Chapter 4
Dr. Hayes stitched nothing.
That was the first good news of the night.
“The cuts are ugly, not deep,” he said.
I sat on an examination table in the estate’s small medical room while he cleaned my knees.
“The bruising will be worse tomorrow.”
“I figured.”
He glanced at the torn uniform.
“What happened to your clothes?”
“Gravel. A planter. Running.”
His eyebrows rose.
“That must have been some flower delivery.”
I almost smiled.
Almost.
Luca stood near the door with his arms folded.
He had changed into a black wool coat over his charcoal suit.
No tie now.
His shirt collar was open.
He looked less like the businessman from dinner and more like a man preparing for war.
Dr. Hayes taped gauze over my knees.
“Your cheek?”
“Nothing broken?”
“No. Swollen. Ice it.”
“Can she travel?”
Luca asked.
I frowned.
“I’m sitting right here.”
The doctor ignored me.
“She shouldn’t run a marathon.”
“She won’t.”
I looked at Luca.
“That depends.”
He gave me a look.
Dr. Hayes sighed.
“You people are exhausting.”
When he left, Clara brought me clothes.
Not a uniform.
Black trousers.
A soft cream sweater.
Flat boots.
“From my closet,” she said.
“You didn’t have to.”
“Yes, I did.”
Her eyes lingered on my face.
Then she hugged me.
It surprised me so much I nearly cried.
“Come back,” she whispered.
“I will.”
She pulled away and glared at Luca.
“Bring her back.”
He nodded.
“I intend to.”
In the hall, Matteo waited with two security men.
Vanessa sat on a bench.
She had changed too.
Dark jeans.
Black sweater.
No jewelry.
No makeup except whatever remained from dinner.
Luca stopped.
“You’re staying.”
She stood.
“No.”
“Your father may be at Pier 9.”
“That’s why I’m going.”
“He attacked Anna.”
“He grabbed her.”
“Do you hear yourself?”
Vanessa flinched.
“I’m not defending him.”
“It sounds like it.”
“I know him.”
“So do I, apparently less than I thought.”
“That makes me useful.”
Matteo looked at Luca.
“She’s right.”
Luca’s gaze hardened.
Matteo lifted both hands.
“I don’t trust her either. But if Vale is there, she might recognize how he operates.”
Vanessa looked at me.
“What do you want?”
The question surprised me.
Everyone turned toward me.
I studied her.
The woman who had chased me.
Lied about my injuries.
Hidden her past.
But also the woman whose father had just come back from the dead.
“Come,” I said.
Luca looked at me.
“Anna.”
“If Arthur sees her, he might make a mistake.”
Vanessa gave a humorless smile.
“Or shoot me.”
Luca’s expression became stone.
“No one is shooting anyone.”
Matteo muttered, “Let’s make that the plan.”
We left at 12:19 a.m.
Two SUVs.
Security followed at a distance.
Pier 9 sat on the Brooklyn waterfront in an old industrial section where warehouses had been converted into studios, storage buildings, and expensive event spaces.
At one in the morning, most of it was dark.
The river looked black.
Manhattan glittered across the water.
Luca parked a block away.
He turned to us.
“The message said come alone.”
Vanessa looked at the second SUV in the mirror.
“You brought six people.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“Arthur will know.”
“Good.”
I sat in the back beside Vanessa.
Key 314 rested in my coat pocket.
Luca had wanted to carry it.
I refused.
Rose had left it for me.
That mattered now.
Luca looked over his shoulder.
“Anna stays in the car.”
“No.”
“We agreed you’d follow instructions.”
“I specifically did not agree.”
Vanessa actually laughed.
Luca stared at me.
I stared back.
Finally he exhaled through his nose.
“You stay behind me.”
“That I can do.”
We walked toward Pier 9.
The wind cut through my sweater.
My knees ached under the bandages.
Each step reminded me I was not supposed to be here.
But the photograph of my mother was burned into my mind.
Alive.
Maybe.
We reached a corrugated metal warehouse with a faded number 9 above the loading door.
A single bulb glowed over the entrance.
Luca’s phone buzzed.
