian went silent.
“Cancer.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She never stopped being afraid of your family.”
“My father.”
“And everyone around him.”
“What did she know?”
“Enough.”
Bianca pulled something from her bag.
The old photograph.
She placed it on the counter.
Adrian stared at the teenage version of himself.
His arm around Bianca.
Both smiling.
He turned it over.
No matter what, you have me.
“That’s my handwriting.”
“Yes.”
“Where was this?”
“Two days before the crash.”
Adrian’s throat tightened.
“What happened?”
Bianca hesitated.
“We were leaving.”
“The city?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because your father discovered you had found me.”
Adrian sat opposite her.
“He threatened you?”
“My mother.”
“What did he say?”
“That if we didn’t disappear, he would make sure we regretted staying.”
Adrian’s expression darkened.
“And I decided to take you away.”
“You wanted to bring us somewhere safe.”
“Where?”
“You never told me.”
“Why not?”
“You said the fewer people who knew, the better.”
Bianca looked toward the windows.
“We made it maybe thirty miles.”
Her fingers tightened around the photograph.
“Then a black SUV appeared behind us.”
Adrian’s head began aching.
“It hit us.”
“Yes.”
“Once?”
“Three times.”
Adrian saw rain again.
Headlights.
His hands on the wheel.
Bianca screaming his name.
“You told me to put my seat belt on.”
Bianca nodded.
“The car went through a barrier.”
His breathing became uneven.
“We rolled.”
“Yes.”
“Were you hurt?”
“A broken arm. Cuts.”
“And me?”
“You hit your head.”
Adrian touched the side of his skull.
There was still a faint scar hidden beneath his hair.
“The SUV?”
“Gone.”
“Who found us?”
“A truck driver.”
Adrian stared at the photograph.
“And afterward?”
“Your father’s people arrived at the hospital before I could see you.”
“What did they do?”
“They separated us.”
Adrian’s voice became dangerously quiet.
“How?”
“They told my mother you had died.”
He looked up.
Bianca’s eyes filled.
“I believed you were dead for six months.”
Adrian stopped breathing.
“Then?”
“My mother discovered you weren’t.”
“How?”
“Your picture appeared in a business article beside your father.”
Adrian pushed back from the counter.
Bianca continued.
“She contacted your mother.”
“My mother knew?”
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened.
“She told us you couldn’t remember me.”
“And then?”
“She paid us to leave.”
Adrian looked at Bianca.
Bianca quickly added, “My mother accepted because she was terrified. She thought getting me away was the only way to protect me.”
“Where did you go?”
“Seattle. Then Portland. Then Denver.”
“And now you came back.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Bianca hesitated.
“Because my mother left something behind.”
Adrian studied her.
“What?”
“A key.”
“To what?”
“I don’t know.”
She reached beneath her shirt and pulled out a thin necklace.
A small brass key hung from it.
“My mother gave me this three days before she died.”
Adrian leaned closer.
“She said your father killed more than our childhood that night.”
“What does it open?”
“She wouldn’t tell me.”
“Why?”
“She said if I ever returned, I needed to find a man named Samuel Rourke.”
Adrian went completely still.
Bianca noticed.
“You know him?”
Adrian looked at Luca.
Luca’s expression had gone dark.
Bianca’s stomach sank.
“Who is he?”
Adrian answered slowly.
“Samuel Rourke was my father’s accountant.”
“Was?”
“He disappeared fourteen years ago.”
“When?”
Adrian met her eyes.
“The night of our crash.”
Before Bianca could respond, Luca’s phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
“Security downstairs.”
He answered.
“Yes?”
His expression changed.
“What?”
Adrian stood.
Luca lowered the phone.
“We identified one of the men from Bianca’s apartment.”
“Who?”
“He works for Victor Carbone.”
Bianca looked between them.
“Who is Victor Carbone?”
Adrian’s face became unreadable.
“My father’s closest friend.”
“Why would he come after me?”
May you like
Adrian looked at the brass key hanging from Bianca’s neck.
“I think we’re about to find out.”
