Chapter 3 - THE WORD FROM THE DEAD
Elena heard gunfire through the walls.
Three shots.
A pause.
Then more.
Mrs. Kovac locked the inner steel door.
Sofia started crying.
Elena barely heard her.
Bluebird.
The word lived in her memory with impossible clarity.
Marco had stood in their kitchen at 11:17 p.m.
Elena remembered the clock because Noah had been teething and she was counting the minutes until she could sleep.
Marco had already put on his jacket.
He had kissed both boys.
Then Elena.
He had looked distracted.
Scared, almost.
“What’s wrong?”
“Work.”
“At midnight?”
He had forced a smile.
“If anything happens, remember the bluebird.”
Elena had rolled her eyes.
“Very dramatic.”
He had kissed her forehead.
“Promise me.”
“Marco.”
“Promise.”
She had promised.
Forty-seven minutes later, his car struck a barrier with both twins in the back seat.
Police said Marco probably fell asleep.
Elena spent three months hating him for driving tired.
Three months hating herself for letting him take the boys.
Three months wondering why he had insisted on bringing them with him for what he called a quick drive.
Now Matteo Volkov had said the same word.
Bluebird.
Sofia whimpered.
Elena forced herself to breathe.
Mrs. Kovac touched her shoulder.
“Feed her if you need.”
Elena looked at the older woman.
“What is Bluebird?”
Mrs. Kovac’s face changed.
Not much.
Enough.
“You know it.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“I know.”
“What does it mean?”
Mrs. Kovac looked toward the door.
Gunfire echoed again.
Then stopped.
“Elena.”
“How do you know my name?”
The woman looked almost sad.
“Everyone in this house knows your name now.”
“That’s convenient.”
Sofia began crying harder.
Elena sat.
Her hands trembled as she held the baby.
Mrs. Kovac lowered herself into the chair across from her.
“Bluebird was a lullaby.”
“For Sofia?”
“Yes.”
“Who wrote it?”
“Her mother.”
“And my husband knew it.”
Mrs. Kovac went still.
Elena saw the truth arrive before the woman spoke.
“You know Marco.”
The older woman looked toward the steel door.
“I met him once.”
Elena’s entire body went cold.
“Where?”
“I cannot tell you.”
“Try.”
“Elena.”
“My husband is dead.”
Mrs. Kovac closed her eyes briefly.
“So is the woman who introduced us.”
Sofia cried.
Elena barely noticed.
“Matteo’s wife?”
“Yes.”
“Nadia?”
The woman nodded.
Elena knew the name from newspapers.
Nadia Volkov.
Thirty-one.
Philanthropist.
Art patron.
Dead in what tabloids called a boating accident off Long Island eleven days earlier.
Elena had scrolled past the article without reading it.
Why would Marco know a mafia boss’s wife?
The safe room door unlocked.
Mrs. Kovac stood immediately.
Matteo entered.
Blood marked the cuff of his white shirt.
Elena rose.
“Is that yours?”
He looked down.
“No.”
She hated how relieved she felt.
“Who came?”
“Four men.”
“For Sofia?”
“Yes.”
“Did you catch any?”
“One.”
“Good.”
Matteo looked at Mrs. Kovac.
“Leave us.”
The woman hesitated.
Then obeyed.
Elena held Sofia tighter.
“You knew my husband.”
Matteo’s eyes changed.
“Who told you?”
“Wrong answer.”
“Elena.”
“You knew Marco.”
“I knew of him.”
“Bluebird.”
Matteo went silent.
“Tell me the truth.”
He looked toward his daughter.
“She’s asleep.”
“Tell me.”
Matteo walked to the wall.
For several seconds, his back remained turned.
Then he faced Elena.
“My wife contacted your husband five months ago.”
Elena felt as if the floor shifted.
“Why?”
“Because Marco was auditing one of my companies.”
“He worked for Bellamy Financial.”
“Bellamy handled compliance for three of my logistics subsidiaries.”
Elena stared.
“Marco told me he was auditing shipping insurance.”
“He was.”
“That has nothing to do with you.”
“It did.”
“What did he find?”
Matteo’s jaw tightened.
“Money moving where it shouldn’t.”
“Whose money?”
“Mine.”
