Chapter 3 - The Secret My Father Died Protecting
The safest room in the Belladonna estate had no windows.
That was the first thing I noticed.
The second was that Adrian had enough weapons behind one locked cabinet to make me question every decision that had led me there.
The third was a photograph.
It sat on a shelf beside a stack of encrypted radios.
A woman with dark hair held two boys near a lake.
One boy was unmistakably Adrian.
Seventeen, maybe.
Already serious.
The younger boy leaned against their mother, laughing at something outside the frame.
Luca.
I picked up the photograph.
Adrian noticed.
“That’s her?”
“My mother.”
“She was beautiful.”
“Yes.”
There was no hesitation.
Just grief compressed into one word.
I set it down carefully.
“Were you close?”
“With her?”
I nodded.
“She was the only person in this family who believed fear wasn't the same thing as respect.”
That surprised me.
“And your father?”
Adrian looked toward the security monitors.
“My father believed fear lasted longer.”
I sat at the steel table.
Isabella had been taken to another secure wing after the attack.
Marco was coordinating security.
My mother was being transported to Belladonna whether either of us liked it.
And I was still wearing the Moretti ring.
I turned it around my finger.
“Your mother wore this?”
“Every day.”
“Then why give it to a fake fiancée?”
He looked at me.
“Because everyone who matters knows what it is.”
The answer should have felt practical.
Instead, something about his expression made my chest tighten.
I ignored it.
“What do we know?”
He pulled a folder from a cabinet.
“Your father, Daniel Brooks, maintained ventilation systems in Moretti-owned properties.”
“Until the fire.”
“Yes.”
“He believed someone changed the warehouse system.”
“Yes.”
“And your mother died.”
“Yes.”
“Then my father died four months later.”
Adrian's jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“And your uncle Gabriel vanished.”
“My mother's brother.”
“Who nobody told you existed.”
“Yes.”
I leaned back.
“Your family really needs group therapy.”
His mouth twitched.
“Probably.”
A screen lit up.
Marco entered.
“We found Lydia.”
I stood.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Cheap motel outside Albany.”
“Why Albany?”
“She was running.”
“From us?”
Marco gave Adrian a look.
“From whoever paid her.”
Adrian stood.
“Bring her here.”
“She refuses.”
Adrian's voice went colder.
“I wasn't asking.”
I stepped between them.
“Wait.”
Both men looked at me.
“You think dragging a terrified woman into a mafia compound is going to make her cooperative?”
Marco’s expression suggested nobody had ever phrased Belladonna that way.
Adrian folded his arms.
“What do you suggest?”
“We go to her.”
“No.”
“You asked.”
“And rejected.”
“Then stop pretending this is a discussion.”
Marco hid a smile badly.
Adrian stared at him.
Marco became expressionless.
I continued.
“Lydia knows me. She hates me, but she knows me.”
“That isn't an argument.”
“She'll talk to me before she talks to armed men.”
“She sent you into a trap.”
“And if she intended me to die, she wouldn't be running.”
Adrian went quiet.
I knew I had him.
“I go with you,” I said.
“No.”
“Then I'm not helping.”
“You're remarkably difficult for someone under protection.”
“You're remarkably bossy for someone pretending to be my fiancé.”
Marco coughed.
Adrian glared at both of us.
Twenty minutes later, we were in an armored SUV heading west.
Lydia’s motel looked like the kind of place where curtains had given up years ago.
Adrian sent men to both exits.
“You stay behind me.”
“Fine.”
“If I say run—”
“I run.”
“If I say down—”
“I get down.”
“If I say—”
“Adrian.”
He looked at me.
“I understand bullets are serious.”
His mouth twitched again.
We approached room seventeen.
I almost laughed when I saw the number.
Table seventeen.
Of course.
I knocked.
Nothing.
“Lydia?”
A chain shifted.
“Elena?”
“Yes.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Trying to understand why someone broke into my apartment.”
Silence.
Then Lydia whispered, “You're alive?”
My stomach tightened.
Adrian heard it too.
“Open the door,” I said.
“No.”
“Lydia.”
“I didn't know.”
“Know what?”
“I swear to God, Elena, I didn't know.”
“Open the door.”
The chain moved.
The door opened three inches.
Lydia’s face appeared.
No makeup.
Hair greasy.
Eyes swollen.
She looked nothing like the perfectly polished manager who had screamed at me twelve hours earlier.
Then she saw Adrian.
She slammed the door.
He caught it with one hand.
“Ms. Crane.”
“Stay away from me!”
“Who paid you?”
“I don't know.”
