Chapter 7 - The Father Marco BuriedMarco had imagined his father dead so many times that seeing him alive felt unnatural.
Eighteen years.
That was how long she had lived with the empty space where her mother should have been.
Eighteen Christmas mornings wondering whether Anna was alive.
Eighteen birthdays pretending she did not still look toward the door.
Eighteen years of unanswered questions.
And now she held a photograph taken three months ago.
Her mother was alive.
Marco reached for the picture.
Mina pulled it away.
“No.”
“I need to see the background.”
“She’s my mother.”
“And finding where this was taken might keep her alive.”
Mina forced herself to hand it over.
Marco studied the image.
“A grocery store.”
“No kidding.”
“Sign in the window.”
He enlarged a scan using his phone.
“Pine Ridge Market.”
One of his men searched.
“Three matches.”
“Which states?”
“Wisconsin, Michigan, Pennsylvania.”
Mina’s pulse surged.
“Wisconsin.”
Marco looked at her.
“Why?”
“My mother’s car was found at a bus station in Wisconsin.”
Evelyn whispered, “She never left.”
Mina stood.
“We’re going.”
Marco did not argue this time.
Good.
Because Mina was going with or without him.
Victor met them at the estate two hours later.
This time security searched him at the gate.
He seemed insulted.
Mina didn’t care.
She placed Gabriel’s watch warning on the table.
“What did he say?”
Victor looked at the note.
Then at Mina.
“What?”
“The night I was born. What did Gabriel say?”
Victor’s expression shifted.
He sat slowly.
“That tiny hands make the strongest chains.”
Mina looked at Evelyn.
She nodded.
Gabriel used to say it.
Victor removed the watch.
He placed it in Mina’s palm.
“Your father gave this to me three hours before he died.”
“Why?”
“He knew someone was following him.”
“Anthony DeLuca?”
Victor looked at Marco.
“Yes.”
Marco stood near the window.
He had barely spoken since Union Station.
Victor’s voice softened.
“I’m sorry.”
Marco did not turn.
“Did you know my father was alive?”
“I suspected.”
“You never told me.”
“I had no proof.”
“You had enough proof to follow my grandmother last night.”
Victor stood.
“I followed her because I got a message saying Anna’s daughter had been found.”
Mina stiffened.
“From who?”
“Unknown number.”
He handed over his phone.
Marco studied it.
The text had arrived at 11:42 p.m.
THE GIRL WORKS AT MIDNIGHT CUP. EVELYN WILL GO TO HER.
Mina looked at Evelyn.
“You knew where I worked?”
“No.”
“Then why were you there?”
Evelyn’s eyes lowered.
“I received a message too.”
Marco cursed.
“They brought you together.”
Victor nodded.
“It was bait.”
Someone had arranged the entire night.
Evelyn going to the café.
Victor following.
The attack.
Mina being exposed.
All of it.
“Why?” Mina asked.
Marco looked at the documents.
“To flush out Anna’s evidence.”
Victor agreed.
“If Anna is alive, Anthony has spent eighteen years looking for what she took.”
Mina looked at the photo again.
“Then we find her first.”
Pine Ridge, Wisconsin, turned out to be a town of six thousand people surrounded by forest and cold blue lakes.
They arrived near sunset.
Mina wanted to walk into the grocery store immediately.
Marco stopped her.
“If Anthony took the photograph here, he may have people watching.”
“She could be ten minutes away.”
“She survived eighteen years because she was careful.”
Mina hated that he was right.
They parked two streets away.
Marco entered the store alone with one security man.
He returned fifteen minutes later.
“She uses the name Anne Miller.”
Mina gripped the seat.
“Address?”
“He wouldn’t give it.”
“Then how—”
“But he said she works at the town library.”
Mina almost laughed.
Her mother had loved books.
Of course.
They reached the library five minutes before closing.
Mina walked in alone.
Marco insisted on that.
The building smelled like paper and old wood.
A woman stood behind the circulation desk.
Dark hair.
Gray at the temples.
Thin cardigan.
Reading glasses low on her nose.
Mina stopped.
The world disappeared.
Anna looked up.
A book slipped from her hands.
“Mina?”
Her voice was exactly the same.
Older.
Softer.
But the same.
Mina crossed the room.
She didn’t know whether she wanted to slap her or hold her.
She did both.
Her palm hit Anna’s cheek.
Then Mina collapsed into her arms.
“You were alive.”
Anna began sobbing.
“I’m sorry.”
“You were alive!”
“I know.”
“You left me!”
“I thought I was saving you.”
“I was eight!”
“I know.”
Mina pushed her away.
“No. You don’t get to cry first.”
Anna wiped her face.
“You’re right.”
“You knew where I was?”
“Yes.”
“For eighteen years?”
“Almost.”
“And you never came back?”
“I couldn’t.”
“You could have called.”
“No.”
“You could have written.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Anna looked toward the windows.
“Because Anthony was watching you.”
Mina stopped.
“What?”
“He never touched you because he believed you didn’t know anything.”
“You watched me?”
“From far away.”
Mina’s chest hurt.
Anna opened a drawer.
Inside were photographs.
Mina graduating high school.
Mina at a community college ceremony.
Mina carrying groceries into her apartment.
Mina behind the counter at Midnight Cup.
“You were there.”
“Sometimes.”
Mina’s anger cracked.
“Mom.”
Anna reached for her.
This time Mina let her.
They held each other between the shelves while the library lights dimmed for closing.
Then the front window exploded.
Marco crashed through the doors.
“DOWN!”
Mina and Anna hit the floor.
Gunfire ripped through the front desk.
Marco returned fire.
Security men moved outside.
Anna grabbed Mina’s face.
“Listen to me.”
“No.”
“Mina.”
“No more secrets.”
“This isn’t a secret.”
Anna reached beneath her blouse and pulled out a key.
Not brass.
Steel.
Stamped with a number.
“Everything Gabriel found is in a safe-deposit box in Chicago.”
Marco crouched beside them.
“Which bank?”
Anna looked at him.
Her face changed.
“Marco?”
He froze.
“You know me?”
Tears filled her eyes.
“You have your mother’s eyes.”
Gunshots sounded outside.
Marco’s jaw tightened.
“Where is Anthony?”
Anna whispered, “Closer than you think.”
The rear emergency door slammed open.
A man walked in holding a gun.
He was older.
Tall.
Silver-haired.
Marco stared at him.
All color disappeared from his face.
The gunman smiled.
May you like
“Hello, son.”
Anthony DeLuca had finally stopped hiding.
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