COME INSIDE.
ALONE.
He typed nothing.
Matteo touched his earpiece.
Security moved into position.
Luca looked at Vanessa.
“Any ideas?”
She studied the building.
“My father always liked exits.”
“That’s not useful.”
“It means he’ll have three.”
Matteo pointed.
“Water side. Roof. Loading bay.”
Vanessa nodded.
“And somebody watching the street.”
I looked up.
A tiny red light blinked on a utility pole.
Camera.
“They already know we’re here.”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
His phone buzzed again.
YOU NEVER LISTENED, LUCA.
Vanessa went still.
“That sounds like him.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Another message.
SEND ANNA INSIDE WITH THE KEY.
Luca’s face hardened.
“No.”
I took a breath.
“I’ll go.”
“No.”
“He wants the key.”
“He wants you.”
“Then we know what he wants.”
“That is not comforting.”
“If we stand here arguing, he leaves.”
Luca stepped close enough that I had to look up at him.
“You are not bait.”
“I’m not asking permission.”
“Anna.”
“My mother may be inside.”
His eyes softened for one second.
Then the hardness returned.
“If something happens to you—”
“What?”
He stopped.
I waited.
He looked away toward the warehouse.
“Nothing.”
“No. Finish it.”
Vanessa watched us.
Matteo looked deliberately toward the river.
Luca’s voice lowered.
“If something happens to you because of my family, I will never forgive myself.”
The words landed unexpectedly.
I swallowed.
“This started before I ever met you.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
We stood there in the wind.
Then I reached into my pocket.
Showed him the brass key.
“Let me walk in.”
He shook his head.
“Absolutely not.”
“You and Matteo can follow through another entrance.”
“They’ll see.”
“Maybe. But if they want the key, they have to let me get close enough to use it.”
Luca stared.
Then he looked at Vanessa.
“What does 314 open?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“San Michele account box?”
“Probably.”
“Then why meet at a pier?”
Vanessa’s eyes narrowed.
“Because the key opens something else.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“My father never uses one key for one lock.”
Matteo swore.
Luca’s phone buzzed again.
LAST CHANCE.
I stepped toward the warehouse.
Luca caught my wrist.
Not hard.
Just enough to stop me.
“Thirty seconds.”
“For what?”
He looked at Matteo.
“Kill the camera.”
Matteo smiled.
“Now we’re talking.”
He disappeared toward the utility pole.
Twenty seconds later, the red light died.
Luca spoke into his earpiece.
“Go.”
Security moved.
We entered through the front.
The warehouse smelled like rust, river water, and old wood.
Rows of shipping crates filled the center.
A lamp glowed on a table at the far end.
The red journal sat beneath it.
Nobody else was visible.
I stopped.
“There.”
Luca moved beside me.
“That’s too easy.”
Vanessa whispered, “Because it is.”
A speaker crackled overhead.
Arthur Vale’s voice filled the warehouse.
“Good evening, Luca.”
Vanessa’s face changed.
“Dad.”
Silence.
Then Arthur answered.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
Her eyes filled.
“Where are you?”
“Close enough.”
Luca looked around.
“Show yourself.”
Arthur laughed through the speaker.
“You Morettis always think showing your face makes a man honest.”
“I don’t care about honest. I care about my journal.”
“It was never yours.”
“It was my mother’s.”
“No. It belonged to Giovanni.”
Vanessa called out.
“Where is Claire?”
A pause.
Then:
“Anna should ask that.”
My throat tightened.
“Where is my mother?”
The warehouse remained silent for several seconds.
Arthur’s voice came softer.
“Savannah.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
My knees weakened.
Luca stepped closer.
I forced myself to remain standing.
“Why did she leave me?”
“That is not my story to tell.”
“You took eighteen years from me.”
“No.”
Arthur’s voice sharpened.
“Your mother did.”
I closed my eyes.
Luca’s hand touched the middle of my back.
Steady.
Warm.
Arthur continued.
“She made a choice.”
“What choice?”
“To keep you alive.”
I opened my eyes.
“From who?”
A light clicked on behind the table.