“You deposited forty thousand dollars.”
“It was supposed to be harmless.”
“What was?”
She looked at me.
Her face crumpled.
“They told me to send you upstairs.”
“Who?”
“I never met him.”
Adrian pushed the door closed behind us.
Marco remained outside.
“Explain everything,” Adrian said.
Lydia sank onto the bed.
“A man contacted me three weeks ago.”
“How?”
“Email.”
“What did he want?”
“Staff schedules. Floor plans. Nothing dangerous.”
“That is dangerous.”
“I didn't know who he was!”
“You knew whose house this was.”
She started crying.
I almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
“Why me?” I asked.
“He asked which employees had no connection to the Morettis.”
“What does that mean?”
“He wanted someone ordinary.”
The word stung more than it should have.
“What else?”
“He asked for employee background checks.”
Adrian's eyes narrowed.
“You gave him personnel files?”
Lydia nodded.
“I needed money.”
“Forty thousand dollars?”
“My brother owes people.”
“What people?”
She looked at Adrian.
“The kind who don't send reminder letters.”
He understood.
“So you sold Elena.”
“I didn't know!”
“You sent her to my private corridor.”
“They said someone would photograph her and embarrass the company. That was all.”
“Why Elena?”
Lydia looked at me.
“Because of your father.”
I went still.
“What?”
“They asked if your father’s name was Daniel Brooks.”
“How would you know?”
“Employment paperwork.”
My mouth dried.
“What did they say about him?”
“Nothing.”
Adrian stepped closer.
“Lydia.”
She flinched.
“They said if I found Daniel Brooks’s daughter on the staff roster, I was supposed to make sure she worked the Belladonna gala.”
I stared.
I hadn't even been originally scheduled.
Another employee had gotten sick.
Lydia had called me at six that morning.
“Was Rachel actually sick?”
Lydia started crying harder.
“No.”
My hands curled.
“You took me off another event.”
“They paid me.”
“You engineered all of this.”
“I didn't know anyone would hurt you.”
Adrian’s voice turned frighteningly quiet.
“Who contacted you?”
“I told you, I don't know.”
“Name.”
“Victor.”
“Last name?”
“None.”
“Voice?”
“Changed.”
“Payment source?”
“Cash delivered by courier.”
Adrian looked at me.
I knew what he was thinking.
Professional.
Planned.
Long before the gala.
“What did Victor ask you after I entered the bedroom?” I said.
Lydia wiped her face.
“He texted me at three seventeen.”
Three seventeen.
That was probably around the time I had collapsed upstairs.
“What did he say?”
She reached for her phone.
“It’s gone.”
Adrian stared.
“What?”
“I threw it away after I ran.”
“Tell us.”
She swallowed.
“He said, ‘The wolf found the lamb.’”
My skin crawled.
Adrian’s face hardened.
“What else?”
“He asked whether Moretti touched you.”
I recoiled.
“What?”
“I didn't answer.”
Adrian looked murderous.
“Exact words.”
Lydia closed her eyes.
“‘Did Adrian recognize Brooks’s daughter?’”
Silence swallowed the motel room.
I whispered, “Recognize me from what?”
“I don't know.”
Adrian paced once.
“Did Victor ever mention Gabriel Vale?”
Lydia’s eyes opened.
That was enough.
Adrian leaned closer.
“What did he say?”
“I heard someone in the background once.”
“What?”
“They were arguing.”
“About?”
“I only heard one sentence.”
“Say it.”
She looked at me.
“Someone said, ‘Gabriel should have killed the girl when he had the chance.’”
My stomach dropped.
Adrian went completely still.
“The girl?”
“That's what they said.”
“How old was Elena when her father died?”
“Twelve,” I whispered.
Adrian closed his eyes.
The air seemed to leave the room.
I remembered the accident.
Rain.
Police lights reflected against our kitchen walls.
A stranger bringing my mother home.
Dad’s car had gone through a guardrail.
At least, that's what I had always believed.
A crash.
Bad weather.
Tragedy.
But if someone had known about me—
A floorboard creaked outside.
Adrian moved before I even registered the sound.
He grabbed me and pulled me down.
The motel window exploded.
Lydia screamed.
A bullet struck the wall.
Adrian shoved me behind the bed.
“Stay down!”
Another shot.
Marco and the guards returned fire.
Chaos erupted outside.
I heard tires squealing.
Adrian pressed one hand against my shoulder.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
“Stay here.”
“Lydia!”
She was on the floor beside us.
Blood spread across her sleeve.
“I'm okay,” she gasped.
The bullet had grazed her upper arm.
