Chapter 9 - THE MAN WHO HAD MY NAME BEFORE WE MET
I confronted Dominic in the back of the limousine.
“You requested me.”
“No.”
“Your signature says otherwise.”
“I didn’t.”
“The account belongs to you.”
“It belonged to my father.”
That slowed me down.
“Explain.”
Dominic took my phone.
The authorization showed D. Vale.
Not Dominic Vale.
Daniel Vale.
His father.
A man who had been dead for ten years.
“You think your dead father arranged my cleaning assignment?”
“No.”
“I’m relieved one of us is being rational.”
He ignored that.
The shell company had remained active after Daniel Vale’s death.
Someone had continued using the authority attached to it.
Matteo could have done that.
But there was another problem.
My name had been added to the company’s internal notes seventeen years earlier.
ELENA BROOKS.
AGE 12.
MONITOR ONLY.
My blood chilled.
“Your father was watching me.”
Dominic’s face went hard.
“I didn’t know.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
I suddenly wanted to go home.
Not Montrose.
My apartment.
My normal life.
My cheap coffee maker and neighbor who vacuumed at midnight.
I was tired of discovering that powerful people had known my name while I knew nothing about them.
Dominic seemed to read that on my face.
“I’ll take you home.”
“What about security?”
“I’ll put someone outside.”
“I don’t want another stranger following me.”
“Then Julian.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
But he nodded.
“Fine.”
That mattered too.
Dominic was controlling by instinct.
But when I drew a real line, he stopped.
My apartment had been searched.
Nothing stolen.
Nothing destroyed.
Just searched.
My mother’s old boxes had been opened.
One photograph was missing.
A picture of Mom and me from the year before she died.
On my kitchen table sat an envelope.
Dominic opened it before I could.
Inside was a copy of my mother’s death certificate.
Across it someone had written:
GRACE LEFT ONE THING UNFINISHED.
Below that was an address.
St. Agnes Church.
Queens.
Tomorrow.
11 P.M.
COME WITH THE GIRL.
Dominic crumpled the page.
“You’re not going.”
“We’ve had this conversation.”
“This time I mean it.”
“You meant it every other time.”
“Elena.”
“My mother died because nobody finished this. I’m going.”
His eyes flashed.
“You have no idea what Matteo will do.”
“Neither do you.”
Silence.
Then I stepped closer.
“You don’t get to lock me somewhere safe and call that protection.”
His anger disappeared.
Something else replaced it.
Fear.
Not for himself.
For me.
He said quietly:
“You sound exactly like Grace.”
I swallowed.
“Then you should know arguing won’t work.”
Dominic closed his eyes briefly.
“Unfortunately, I do.”
We reached St. Agnes the following night with police contacts and private security positioned blocks away.
Inside the church, one light burned near the altar.
No Matteo.
Only a projector.
It turned on automatically.
My mother’s face appeared on the wall.
Older than the photographs.
Terrified.
Alive just three days before her death.
May you like
And the first thing she said was:
“Elena, if Dominic is standing beside you, then Matteo finally found you both.”
