Chapter 5 - THE BROTHER WHO SMILEDLucian left the estate at 1:26 a.m.
Adrian watched his taillights disappear through the iron gates.
Marco stood beside him.
“He knows.”
“He suspects.”
“Same difference.”
“No.”
Adrian looked toward the surveillance monitor.
“Suspicion makes men nervous. Knowledge makes them dangerous.”
Marco folded his arms.
“And which one is Lucian?”
“Both.”
The word hurt more than Adrian expected.
Lucian had been eleven when their mother died.
Adrian had been eighteen.
Their father, Carlo Moretti, was rarely home and terrifying when he was.
Adrian became the person who signed Lucian’s school forms, taught him to drive, sat in emergency rooms when he broke his arm, and threatened the first boy who bullied him.
Lucian had once followed Adrian everywhere.
Now Adrian was wondering if his brother had murdered his wife.
And his daughter.
“Pull every security archive from the week Elena died.”
Marco frowned.
“We’ve reviewed those files.”
“Review them again.”
“Some footage was corrupted.”
“Find the original technicians.”
“One retired.”
“Find him.”
“The other died.”
Adrian looked at him.
“How?”
“Heart attack.”
“When?”
Marco understood.
“Eight months after the bombing.”
“Find his family.”
Marco nodded.
“And Lucian?”
“Watch him.”
“He’ll notice.”
“I want him to.”
Marco hesitated.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Rossi disappeared.”
Adrian turned.
“Already?”
“Club was empty thirty minutes after we left.”
“Good.”
Marco’s expression said otherwise.
“You don’t think so?”
“Rossi left blood on the floor and whiskey on the table. Men like that don’t abandon a place without taking cash.”
Adrian understood.
“He didn’t run.”
Marco shook his head.
“Somebody took him.”
Upstairs, Sofia woke to find Emma gone.
Panic hit instantly.
She jumped from the sofa in Claire’s room.
“Emma?”
No answer.
“Emma!”
She rushed into the hallway.
A guard raised both hands.
“She’s okay.”
“Where is she?”
“Kitchen.”
Sofia ran.
Emma sat at the long wooden counter wearing an enormous white chef’s hat.
The cook, Mrs. Delaney, stood beside her.
A plate of pancakes shaped like rabbits sat in front of the child.
Sofia stopped.
Emma beamed.
“Mommy!”
Sofia pressed one hand against her heart.
“Don’t ever leave without telling me.”
“I was hungry.”
“You wake me.”
“You were tired.”
That answer pierced her.
Sofia crouched.
“Baby, you are never responsible for whether I’m tired.”
Emma frowned as if the statement made no sense.
“But I help.”
“I know.”
“I’m good.”
“You’re always good.”
Emma looked uncertain.
“Even when I need stuff?”
Sofia’s eyes filled.
“Especially then.”
Adrian entered just as she pulled Emma into her arms.
He stopped unnoticed.
Mrs. Delaney saw him.
She said nothing.
Adrian watched Emma bury her face against her mother’s neck.
A memory struck him.
Claire at four years old, crying because she spilled orange juice on Adrian’s court documents.
Daddy, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
He had laughed.
It’s paper, princess.
He had forgotten how easily children believed mistakes could cost love.
“Mr. Stone!”
Emma spotted him.
Adrian approached.
She pointed at the pancakes.
“Bunny.”
“I see.”
“You want one?”
He almost said no.
Instead, he sat.
Mrs. Delaney hid a smile.
Sofia stood.
“We shouldn’t stay.”
Adrian looked at her.
“You said that already.”
“I mean it.”
“Your apartment isn’t safe.”
“I can find somewhere else.”
“Where?”
She didn’t answer.
Emma cut off one rabbit ear.
“Mr. Stone’s house is safe.”
Sofia looked at Adrian.
He did not correct her.
After breakfast, they met in his office.
Emma colored at a table by the window while Adrian placed Daniel Romano’s old employee file on his desk.
Sofia stared at the photograph.
Daniel was twenty-seven.
Dark hair.
Open smile.
A grease stain on one cheek.
“He hated pictures,” she whispered.
“You loved him.”
“Yes.”
Adrian did not know why the answer bothered him.
Perhaps because love looked so visible when she spoke the word.
He remembered speaking about Elena that way once.
“Tell me everything about the day he died.”
Sofia sat.
“He came home early.”
“From work?”
“Yes. Around four.”
“Was he frightened?”
“Terrified.”
“What did he bring?”
“A canvas tool bag.”
“What was inside?”
“He wouldn’t show me at first.”
“Why?”
“He kept checking the window.”
She closed her eyes.
“Emma was in her high chair eating banana pieces.”
Adrian glanced at the child coloring nearby.
“He took the ledger out.”
“What color?”
“Black.”
“Size?”
“Maybe eight by ten.”
“Any markings?”
“Red elastic around it.”
