Chapter 1 - THE ENVELOPE WITH MY FATHER'S NAME
Nico stopped in the doorway.
Not slowed.
Not hesitated.
Stopped.
For eight months, I had known Nico Casaro as the kind of man who always had an answer ready. He could explain away lipstick on a collar, a missed dinner, a midnight phone call, a bruise on someone else's knuckles.
But when he saw the envelope in my hands, every trace of confidence vanished.
“Dad.”
Leo Casaro remained behind his walnut desk.
“What?”
Nico's eyes never left the envelope.
“What did you give her?”
“The truth.”
“That's not your decision.”
Leo’s expression hardened.
“Everything under this roof is my decision until I decide otherwise.”
I looked between them.
Chloe appeared behind Nico.
She had apparently taken time to fix her hair before following him.
Typical.
“Myra,” she said softly, “this isn't what you think.”
I laughed.
“Which part? The ten-thousand-dollar bet or sleeping with my boyfriend behind my back?”
Her face changed.
Nico spun toward her.
“Chloe, shut up.”
There.
That reaction.
I had guessed.
Now I knew.
Chloe crossed her arms.
“You're being dramatic.”
“My father almost died eight months ago.”
“That has nothing to do with me.”
I looked at the envelope.
“Apparently it has something to do with him.”
Leo nodded toward the chair across from his desk.
“Sit down, Myra.”
“I'd rather stand.”
“Fair enough.”
Nico stepped inside.
“Dad, whatever you think you know—”
“I know you placed a ten-thousand-dollar wager with Anthony Marano on whether you could sleep with her before Christmas.”
My stomach turned.
Leo continued.
“I know you told Myra you personally paid Thomas Bennett's medical expenses.”
Nico looked at me.
“I was going to explain.”
“And,” Leo said, “I know you were outside Bellini's the night Thomas was shot.”
Everything inside me went quiet.
I looked at Nico.
“What?”
His jaw tightened.
“That's not true.”
Leo pointed at the envelope.
“Open it.”
Nico moved toward me.
“Don't.”
Leo slammed one palm against the desk.
“Enough.”
The sound cracked through the office.
Nico froze.
I opened the envelope.
Photographs.
The first showed the alley behind Bellini's Restaurant eight months earlier.
Timestamp:
11:42 P.M.
Three men stood beside a black Mercedes.
One was my father.
One I didn't recognize.
The third was Nico.
My hands started shaking.
“You told me you were in Miami.”
Nico said nothing.
“You said you were at a bachelor party.”
“Myra—”
“You were there?”
“Yes.”
The answer was almost inaudible.
I turned to Leo.
“What happened that night?”
Leo looked older suddenly.
“Your father wasn't shot during a random robbery.”
I felt my stomach drop.
That was what police told us.
Dad had supposedly walked outside after dinner and interrupted two men robbing someone.
He was shot once beneath the ribs.
The bullet damaged his liver.
He nearly died twice during surgery.
“What was it?”
Leo opened another drawer.
He removed a small recorder.
“A meeting.”
“About what?”
“Me.”
Nico interrupted.
“Dad.”
Leo ignored him.
“Twenty-seven years ago, your father worked for Casaro Shipping.”
I stared.
“My father teaches high school history.”
“Now.”
My mouth went dry.
“Dad worked for you?”
“Not for me. For my father.”
Vittorio Casaro.
Leo's father.
The name still appeared in old newspaper articles about New York organized crime.
Leo had inherited businesses, wealth, and a surname that made people lower their voices.
Nico had always told me his father had gone legitimate years ago.
Apparently tonight was dedicated to discovering which sentences in my life were lies.
“What did Dad do?”
“Accounting.”
I almost laughed.
“My father hates math.”
“He wanted you to believe that.”
Leo walked toward the window.
“Thomas Bennett wasn't always Thomas Bennett.”
Another photograph came from the envelope.
A younger man.
Dark hair.
Leather jacket.
My father's eyes.
Typed underneath:
Thomas Bianchi.
I stared.
“Bianchi?”
“Your father's birth name.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Why would he change it?”
Leo looked directly at me.
“Because somebody tried to kill him.”
Chloe quietly stepped backward.
Leo noticed.
“Ms. Parker.”
She froze.
“You may leave.”
Chloe looked toward Nico.
“Go,” Nico snapped.
She disappeared.
I barely noticed.
“What does any of this have to do with the shooting?”
Leo returned to the desk.
“Your father discovered money disappearing from Casaro Shipping in 1999.”
“How much?”
“Six million dollars.”
“And?”
“He believed my older brother was stealing it.”
“You have a brother?”
“Had.”
Leo's brother, Carlo, died in 2001.
Officially a car accident.
Leo continued.
“Thomas collected records. He intended to bring them to my father.”
“What happened?”
“Carlo discovered what he was doing.”
I looked down at the photographs.
“So Dad ran?”
“After someone shot through his apartment door.”
My knees weakened.
Leo pointed toward the chair again.
This time I sat.
“He entered a federal cooperation program briefly, but no prosecution followed. Carlo died. Thomas created another life.”
“My mother knows?”
“Yes.”
That hurt almost as badly.
Mom had known.
My parents had spent my entire life protecting a secret.
“So why did Dad meet Nico?”
Leo looked at his son.
“Ask him.”
Nico rubbed his jaw.
“Thomas contacted me.”
“Why?”
“Because he found something.”
“What?”
Nico remained silent.
Leo answered.
“The missing six million never disappeared.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“It became sixty-four million.”
The number sounded ridiculous.
Leo explained that the money had been invested through shell companies, real estate, and private funds for nearly three decades.
Someone had kept Carlo's scheme alive after his death.
My father discovered it accidentally when a former Casaro Shipping accountant contacted him.
