Chapter 7 - The Man Who Knew Every Secret
My phone nearly slipped from my hand.
Dante saw my expression.
"What?"
I turned the screen toward him.
He studied the photograph.
His face went completely still.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Marco stood in the doorway.
"Boss?"
Dante didn't look up.
He was examining the reflection.
The image was blurry.
The man beside Vanessa wore a dark suit.
His face was partly hidden.
But a pale scar ran down one side of his face.
I knew that scar.
So did Dante.
"Marco."
Dante's voice was almost gentle.
"Close the door."
Marco hesitated.
"Boss, what's happening?"
"Close it."
Marco obeyed.
Dante turned the screen toward him.
"Explain this."
Marco stared at the picture.
I watched his eyes.
Shock.
Confusion.
Then anger.
"That's not me."
I took a step backward.
He looked at me.
"Miss Fields, I swear—"
"Don't."
My voice shook.
"You were with us at the hospital."
"You knew about Daniel."
"You knew about the key."
Marco looked toward Dante.
"Boss, I didn't—"
Dante raised a hand.
"Stop."
Marco went silent.
Dante enlarged the reflection.
He examined it carefully.
Then he turned the phone sideways.
"Look at the man's hand."
I leaned closer.
The reflected figure was holding something.
A small dark object.
Possibly a phone.
But that wasn't what Dante wanted us to see.
He pointed to the man's left wrist.
A silver watch.
Marco looked down at his own wrist.
He wore a black leather band.
Dante continued.
"Marco hasn't worn a metal watch in twelve years."
I frowned.
"Why?"
Marco slowly raised his left sleeve.
A thin scar crossed his wrist.
"An explosion damaged the nerves."
He flexed his hand.
"Metal bands hurt."
I stared at the picture again.
"Then who is that?"
Dante's expression changed.
"Someone who wants us to suspect Marco."
Marco looked furious.
"Adrian."
Dante said nothing.
Marco continued.
"He's trying to turn us against each other."
I looked from one man to the other.
"How do we know?"
Marco stared at me.
"You don't."
His honesty surprised me.
He took his phone and placed it on the table.
"Check my messages."
"Check my location history."
"Check every camera."
"Ask me anything."
Then he looked at Dante.
"I've worked for you for fifteen years."
"If someone has proof I betrayed you, let them bring it."
Dante studied him for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
"Your phone stays with Detective Shaw for examination."
Marco looked relieved.
"Understood."
"And until this is resolved, you don't approach Cara alone."
The relief vanished.
"Boss?"
Dante's voice hardened.
"That's not a punishment."
"That's how we keep her safe and preserve trust."
Marco lowered his head.
"Understood."
I didn't know whether to feel safer.
Or more frightened.
That evening, I went to Bellini's for the first time since overhearing Vanessa's conversation.
Detective Shaw arranged the visit.
Uniformed officers were nearby.
Dante's security team remained at a distance.
The restaurant had closed early because of the investigation.
Without music, conversation, and silverware clinking against expensive plates, the dining room felt strangely empty.
I stood near the private booth.
The same one where Vanessa had smiled while discussing her husband's death.
My manager, Peter Salvatore, emerged from the kitchen.
He looked exhausted.
"Cara."
I turned.
"Mr. Salvatore."
He studied my face.
"I heard about the accident."
I nodded.
"I'm sorry about your apartment."
"Thank you."
He looked toward the detectives.
"Are they finished searching?"
"Not yet."
Peter rubbed his forehead.
"I've never had police crawling all over my restaurant before."
I stared at him.
"Someone planned a murder here."
He looked away.
"Allegedly."
The word made my blood boil.
I stepped closer.
"Did you see Vanessa on the night of the accident?"
Peter hesitated.
"She was here."
"With Adrian Bell?"
"I don't remember who accompanied her."
I stared.
"Mr. Salvatore, he was sitting less than twenty feet from your office."
"I'm responsible for dozens of guests every night."
I thought of the private booth.
The curtain.
The service hallway.
The small door beside the wine storage room.
Then I remembered something.
Peter always seemed nervous whenever wealthy guests asked about the building across the alley.
One evening, a customer had joked that it looked like a prison.
Peter had immediately changed the subject.
I looked toward the rear hallway.
"Who owns Falcon House?"
His face changed.
"Why?"
"Just asking."
He swallowed.
"I don't know."
I knew he was lying.
So I tried another question.
"Does the service tunnel still connect the buildings?"