A steel door.
A keypad.
A keyhole.
314.
Vanessa whispered, “There.”
Arthur said, “Bring the key to the door, Anna.”
Luca stepped in front of me.
“No.”
“If you want Claire’s address, she opens it.”
“We already have the address.”
Arthur laughed.
“No. You have an address I wanted you to have.”
My stomach dropped.
“The photograph?”
“Three years old.”
I felt sick.
“Where is she now?”
“Open the door.”
Luca scanned the rafters.
“Arthur, if you hurt her—”
“I am not the one who hurt Anna tonight.”
Vanessa flinched.
“And I did not tell my daughter to chase her through a garden.”
I looked at Vanessa.
Her face burned.
Arthur’s voice became colder.
“Vanessa has always been impulsive.”
She shouted, “Shut up!”
“Still angry with me?”
“You faked your death.”
“For your protection.”
“You used me.”
“For survival.”
“You ruined my life.”
“Your life is extremely comfortable.”
She laughed bitterly.
“You really haven’t changed.”
Luca spoke.
“What is behind the door?”
“The reason Isabella warned Rose.”
“About Vanessa?”
“About me.”
Vanessa went still.
Luca looked at her.
Arthur continued.
“Isabella knew I would use Vanessa to get back into the family.”
Vanessa’s face collapsed.
“No.”
“Oh, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“You knew what Luca was when you met him.”
“You told me he didn’t know about the records.”
“And he didn’t.”
Luca turned to Vanessa.
“You met me because of your father?”
“No.”
Arthur laughed.
Vanessa screamed toward the ceiling.
“Stop!”
Luca’s expression emptied.
“Answer me.”
Vanessa stared at him.
Tears finally slipped down her face.
“I approached you because he told me to.”
The confession felt louder than a gunshot.
Luca stepped back.
I watched something break behind his eyes.
Vanessa hurried.
“But I did not stay because of him.”
Luca said nothing.
“I swear.”
His jaw clenched.
“Six years.”
“I loved you.”
“You lied to me for six years.”
“I tried to get out.”
Arthur interrupted through the speaker.
“She did.”
Vanessa closed her eyes.
“She stopped reporting to me after the first year.”
Luca looked upward.
“Why are you defending her?”
“Because truth is more useful than cruelty.”
Vanessa whispered, “You don’t know the meaning of either.”
Arthur ignored her.
“Anna. Open the door.”
Luca looked at me.
I looked at him.
He shook his head once.
I whispered, “We need what’s inside.”
“We don’t know what’s inside.”
“That’s the point.”
I walked to the steel door.
Every instinct told me not to.
The key slid into the lock.
Perfect fit.
I turned it.
Click.
The door opened inward.
Behind it was not a room.
It was a narrow vault.
Shelves.
File boxes.
Photographs.
Old VHS tapes.
Hard drives.
And one red metal case.
On top sat an envelope.
ANNA BENNETT.
My name.
My hand shook as I reached for it.
Luca stood behind me.
Vanessa and Matteo covered the warehouse.
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a letter.
The handwriting stopped my heart.
My mother’s.
Anna,
If you are reading this, Rose is gone, Isabella is gone, and Arthur has failed to keep the past buried.
I am sorry.
I am more sorry than words can hold.
You were twelve when I left.
I did not leave because I wanted a new life.
I left because a man came to our house and showed me a photograph of you walking home from school.
He told me what would happen if I spoke.
Your father and I agreed that one dead mother was safer than one living witness.
Please believe that I loved you every day.
I pressed the letter to my mouth.
The words blurred.
I kept reading.
Do not trust Arthur Vale.
Do not trust any version of the Red Journal unless page forty-seven is written in green ink.
And Anna—
Giovanni Moretti did not die in a boating accident.
The warehouse seemed to tilt.
I looked at Luca.
He had read over my shoulder.
His face had gone white.
Then the speaker crackled.
Arthur whispered:
“Now you understand why everyone had to lie.”
Behind us, metal slammed.
The warehouse doors locked.
May you like
The lights went out.
And from somewhere inside the darkness came the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.
