Chapter 2 - THE FATHER EMMA NEVER KNEW
Emma woke just after nine.
The first thing she asked for was her phone.
The second was whether she still had a job.
I stared at her from the chair beside the hospital window.
“You nearly died.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No, you’re not fired.”
She relaxed.
That reaction told me more about her life than anything in Marco’s report.
Dr. Marino had confirmed two cracked ribs, a concussion, severe bruising, and stitches along her hairline.
Painful.
Serious.
But she would recover.
“What happened to my uniform?” she asked.
“Security has it.”
“I need it back.”
“Why?”
She looked embarrassed.
“It was expensive.”
Lucia, sitting across the room, actually laughed.
Emma frowned.
“What?”
“You are unbelievable.”
Emma looked between us.
“I don’t understand.”
I did.
She had spent so many years counting dollars that even after being beaten in an alley, she was worried about replacing work clothes.
I waited until Lucia left to get coffee.
Then I asked:
“Who was your father?”
Emma looked surprised.
“Thomas Carter.”
“What did he do?”
“Maintenance.”
“Where?”
“Different places.”
“Did he ever work at the docks?”
Her expression changed.
“No.”
I watched carefully.
“Did your mother ever call him Tommaso?”
Emma went completely still.
That was enough.
“How do you know that name?”
I leaned back.
“Answer me first.”
She stared.
“My grandmother called him that once.”
“When?”
“I was little.”
“Anything else?”
“She said Mom made him become someone else.”
My pulse changed.
“What did you think she meant?”
“That he changed after they married.”
It made sense for a child.
Not anymore.
Emma looked at me.
“What does my father have to do with Kolov?”
I could have lied.
Ten years ago, I would have.
Maybe even five.
But lying to someone lying in a hospital bed because of my world felt obscene.
“Your father’s birth name was Tommaso Caruso.”
Emma’s face emptied.
“He worked for Viktor Kolov’s father.”
“No.”
“He was an accountant.”
“No.”
“He disappeared after taking financial records.”
“No.”
Her voice sharpened each time.
“My father fixed boilers. He painted apartment buildings. He hated accountants.”
“Maybe because he used to be one.”
She turned her face away.
For several seconds, I let her breathe.
Then she whispered:
“He died when I was fourteen.”
“Yes.”
“A construction platform failed.”
“That’s what the report says.”
Her head turned back.
“What are you not saying?”
I didn’t answer quickly enough.
Her eyes narrowed.
“What are you not saying?”
“Your father spent years hiding from Kolov.”
The monitor beside her accelerated.
“I need my mother.”
“Emma—”
“I need my mother now.”
Rose Carter arrived an hour later wearing a head scarf and carrying the exhaustion of chemotherapy in every step.
She hugged Emma.
Then she saw me.
Her entire body froze.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
“You.”
Emma looked between us.
“Mom?”
Rose’s eyes filled with fear.
“You’re Dominic Castellano.”
“Yes.”
Emma sat straighter.
“You know him?”
Rose ignored her daughter.
“You stay away from my family.”
I had heard threats from judges, politicians, killers, federal agents.
None had ever sounded like that.
“Mrs. Carter—”
“My husband died because of men with your last name.”
The room went silent.
Emma whispered:
“What?”
Rose turned toward her.
And for the first time, I saw a mother realize that the secret she had built an entire life around was collapsing.
“Your father didn’t die in a construction accident.”
Emma stopped breathing.
Rose held her hand.
“He was murdered.”
Emma stared at her.
“By Kolov?”
Rose closed her eyes.
“No.”
May you like
Then she looked directly at me.
“By a Castellano.”
