Chapter 2 - The Photograph My Mother Never Explained
My mother had died believing I would never discover the truth about our family.
At least, that was what I'd always thought.
Now her handwriting appeared on a photograph hidden inside the private files of Boston's most feared mafia boss.
I stared at the words.
IF THE WOLF RETURNS, FIND MARA.
My hands trembled.
"Where did you get this?"
Gabriel looked toward the photograph.
"It was inside my father's private archive."
"How long have you had it?"
"Seven years."
I stared at him.
"You had my mother's handwriting for seven years?"
He looked up sharply.
"I didn't know who Mara was."
Something in his voice made me believe him.
But that didn't make the situation any less terrifying.
Cassandra stepped closer.
"Mr. Moretti, this is clearly a misunderstanding."
Gabriel didn't look at her.
"Sit down."
She stopped.
Then he turned toward me.
"What was your mother's name?"
"Eleanor Quinn."
His expression changed.
"Eleanor?"
I nodded.
"She worked as a hospital administrator. She died four years ago."
Gabriel slowly looked toward Silvio Romano.
"Do you recognize that name?"
Silvio hesitated.
"No."
But I noticed the way he gripped his chair.
He recognized it.
I was certain.
Gabriel noticed too.
Then he looked back at me.
"Did Eleanor ever mention Alessandro Moretti?"
I shook my head.
"Not directly."
"What do you mean?"
I took a breath.
"When I was a child, Mom used to tell me a story about a wolf that lived beneath a lighthouse."
Gabriel went still.
"Which lighthouse?"
"I don't know. She said it was just a story."
I remembered her voice.
The little apartment.
The rain against the windows.
And the way she'd always ended the story with the same sentence.
The wolf kept the keys because the people who owned the doors couldn't be trusted.
At the time, I thought it was nonsense.
Now I wasn't so sure.
Gabriel reached for the letter again.
"Read the next paragraph."
I adjusted my glasses.
The script became more complicated.
French commercial abbreviations were mixed with Latin shorthand.
Then I found a phrase that made me stop.
Custodia septentrionalis.
Northern guardianship.
Below it appeared a date.
Twenty-three years earlier.
And a name.
Not Alessandro.
Not Gabriel.
ELEANOR QUINN.
My stomach dropped.
"Mr. Moretti?"
He leaned closer.
"What?"
"My mother is named in this letter."
His face hardened.
"Doing what?"
I translated slowly.
"She's listed as the appointed custodian of the Wolf's original records."
Silence filled the room.
Then I reached the next sentence.
I read it once.
Twice.
And felt the blood drain from my face.
"What is it?" Gabriel demanded.
I looked at him.
"The letter says your uncle didn't die at sea."
Gabriel gripped the table.
"Then where did he go?"
I swallowed.
"He entered protective custody after discovering someone was stealing from the Moretti family trust."
Gabriel stared at me.
Then Cassandra whispered:
"That's enough."
I turned.
She was trembling.
And as Gabriel watched, she reached toward the old letter as though she intended to take it away.
His security officer stepped between them.
Cassandra stopped.
Then Gabriel asked quietly:
"Dr. Wren, how did you know the Wolf wasn't supposed to have an heir?"
She said nothing.
Gabriel leaned forward.
"Because that information isn't written in the paragraph you translated."
Her face went white.
And I realized something that made my skin crawl.
May you like
Cassandra hadn't mistranslated the letter because she was incompetent.
She'd mistranslated it because she already knew what it said.
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