Chapter 5 - One Night Inside the Russo Mansion
The Russo mansion looked like a place where ordinary problems were politely asked to leave at the front gate.
It stood behind tall iron fencing on several acres of private land north of the city.
Stone columns framed the entrance.
Warm light spilled from enormous windows.
A circular driveway surrounded a fountain that probably cost more than my entire nursing education.
I stared through the SUV window.
"Does anyone actually need a house this big?"
Adrian, seated beside me, looked up from his phone.
"Probably not."
"Then why do you have one?"
"My father liked making people feel small."
I glanced at him.
"And you?"
"I haven't figured out what to do with it."
That answer stayed with me.
Inside, a woman with silver-streaked dark hair waited near the entrance.
She wore a simple navy dress and looked considerably less impressed with Adrian Russo than everyone else I'd encountered.
"Finally," she said.
Adrian stopped.
"Good evening, Rosa."
"Don't good-evening me. Your doctor called. You're supposed to be resting."
"I am resting."
"Standing isn't resting."
"I was sitting in the car."
"That doesn't count."
I looked between them.
For the first time, I saw Adrian Russo lose an argument without even attempting to win it.
Rosa turned toward me.
"You must be Emma."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Rosa Moretti. I manage this oversized museum and the difficult men living inside it."
I smiled.
"That sounds exhausting."
"Darling, you have no idea."
She took my coat and showed me to a guest room on the second floor.
It was larger than my apartment.
A king-sized bed stood against an upholstered wall.
Tall windows overlooked the gardens.
Fresh flowers rested beside a handwritten welcome card.
I stared at the bathroom.
There was a chandelier above the bathtub.
A chandelier.
In the bathroom.
Rosa noticed my expression.
"Ridiculous, isn't it?"
I laughed for the first time all evening.
Then I remembered why I was there.
The laughter disappeared.
Rosa's expression softened.
"Mr. Russo told me you lost your father."
I nodded.
"Then I imagine tonight has been difficult."
"That's one word for it."
She gently touched my arm.
"Get some food. Nobody solves the world's problems on an empty stomach."
I followed her downstairs.
Adrian was waiting in a smaller sitting room near the kitchen.
A physician had already checked his temperature and dressing again, and a written treatment plan rested on the nearby table.
I pointed at it.
"Follow that."
"Yes, Nurse Shaw."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
Rosa placed two bowls of homemade soup between us.
"Eat," she ordered.
Adrian reached for his spoon.
I almost smiled.
Apparently, Rosa was the only person in Brooklyn who could command a mafia boss with a serving ladle.
After dinner, Marco brought in a laptop.
"We've made a forensic copy of the storage device without altering the original. The encrypted contents are intact."
I sat forward.
"Can we open it?"
"Not yet," Adrian replied. "We need to preserve the chain of custody and have an independent specialist examine it."
For all the rumors surrounding Russo Holdings, he seemed unexpectedly careful about the evidence.
"Do you trust the police?" I asked.
"Some of them."
"That's not reassuring."
"It's the truth."
Marco opened a folder containing scanned documents from the envelope Adrian had discovered.
One page carried my father's signature.
Another featured Elizabeth Vale's name.
At the bottom of a financial summary, I noticed a familiar logo.
A blue circle surrounding a silver bird.
"Wait."
I pointed.
"I've seen that."
Adrian leaned forward.
"Where?"
"At the hospital."
He froze.
"Mercy General?"
"Not on the hospital's own paperwork. On donation plaques. The foundation funded some equipment for our emergency department last year."
Marco enlarged the logo.
NIGHTJAR FOUNDATION.
My stomach twisted.
"Who runs it?"
Marco hesitated.
Then answered.
"Victor Hale."
Adrian's expression darkened.
I noticed.
"Who's Victor Hale?"
"My father's former business partner."
"Former?"
"He now controls several companies that separated from Russo Holdings after my father's death."
I looked back at the screen.
"Is he involved in this?"
"I suspect he knows more than he's admitted."
"That's a diplomatic answer."
Adrian glanced at Marco.
"Emma is going to ask questions until someone tells her the truth."
Marco nodded.
"I've noticed, sir."
I ignored them.
"Why would a foundation connected to this investigation donate money to my hospital?"
"We don't know," Adrian said.
But his expression suggested he was beginning to develop a theory.
At eleven, Rosa insisted that everyone stop working.
I took my father's photograph upstairs.
Outside, the rain had finally ended.
I stood beside the bedroom window, looking at the illuminated gardens.
For eleven years, I'd missed my father in ordinary moments.
When a car made a strange sound.
When I couldn't fix a loose kitchen cabinet.
When I saw girls hugging their fathers at graduation ceremonies.
I had never imagined missing him could become something dangerous.
A quiet knock interrupted my thoughts.
Adrian stood outside.
He had changed into dark trousers and a black sweater.
Without the suit and overcoat, he looked less like the man from newspaper photographs.
More human.
"I thought you should have this," he said.
He extended a small envelope.
Inside was another photograph.
My father stood beside a picnic table, holding a little girl on his shoulders.
Me.
I was laughing with both hands buried in his hair.
Adrian was visible in the background, carrying paper plates.
"I don't remember this."
"You were eight. You told everyone I looked like a grumpy movie villain."
I blinked.
Then laughed softly.
"Sounds like me."
"Your father thought it was hilarious."
My smile faded.
"Why are you doing this?"
Adrian considered the question.
"Because your father once helped me when he had nothing to gain."
"How?"
"He told me the truth about the kind of man I was becoming."
I waited.
Adrian looked toward the photograph.
"He said power meant nothing if people only stood beside you because they were frightened to leave."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he stepped back.
"Good night, Emma."
"Good night."
After he left, I placed the photograph beside my bed.
I was about to turn off the lamp when something caught my attention.
On the back of the envelope was an embossed silver bird.
The same bird from the Nightjar Foundation.
And beneath it, almost invisible in the paper, was an address.
17 WILLOW CREEK ROAD.
I reached for my phone.
Before I could call Adrian, a message appeared from an unknown number.
If you want to know what happened to Elizabeth Vale, come alone.
Attached was a photograph of a little girl sitting behind a locked wooden door.
May you like
She held a stuffed white rabbit.
And around her neck hung the same silver necklace worn by the woman who had watched me outside my apartment.