“Then my husband was investigating you.”
“At first.”
“And later?”
Matteo looked at Sofia.
“Later he realized someone was stealing from me.”
Elena almost laughed.
“My husband died because someone stole money from a mafia boss?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because the money was paying for something else.”
“What?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
His answer disarmed her.
Matteo stepped closer.
“Nadia found the same irregularities.”
“Your wife was investigating you too?”
“My wife investigated everyone.”
For the first time, a shadow of warmth touched his face.
“She trusted almost nobody.”
“Did she trust Marco?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he refused her money.”
Elena’s throat tightened.
That sounded like him.
Marco had once returned seventeen dollars to a grocery cashier because she gave him too much change.
He was infuriating that way.
Principled even when nobody watched.
“What did they find?”
Matteo took a slow breath.
“A network of payments connected to men inside my organization.”
“Who?”
“Unknown.”
“That sounds convenient.”
“It is infuriating.”
“Why didn’t Marco tell me?”
“To protect you.”
“Do not say that.”
Matteo stopped.
“Do not tell me he lied to protect me.”
Elena’s voice broke.
“He put our sons in his car.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
Matteo looked away.
Elena moved closer.
“What do you know about that night?”
His silence became unbearable.
“Matteo.”
“Nadia was supposed to meet Marco.”
“Where?”
“A parking garage near the river.”
“Why?”
“He had evidence.”
“What evidence?”
“A ledger.”
“Where is it?”
“We never found it.”
Elena’s heart pounded.
“What happened?”
“Marco called Nadia at 11:31.”
Elena stopped breathing.
“He said someone was following him.”
She saw the kitchen again.
Marco’s nervous smile.
His jacket.
The boys in their pajamas.
“Why were my sons with him?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know everything else.”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
“I am not.”
“Then find out.”
“I intend to.”
Elena stared at him.
“Was his crash an accident?”
Matteo said nothing.
That was enough.
Her knees nearly failed.
She caught the edge of the table.
“No.”
“Elena.”
“No.”
Matteo moved toward her.
She stepped back.
“Don’t touch me.”
He stopped.
For three months, she had lived inside one version of the world.
Marco had made a mistake.
A terrible, stupid mistake.
He had fallen asleep.
He had killed himself and their children.
Elena had hated him in private because hating the dead felt easier than missing them.
Now that explanation was cracking open.
“What happened to Nadia?”
Matteo’s face became unreadable.
“Her boat exploded.”
“And that was also an accident?”
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
“Did the same people kill them?”
“I believe so.”
Elena looked down at Sofia.
The little girl slept with her mouth slightly open.
Eleven days without her mother.
Three months without Elena’s sons.
Two families destroyed.
One word connecting them.
Bluebird.
“What does the word mean besides a lullaby?”
Matteo hesitated.
“Nadia used it as a code name.”
“For what?”
“The evidence.”
Elena closed her eyes.
Of course.
Marco had not been giving her a sentimental clue.
He had been giving her instructions.
“Remember the bluebird.”
Her eyes flew open.
“I have to go home.”
“No.”
“My apartment.”
“No.”
“There’s something there.”
“Elena.”
“The nursery.”
Matteo went still.
“What?”
“We decorated the boys’ room with birds.”
His attention sharpened.
“Blue?”
“Most of them.”
“What exactly?”
“A mobile.”
“Where?”
“Over the crib.”
Matteo pulled out his phone.
Elena grabbed his wrist.
“I’m going.”
“No.”
“You don’t know what you’re looking for.”
“You can describe it.”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“That room belonged to my sons.”
His jaw tightened.
“You are not sending armed strangers into it.”
“They are trained.”
“They are strangers.”
He stared at her.
Then at Sofia.
Finally, he said, “You stay beside me.”
“I wasn’t asking permission.”
“I know.”
The captured attacker survived.
Barely.
Before they left, Matteo questioned him in a basement room Elena never saw.
When he returned, his face told her enough.
“What did he say?”
“One name.”
“Whose?”
“Viktor.”
“Viktor who?”
Matteo looked toward the dark windows.
“Viktor Sokolov.”
“Who is that?”
For the first time that night, Matteo looked afraid.
Not for himself.
May you like
For everyone around him.
“My godfather.”