Peter went pale.
That was all the answer I needed.
When I had first started at Bellini's, an older dishwasher named Mrs. Ortega had warned me never to use the basement storage room after midnight.
She said the building was old.
Pipes made noises.
Doors stuck.
And the owner disliked employees wandering into unused spaces.
I'd always assumed she was being superstitious.
Now I remembered one particular night.
I had stayed late to finish cleaning.
The basement door opened.
Peter emerged carrying a black briefcase.
He nearly dropped it when he saw me.
Then he told me never to mention seeing him there.
At the time, I thought he was hiding alcohol or stolen supplies.
Now I wasn't sure.
I approached the basement door.
A uniformed officer stood nearby.
"Ma'am, that's a restricted area."
"I'm the one who told Detective Shaw about the possible tunnel."
He checked with another officer.
A moment later, Shaw appeared.
"What did you find?"
I pointed to the door.
"Peter lied about knowing Falcon House."
Shaw looked toward the dining room.
"How do you know?"
"His face."
She raised an eyebrow.
"That's not evidence."
"I know."
I hesitated.
"But I worked here for four years."
"I know when that man is lying."
Shaw studied me.
Then she nodded toward an investigator.
"Check the building plans again."
The investigator disappeared downstairs.
Ten minutes later, he returned.
"Detective?"
Shaw turned.
"We found something."
My heart raced.
"What?"
"An old service passage."
Shaw looked toward me.
I felt my pulse pounding in my throat.
The passage was real.
And it led beneath the alley.
Straight toward Falcon House.
The tunnel smelled of dust and damp concrete.
Police technicians moved carefully through it with flashlights and cameras.
The walls were old brick.
Electrical cables ran overhead.
At the far end stood a steel door.
No number.
No sign.
Just a faded silver falcon.
My hands went cold.
"That's it."
Shaw studied the door.
"Stay back."
A technician examined the lock.
After several minutes, he managed to open it.
The door creaked inward.
Beyond it was a small room.
Empty shelves lined the walls.
A folding chair stood beneath a hanging light.
On the floor lay a piece of red fabric.
I stared.
"The curtain."
Shaw moved forward.
"Don't touch anything."
She crouched near the chair.
Something glittered beneath it.
A silver chain.
At the end hung a tiny guitar-shaped pendant.
My breath stopped.
Daniel's necklace.
I had given it to him for his eighteenth birthday.
He wore it every day.
I stepped forward before anyone could stop me.
"That's his."
Shaw looked up.
"You're certain?"
"Yes."
Tears filled my eyes.
"He was here."
For the first time in six months, I was standing in a room where my brother had recently been.
I could almost feel him.
Almost hear him.
Then an officer called from the back wall.
"Detective."
We turned.
He was shining his flashlight over a loose section of brick.
There were scratches in the mortar.
Fresh scratches.
The officer pulled one brick free.
Behind it was a small recess.
Inside lay a folded piece of paper.
Shaw photographed it before carefully removing it.
She opened it.
My handwriting filled the page.
I stared.
It was a note I'd written to Daniel when he was thirteen.
A stupid little message I'd left in his lunchbox after we'd argued.
I'm mad at you, but you're still my favorite person.
He had kept it.
All these years.
Shaw turned the paper over.
On the back, Daniel had written three words.
ASK ABOUT ROSE.
I frowned.
"Rose?"
Shaw looked at me.
"Do you know anyone by that name?"
I shook my head.
Then a memory surfaced.
My mother had once mentioned a woman named Rose.
Not often.
Only when she was sick.
She used to whisper the name in her sleep.
I had thought Rose was an old friend.
Dante called while we were still inside the room.
I answered.
"We found Daniel's necklace."
His voice sharpened.
"Where?"
"Falcon House."
"Did you find him?"
"No."
I hesitated.
"But he left a message."
"What does it say?"
I looked at the paper.
"Ask about Rose."
Dante said nothing.
The silence was so long that I checked the screen.
"Dante?"
His voice finally came through.
"Leave that building."
I frowned.
"Why?"
"Now."
Something in his tone frightened me.
"What aren't you telling me?"
Dante took a breath.
Then he said, "Rose was my mother's name."
My heart stopped.
"Your mother?"
"Yes."
"Why would Daniel tell me to ask about her?"
Dante's voice became colder than I'd ever heard it.
"Because my mother died twenty-two years ago."
May you like
I stared at the silver falcon.
"And somebody has been using her name ever since."
