Chapter 3 - THE MAFIA BOSS WHO LEARNED HIS MOTHER WAS MURDERED
Nathan answered on the first ring.
“Bella?”
“I need to see you.”
Something in my voice must have warned him.
“Where are you?”
“Hospital.”
“Stay there.”
“I don’t need—”
The line disconnected.
Twenty minutes later, two black SUVs stopped outside the hospital.
Nathan entered through the main doors wearing a charcoal suit and an expression that made three security guards suddenly become interested in the floor.
I handed him the photograph without explanation.
He stopped moving.
“That’s my mother.”
“I know.”
His eyes shifted to the woman beside Evelyn.
“Your mother?”
I nodded.
Nathan sat down slowly.
I gave him the letter.
He read it once.
Then again.
By the third time, his hands were shaking.
I had never imagined Nathan Drake could shake.
“Vincent raised me,” he said quietly.
I said nothing.
“When my father died, Vincent was there. When I took over the company, he stood beside me. Every war I survived, every betrayal…”
His voice broke.
“He taught me who to trust.”
“Maybe that was the point.”
Nathan looked at me.
For one dangerous second, I thought anger might win.
Instead, he folded the letter carefully.
“Your mother says your father witnessed my mother’s death.”
“She also says Vincent made him disappear.”
Nathan stood.
“We need to get you somewhere safe.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I know what happened.”
“Bella.”
“No.”
His eyes narrowed.
I stepped closer.
“You don’t get to make decisions for me because you’re scared.”
The words hit him.
He remembered the pill.
So did I.
After several seconds, he nodded.
“Then we decide together.”
It was the first time he said we without making it sound like an order.
Nathan drove me to my apartment himself.
When we reached my floor, he stopped suddenly.
My door was open.
“I locked that.”
Nathan moved in front of me.
“Stay behind me.”
This time, I did.
The apartment had been destroyed.
Couch cushions slashed.
Drawers emptied.
My mother’s photographs scattered across the floor.
Nothing valuable seemed missing.
Then I saw the words painted across my bedroom wall.
HANNAH SHOULD HAVE KEPT HER MOUTH SHUT.
Nathan’s face turned terrifyingly calm.
Someone had known about the letter.
Someone knew my mother had left me evidence.
I began searching through the wreckage.
Nathan stopped me.
“What are you looking for?”
“The key.”
“What key?”
“The one Mom left me.”
It was still in my pocket.
I stared at the tiny brass object.
Then I remembered something.
My mother had owned an old wooden sewing box that she never let me touch.
I found it beneath my overturned bed.
The key fit perfectly.
Inside was a small cassette recorder.
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And one tape labeled:
EVELYN - THE NIGHT SHE DIED.
