Chapter 4 - THE WIFE WHO CAME BACK FROM THE DEAD
Adrian had imagined Evelyn’s voice for three years.
Now he was hearing it.
Alive.
Breathing.
Afraid.
“Where are you?” he asked.
The line crackled.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because Damian monitors everything.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“Where have you been?”
“Trying to survive.”
“You let me bury you.”
Her silence hurt more than an answer.
I stood several feet away, suddenly feeling like I was intruding on something unbearably private.
Adrian turned toward the window.
“Why Lila?”
Evelyn hesitated.
“Because her mother left something behind.”
I gripped the chair.
“My mother?”
Evelyn heard me.
“Lila?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For using you.”
My anger arrived instantly.
“You arranged this?”
“I arranged the mask.”
“You arranged my roommate stealing from me?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“Damian.”
Adrian spun around.
“What?”
“He knows Kenzie.”
Roman cursed softly.
Evelyn continued.
“Damian wanted Lila at Black Orchid too.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s looking for the same thing I am.”
I crossed my arms.
“What exactly did my dead librarian mother leave behind that every criminal in Chicago suddenly wants?”
Evelyn’s voice softened.
“A ledger.”
Adrian frowned.
“What ledger?”
“Victor’s.”
Adrian went still.
His father had died five years earlier.
The official story said pancreatic cancer.
From Adrian’s expression, I suspected there were unofficial stories too.
Evelyn continued.
“Victor Vale kept records of everything. Judges. Police commanders. politicians. shipping routes. payoffs. murders.”
Roman swore.
“If that ledger exists…”
“It could destroy half the Vale network,” Adrian finished.
“Not just yours,” Evelyn said. “Other families too.”
I stared.
“And my mother had it?”
“She helped create it.”
That sentence broke something in my understanding of my childhood.
My mother, Caroline Hart.
Brown cardigans.
Tea before bed.
Library books.
Sunday pancakes.
Accountant for a mafia empire.
I whispered, “Why?”
“She was trying to get out.”
“Out of what?”
“The organization.”
“Why didn’t she go to police?”
“She tried.”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed.
“What happened?”
Evelyn hesitated.
“Someone inside law enforcement sold her back to Victor.”
My throat tightened.
“How did she die?”
No answer.
“Evelyn.”
“I don’t know.”
I closed my eyes.
Adrian looked at me.
For once, the dangerous man looked almost helpless.
Then Evelyn said:
“Lila, did your mother ever give you a book?”
I laughed bitterly.
“She gave me hundreds.”
“One she told you never to lose.”
I froze.
There was one.
A battered copy of Jane Eyre.
My mother had written my name inside.
I still had it.
Adrian saw my face.
“What?”
I whispered:
“I know what she means.”
Evelyn’s voice sharpened.
“Do not go home alone.”
Too late.
My phone buzzed.
A notification from my apartment security app.
FRONT DOOR OPENED.
I stared.
Someone had entered my apartment.
Adrian was already moving.
“Roman.”
Roman reached for his weapon.
We left the club.
By the time we reached my building, the front door was hanging open.
My apartment had been destroyed.
Drawers emptied.
Mattress cut open.
Books scattered everywhere.
But Jane Eyre was gone.
On the wall above my bed, someone had written three words in red lipstick:
DAMIAN WAS HERE.
Then Roman found something beneath my pillow.
A black envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Adrian and Damian.
Children.
Standing beside their father.
And behind them stood my mother.
Holding a baby.
Me.
May you like
Except the handwriting on the back said:
LILA HART IS NOT CAROLINE'S DAUGHTER.
