Chapter 5 - The Family They Built Around MeI wanted to throw the phone.
Nothing.
Adrien stood by the fireplace while Dominic traced the call.
Finally Dominic said, “Burner phone. Brooklyn tower. Already off.”
I stared at Adrien.
“Did your family kill my mother?”
“No.”
“Teresa says they did.”
“Teresa has spent twenty-seven years lying to you.”
“So have you!”
His eyes narrowed.
“I didn’t know where you were.”
“You had a photograph of me!”
“And a promise not to search unless you were exposed.”
“That’s convenient.”
“Elena.”
“What?”
“I was eighteen when your mother disappeared. I had no empire. No influence. No ability to protect anyone.”
His voice grew colder.
“I watched three of my father’s men die because they tried to help her. I watched my own brother disappear for forty-eight hours and return with two broken hands because Victor wanted to send my family a message.”
That silenced me.
Adrien continued.
“My father decided Isabelle was too dangerous to protect. I disagreed. We fought. I helped her escape anyway.”
“To where?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes. Because she refused to tell me.”
Dominic interrupted.
“We can find Teresa.”
“No,” I said.
Adrien looked at me.
“She’s scared.”
“She planted surveillance in your home.”
“You don’t know why.”
“I know someone watched you get beaten and didn’t intervene.”
That hit me harder than he intended.
Adrien saw it.
His expression shifted.
“I shouldn’t have said it that way.”
“But it’s true.”
He didn’t answer.
I walked to the window.
New York glittered beneath the morning sky as though nothing had happened.
Millions of ordinary lives.
Coffee shops opening.
Parents walking children to school.
People annoyed by traffic.
And somewhere among them was the woman who had raised me.
Maybe running from me.
Maybe protecting me.
Maybe betraying me.
“I want to find Teresa before Marcus does.”
Adrien said, “Agreed.”
“And I’m coming.”
“No.”
I turned.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The mafia boss part.”
“This isn’t a movie.”
“You’re right. In movies women get told to stay somewhere safe while men make decisions.”
“Elena, you have cracked ribs.”
“And a brain.”
Adrien almost smiled.
It disappeared quickly.
“Teresa might react differently if she sees me.”
Dominic nodded reluctantly.
Adrien glared at him.
“Thank you,” I told Dominic.
“I didn’t say I liked the idea.”
“But you agree.”
“Yes.”
Adrien rubbed his jaw.
“Fine.”
That was how I ended up in the back seat of an armored SUV two hours later.
We went to Teresa’s house in Queens.
The blue Cape Cod looked exactly the same as it had when I left for college.
White shutters.
Tiny wind chime.
Hydrangeas beside the steps.
Home.
Except the front door was open.
Adrien’s hand stopped me.
“Stay behind me.”
This time I listened.
Dominic entered first.
Then Adrien.
Then me.
The living room had been destroyed.
Drawers ripped out.
Cushions cut open.
Family photographs shattered.
A cold panic climbed my throat.
“Aunt Teresa?”
No answer.
I ran toward the kitchen.
Adrien caught up.
The refrigerator door was open.
Food lay across the floor.
On the table sat a single envelope.
ELENA
My handwriting?
No.
Teresa’s.
I ripped it open.
Inside was one sentence.
If Viscari is with you, ask him what happened at Pier 17 on October 3, 1999.
I looked up.
Adrien had gone completely still.
“What happened?”
He didn’t answer.
“Adrien.”
“Not here.”
“You promised answers.”
“I said not here.”
I stepped toward him.
“What happened at Pier 17?”
His eyes met mine.
“My brother died.”
A crash came from upstairs.
Dominic drew his gun.
Someone ran.
We heard glass break.
Adrien pushed me behind the kitchen wall.
Dominic raced upstairs.
Seconds later shouting erupted outside.
Adrien stayed with me.
“You’re not going after him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
He looked at me as though the answer were obvious.
“Because you’re here.”
My heart did something inconvenient.
I ignored it.
Dominic returned five minutes later dragging a bleeding man through the back door.
I recognized him.
Marcus’s cousin Owen.
He had eaten Thanksgiving dinner at our apartment.
He had brought me flowers on my birthday.
I stared.
“Owen?”
He spat blood onto Teresa’s tile.
Adrien crouched.
“Where is she?”
Owen smiled.
“You really don’t know?”
Adrien grabbed his collar.
“Where is Teresa?”
Owen’s gaze moved to me.
“You want to know who your aunt really is?”
“Tell me.”
“She isn’t your aunt.”
My lungs stopped.
He laughed.
“Teresa Hart doesn’t exist.”
Adrien’s hand tightened.
“Enough.”
But I stepped closer.
“No. Keep talking.”
Owen smiled wider.
“Ask Viscari.”
“Ask me what?”
“Why a woman named Celeste Moreau disappeared the same week little Elena got a new aunt.”
I looked at Adrien.
Nothing.
Then Dominic whispered, “Celeste was Isabelle’s cousin.”
Owen shook his head.
“Sister.”
The floor seemed to move.
“My mother had a sister?”
“Yes.”
“Teresa?”
Owen laughed.
“You still don’t get it.”
He leaned forward.
“Teresa isn’t Celeste.”
“Then who is she?”
His smile disappeared.
“That’s the million-dollar question.”
Gunshots exploded outside.
Glass shattered.
Adrien threw me down behind the kitchen island.
Dominic dragged Owen to cover.
A black SUV roared past the house.
Then another.
Bullets tore into the siding.
Someone screamed outside.
I buried my face against my arms.
Adrien covered my body with his.
Then silence.
Dominic shouted into his radio.
Adrien lifted his head.
“You hit?”
“No.”
He checked anyway.
My hands were shaking.
Not from the gunfire.
From Owen’s words.
“Who is Teresa?”
Adrien looked toward the letter.
“I think that’s what your mother wanted us to discover.”
Dominic’s phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
“Boss.”
Adrien stood.
“What?”
Dominic put the call on speaker.
A woman’s voice filled the kitchen.
Teresa.
“Elena?”
I grabbed the phone.
“Where are you?”
“I’m safe.”
“You lied to me.”
“I protected you.”
“You aren’t my aunt?”
A long silence.
“No.”
I closed my eyes.
“Who are you?”
She began crying.
“My name is Mara Bellini.”
Adrien went rigid.
Marcus’s family.
I couldn’t speak.
May you like
Teresa—Mara—whispered:
“And Marcus is my nephew.”
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