Chapter 2 - The Woman in My Mother's Bed
For three seconds, nobody spoke.
Then I lunged across the SUV.
I don't remember deciding to do it.
One moment I was sitting opposite Matteo Conti.
The next, I had both hands wrapped around the front of his expensive charcoal suit.
"Where is she?"
He caught my wrists.
Not hard.
Just enough to stop me from shaking him.
"Clara."
"Where is my mother?"
"We're finding out."
"You said you moved her."
"I authorized her transfer."
"That's not the same thing!"
His eyes flashed.
"No," he said quietly. "It isn't."
The admission stopped me.
Men like Matteo didn't seem built for admitting mistakes.
They were built for making other people regret pointing them out.
But he released my wrists and turned toward Leo.
"Names."
"Transport team was Walsh and Keegan."
"Find them."
"Walsh isn't answering."
"Then find Keegan."
Leo was already calling someone else.
I sat back, trembling.
My mother's face filled my mind.
Her warm brown eyes.
The stubborn little line between her eyebrows whenever I spent money on her instead of myself.
The way she'd squeeze my hand and apologize for needing help.
She had raised me alone.
She'd worked at a bakery until arthritis made standing impossible.
She'd sewn my Halloween costumes and attended every school event, even when she was exhausted.
And now some stranger might have taken her because of a secret I didn't understand.
"Tell me everything," I said.
Matteo glanced at me.
"Not here."
I laughed once.
It sounded awful.
"You really think we're saving this conversation for a nice cup of coffee?"
His mouth tightened.
"Someone on my security team has been compromised."
I stared at Leo.
Leo stared straight ahead.
Matteo noticed.
"Not everyone," he added.
"Reassuring."
"Clara, I can't distinguish what you're being told from what someone wants me to believe until I verify it."
"Then verify faster."
"I intend to."
The SUV turned sharply.
I grabbed the seat.
Boston's waterfront appeared through the windows, dark warehouses rising beside the harbor.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere I can think without being watched."
We entered a private garage behind a converted brick building.
Three men were waiting inside.
One carried a medical bag.
Another held a tablet.
The third was large enough to make Leo look like a choirboy.
Matteo opened the door himself.
I stared at his offered hand.
"Don't."
He withdrew it.
I climbed out alone.
Small victory.
But I was collecting those tonight.
Inside, the building was unexpectedly beautiful.
Exposed brick.
Tall windows.
Warm lights.
Bookshelves lining one wall.
A kitchen large enough to host a television cooking competition.
There were no gold statues.
No velvet throne.
No giant painting of Matteo holding a tiger.
I was disappointed.
"You live here?"
"Sometimes."
"How many homes does one criminal need?"
"Depends how many people want him dead."
"Touching."
A woman with silver hair approached us.
"Matteo."
"Rosa."
Her gaze moved to me.
For a moment, she looked startled.
Then her expression became painfully gentle.
"Oh, sweetheart."
I took a step back.
"Do I know you?"
"No."
She glanced at Matteo.
"But I knew your mother."
The room seemed to tilt.
"Everybody knew my mother except me, apparently."
Rosa didn't smile.
"My name is Rosa DeLuca. I've worked with the Conti family for thirty-two years."
"Doing what?"
"Keeping the people in this house alive."
"Then I hope you're better at it than the security team."
Leo looked wounded.
Rosa looked impressed.
Matteo almost smiled.
Almost.
"Rosa," he said, "we need the old records."
She went still.
"Which records?"
"The Hawthorne file."
Her face drained.
"No."
"Yes."
"Matteo, your father ordered those destroyed."
"My father gave a lot of orders."
Rosa looked at me again.
Then she crossed herself.
For the second time that night, somebody had made a religious gesture because of my existence.
I was beginning to take it personally.
"Sit down," Rosa said.
"I don't want to sit down."
"Then don't."
She disappeared through a doorway.
I turned to Matteo.
"What is Hawthorne?"
"A building."
"Where?"
"South Boston."
"What happened there?"
His expression hardened.
"Twenty-six years ago, seventeen people died in a fire."
My skin prickled.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because your mother was supposed to be the eighteenth."
I gripped the back of a chair.
A memory surfaced.
Not mine.
My mother's.
She sometimes woke screaming.
Always the same word.
Fire.
When I was eight, I had asked her why she was afraid of smoke.
She'd said that some memories never learned how to stay buried.
I had forgotten that conversation until now.
"What did my mother do?"
Matteo took off his jacket.
There was a dark smear of blood on the collar.
"She was an accountant."
I frowned.
"No."
"Yes."
"My mother worked in a bakery."
"After the fire."
"Before that?"
"She kept books for a company called Hawthorne Shipping."
I remembered the black object.
My name.
Twenty-six years.
"Was it a real company?"
"Partly."
"What does that mean?"
Matteo leaned against the kitchen counter.
"It moved legal cargo."
"And illegal cargo?"
"Among other things."
I closed my eyes.
"Oh, Mom."
"Your mother discovered the company was being used to move money through charitable organizations and shell companies."
"Whose money?"
Matteo didn't answer quickly enough.
I stared at him.
"Your family's."
"Some of it."
The room went quiet.
I looked toward the windows.
Toward the harbor.
Toward the black water beyond the glass.
"My mother found something your family didn't want found."
"Yes."
"And then a building burned down."
"Yes."
I turned back slowly.
"You knew."
Matteo's voice was rough.
"I learned the full story four years ago."
"And you did what?"
His jaw worked.
"I've been trying to find the people responsible."
"Four years?"
"Yes."
"While my mother struggled to pay for medication?"
His silence was answer enough.
I felt sick.
"You're going to tell me why you didn't help her."
Before he could respond, Leo entered.
He was holding a phone.
"Found Keegan."
Matteo straightened.
"Where?"
"Outside Quincy."
"Alive?"
Leo swallowed.
"Yes."
"Then bring him in."
Leo looked at me.
Then back at Matteo.
"He's in the hospital, boss."
"Why?"
"Because somebody broke both his hands."
My stomach twisted.
Leo continued.
"Keegan says the real transport team never reached Harbor Pines."
Matteo went perfectly still.
"What?"
"Someone arrived first."
"Who?"
Leo glanced at the phone again.
Then spoke a name I hadn't heard since childhood.
"Daniel Bennett."
My knees nearly gave out.
May you like
Because Daniel Bennett was my father.
And my mother had told me he died before I was born.