“And the recorder?”
“A small digital recorder.”
“What did Daniel do next?”
“He made copies.”
Adrian leaned forward.
“Where?”
“At home.”
“You had a printer?”
“Scanner.”
“What happened to the copies?”
“He put them in envelopes.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
Adrian exchanged a look with Marco.
“Where did he send them?”
“I don’t know.”
“He didn’t say?”
“He said the less I knew, the safer I would be.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“He was wrong.”
“Yes.”
Sofia stared at Daniel’s photograph.
“He left after dinner.”
“And then?”
“At 11:14 police came.”
Her voice broke.
“He had been shot twice behind a gas station.”
Emma looked up.
Sofia immediately composed herself.
Adrian noticed.
Always protecting.
Always swallowing pain.
“Any witnesses?”
“No.”
“His wallet?”
“Still there.”
“Phone?”
“Gone.”
“Tool bag?”
“Gone.”
“Car?”
“Found two blocks away.”
Adrian opened the police report Marco had obtained.
Something jumped out.
“Baby seat.”
Sofia frowned.
“What?”
“Daniel’s car inventory.”
He turned the document.
“A child safety mirror attached to the rear headrest.”
Sofia stared.
“We had one.”
“So Daniel could see Emma from the driver’s seat.”
“Yes.”
Adrian looked at the sentence Daniel had left her.
Follow what our little bird remembers.
A five-month-old could not remember a conversation.
But objects could.
Habits could.
Places could.
“Where did Daniel take Emma regularly?”
“Everywhere.”
“Specific places.”
“Park. Grocery store. His mother’s grave.”
“Garage?”
“Sometimes.”
“Where else?”
Sofia thought.
Then her face changed.
“The bird wall.”
Adrian leaned forward.
“What bird wall?”
“There was a mural near our old apartment. Daniel used to walk Emma there because she liked the colors.”
“Where?”
“Pilsen.”
“Still there?”
“I don’t know.”
Adrian stood.
Emma looked up.
“Where we going?”
Sofia shook her head.
“You’re not going.”
Emma’s lower lip pushed out.
Adrian surprised himself.
“Actually, she is.”
Sofia stared.
“No.”
“Daniel said she was the map.”
“She was five months old.”
“Maybe not consciously.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Neither does hiding evidence with an infant as the clue.”
He looked at Emma.
“What color birds?”
She blinked.
“What?”
“Birds.”
Emma smiled.
“Blue.”
Sofia froze.
Adrian noticed.
“What?”
“The mural.”
Her voice came out thin.
“The birds were blue.”
“But she couldn’t remember.”
“She’s seen pictures.”
“Have you shown her?”
Sofia slowly shook her head.
“No.”
Emma returned to coloring.
Adrian walked to her.
“What else was on the wall?”
Emma drew without looking up.
“Yellow sun.”
Sofia sat down hard.
“The mural had a yellow sun.”
Adrian’s pulse quickened.
“Anything else?”
Emma thought.
“A door.”
“What color?”
“Green.”
Sofia covered her mouth.
“There was a boarded-up green door beside the mural.”
Adrian picked up his coat.
Marco moved with him.
Sofia stood.
“Wait.”
Adrian looked at Emma.
The little girl was now drawing three blue birds over a yellow sun.
And beneath them, she added a square green door.
A memory no one had taught her.
An hour later, Adrian stood in an alley in Pilsen.
The mural had faded almost completely.
But the blue birds remained.
So did the yellow sun.
And beside them—
a green door.
Marco forced the rusted lock.
Inside was an abandoned storage room.
Nothing.
Dust.
Broken shelving.
Rat droppings.
Sofia’s hope collapsed.
“There’s nothing.”
Adrian studied the walls.
“Daniel was a mechanic.”
“So?”
“He hid things.”
Adrian ran his fingers over the floor.
“Mechanics think in compartments.”
Marco tapped the wall.
“Hollow.”
They tore away a sheet of rotted drywall.
Behind it sat a metal box.
Sofia gasped.
Adrian opened it.
Empty.
Except for one photograph.
It showed Daniel holding baby Emma beneath the blue birds.
On the back, Daniel had written six words.
IF STONE WAKES, TRUST THE GARDEN.
Sofia whispered, “What garden?”
Adrian already knew.
His dead wife’s garden.
Back at the Moretti estate, Lucian stood alone in Elena’s abandoned garden.
He looked down at the freshly watered weeds.
Then at a small hole someone had recently dug beside the rose trellis.
His expression darkened.
He pulled out his phone.
“Find Rossi.”
A man answered.
“We did.”
Lucian stared at the dirt.
“And?”
“He talked.”
Lucian’s eyes went cold.
“How much?”
“We don’t know.”
Lucian looked up at Claire’s dark bedroom window.
“Then we stop guessing.”
May you like
He lowered his voice.
“Tonight, Sofia Romano and her daughter disappear.”
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