“He came back to warn me,” Leo said.
“Why you?”
“Because the money was being stolen from my family's legitimate companies.”
“So Nico attended the meeting for you?”
“No.”
I looked at Nico.
Leo's voice became colder.
“Nico was following Thomas.”
I stood.
“Why?”
Nico finally snapped.
“Because Dad doesn't tell me anything!”
Leo laughed without humor.
“And apparently secrecy justified stupidity.”
Nico looked at me.
“I knew your father had contacted him. I thought Thomas had something Dad didn't want me to know.”
“What happened in that alley?”
Nobody answered.
I grabbed the photographs.
“My father was shot. Tell me.”
Nico looked away.
That was when I knew.
“You saw it.”
“Yes.”
“You saw who shot him?”
“Yes.”
My heart pounded.
“Who?”
Nico whispered a name.
“Anthony Marano.”
The same Anthony Marano Leo had mentioned earlier.
The man who made the bet.
“Your friend?”
Nico nodded.
I felt physically sick.
“You made a bet about me with the man who shot my father?”
“It happened afterward.”
As if chronology made it better.
“Why wasn't Anthony arrested?”
Nico said nothing.
Leo answered.
“Because my son lied to police.”
I stared.
Nico immediately raised his hands.
“I didn't know Thomas was going to survive.”
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Anthony told me it was an accident.”
“A bullet accidentally entered my father's body?”
“He said Thomas grabbed him.”
Leo's expression hardened.
“Tell her the rest.”
Nico looked furious.
“Dad.”
“Tell her.”
Nico turned toward me.
“Anthony called me after.”
“How long after?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“And?”
“He asked me to get rid of something.”
“What?”
Nico swallowed.
“A gun.”
My entire body went cold.
“You hid the gun?”
“I panicked.”
“You protected the man who shot my father.”
“I didn't know you then!”
That sentence landed harder than he intended.
Because apparently people only mattered once Nico wanted something from them.
Leo looked disgusted.
“Three weeks later, Nico met you at the hospital fundraiser.”
I remembered.
Of course I did.
Nico had approached while I was standing beside the silent-auction table.
He said he'd heard about Dad.
He offered help.
Flowers arrived the next morning.
Then coffee.
Dinner.
Calls.
I had thought kindness found me during the worst period of my life.
Now I understood.
“You knew exactly who I was.”
Nico said nothing.
“The first time you introduced yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His silence told me.
Leo answered anyway.
“Because Anthony was frightened your father might remember him.”
I stepped backward.
“Nico got close to me because of Anthony?”
“At first.”
Nico rushed forward.
“At first, yes. But then everything changed.”
I laughed.
“That is supposed to help?”
“I fell in love with you.”
“You bet ten thousand dollars you could sleep with me.”
“That was stupid.”
“You lied about saving Dad.”
“I wanted you to trust me.”
“Exactly.”
I turned to Leo.
“Why are you telling me this now?”
He looked at the envelope.
“Because Thomas didn't only discover who shot him.”
He removed the final photograph.
A bank statement.
Account holder:
CP Heritage Holdings.
Authorized signatories:
Anthony Marano.
And—
I stared at the second name.
“No.”
Nico stepped closer.
“Myra.”
I read it again.
Chloe Parker.
My best friend.
The woman who had been laughing in Nico's bedroom.
Leo spoke quietly.
“Chloe wasn't sleeping with Nico because she wanted your boyfriend.”
My chest tightened.
“She was watching him.”
“For who?”
“Anthony.”
I looked toward the hallway where Chloe had disappeared.
“Why?”
“Because Anthony knows your father survived with evidence.”
“What evidence?”
Leo looked at the envelope.
“The original ledger.”
I shook my head.
“I don't know anything about a ledger.”
“Anthony believes Thomas gave it to you.”
“He didn't.”
“I believe you.”
“Anthony doesn't.”
Suddenly, every strange question Chloe had asked over eight months returned.
Did Dad keep old paperwork?
Had Mom cleaned his office?
Was I staying at my parents' house?
Did Dad remember the shooting?
I thought she was concerned.
She had been searching.
Then a sound came from the hallway.
A door slammed downstairs.
Leo pressed a button beneath his desk.
“Marco.”
A man's voice answered through an intercom.
“Yes?”
“Find Ms. Parker.”
Pause.
“She's gone.”
Nico swore.
Leo remained calm.
“How?”
“Kitchen exit.”
My phone vibrated.
Chloe.
A text.
I'm sorry. I never wanted you hurt.
Then another.
A photograph.
My parents' house.
Taken from across the street.
Tonight.
Underneath:
Anthony knows Leo told you.
I stared.
Then the third message arrived.
Don't go home.
My blood turned to ice.
I called Dad.
No answer.
Mom.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
“Leo.”
He saw my face.
“What?”
“My parents.”
I showed him the photograph.
Nico moved toward me.
I shoved him away.
“Don't touch me.”
Leo was already reaching for his phone.
“Send two cars to Bennett's house. Now.”
I grabbed my heels.
“I’m going.”
“No.”
“That is my family.”
“And if Anthony is there, you're exactly what he wants.”
“I don't care.”
“You should.”
Leo stepped closer.
“Your father saved my life twenty-seven years ago.”
I froze.
“What?”
“He didn't merely discover Carlo's theft.”
Leo's eyes hardened.
“He discovered Carlo planned to kill me.”
My breath caught.
“Thomas warned me. That's the debt I've been repaying.”
Then Leo said the words that changed the entire night.
“And if Anthony is doing what I think he's doing, your father wasn't shot because of an old ledger.”
“What was he shot for?”
Leo looked at Nico.
May you like
Then back at me.
“Because Thomas discovered Carlo Casaro may still be alive.