Adrian shouted for Marco.
Within seconds, two guards were inside.
“Shooter gone,” Marco said.
“Vehicle?”
“Gray sedan. No plates.”
Adrian looked at Lydia.
“You were followed.”
She shook her head wildly.
“I checked.”
“They found you somehow.”
Her phone rang.
Everyone froze.
She stared at it on the nightstand.
“That’s not mine.”
Adrian's eyes narrowed.
The phone was cheap.
Disposable.
Placed there by someone.
It rang again.
Marco picked it up with a cloth and activated speaker.
A distorted male voice filled the room.
“Adrian.”
Nobody spoke.
The voice continued.
“You should have left Daniel Brooks’s daughter asleep.”
Adrian’s jaw clenched.
“Who are you?”
“You know who I am.”
“No.”
A laugh.
“Ask your grandmother what happened on December eighteenth, 2007.”
Isabella’s secret again.
Adrian’s expression darkened.
“What happened?”
“Your mother made a choice.”
“What choice?”
“She trusted the wrong brother.”
Adrian’s eyes changed.
“Gabriel?”
The voice laughed softly.
“Still chasing ghosts.”
The call disconnected.
Marco stared at the phone.
“We can trace—”
“It was too short,” Adrian said.
I looked at him.
“December eighteenth?”
“The night before the warehouse fire.”
We left Lydia under guard and returned to Belladonna.
My mother arrived an hour later.
The reunion was not gentle.
She crossed the entrance hall, saw Adrian, and slapped him.
Every guard in the room froze.
Adrian didn't move.
“Mom!”
She stepped between us.
“You stay away from her.”
“Mrs. Brooks—”
“You people destroyed my husband.”
Adrian’s grandmother appeared at the top of the stairs.
Catherine Brooks saw her.
Her face transformed.
“You.”
Isabella stopped.
My mother whispered, “You came to the funeral.”
I looked at Isabella.
“You knew my mother?”
“No.”
Mom laughed bitterly.
“You stood across the cemetery under a black umbrella.”
Adrian turned sharply.
“Nonna?”
Isabella descended the stairs slowly.
“I needed to know Daniel was truly dead.”
My mother’s hand shook.
“Why?”
“Because he had called me the night before.”
I felt the world narrow.
“What did Dad say?”
Isabella looked at me.
“He said he finally understood who killed Sofia.”
Adrian’s mother.
Adrian stepped forward.
“Who?”
“I never found out.”
“You said he called you.”
“He was terrified. He told me he had evidence.”
“The key,” Mom whispered.
Isabella nodded.
“He wanted to give it to Gabriel.”
Adrian looked between them.
“But Gabriel was supposedly dead.”
“He wasn't dead yet.”
Isabella’s voice broke.
“He disappeared after Sofia’s funeral. We assumed he fled.”
“Why?”
“Because your father believed Gabriel had betrayed us.”
Adrian stared at her.
“Did he?”
“I don't know.”
“Twenty years and that's still your answer?”
“Yes.”
My mother slowly reached into her handbag.
“I didn't tell Elena everything.”
My heart sank.
“Mom.”
She removed a worn envelope.
“I've carried this for eighteen years.”
My father's handwriting was on the front.
For Elena, when knowing becomes safer than not knowing.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
Three lines.
Ellie, if you're reading this, I failed to come home.
The key opens box 214 at South Harbor Federal.
Never trust the man with the wolf on his back.
I stopped breathing.
Everyone looked at Adrian.
The black wolf tattoo.
His family's symbol.
My father’s warning.
I stared at the man who had spent the last two days protecting me.
Adrian stared back.
Then he reached slowly for the collar of his shirt.
“No,” he said.
“What?”
“My wolf isn't on my back.”
I knew.
It was on his arm.
Adrian turned toward Marco.
“Who in this family has one on his back?”
Marco looked confused.
Isabella did not.
Her cane began trembling.
Adrian saw it.
“Nonna.”
She whispered a name.
“Salvatore.”
Adrian’s uncle.
And at that exact moment, somewhere deeper inside Belladonna, the estate alarm began screaming.
Marco's radio erupted.
“Boss! South entrance!”
Adrian grabbed the receiver.
“What?”
A guard shouted through static.
“Salvatore Moretti just entered the property.”
Adrian’s expression became stone.
“He’s supposed to be in Sicily.”
The radio crackled.
“He says he came because he heard about the engagement.”
Isabella closed her eyes.
Adrian looked at me.
Then at my father’s letter.
May you like
And for the first time since this nightmare began, we knew exactly where to start looking.
Inside Adrian’s own family.
