Chapter 4 - The Photograph in the Fire
Evelyn woke at 4:17 a.m.
She knew the exact time because she had been waking before dawn for seven years.
Fear trained the body better than any alarm clock.
She checked Noah first.
Breathing.
Blanket kicked aside.
One sock missing.
Normal.
She covered him again and walked into the hallway.
Vincent was sitting downstairs.
He hadn’t slept.
A glass of untouched whiskey sat beside him.
“You still do that?” she asked.
“What?”
“Pour drinks you don’t drink.”
He looked at the glass.
“Apparently.”
She sat across from him.
For several seconds they simply looked at each other.
Seven years filled the space.
Vincent finally spoke.
“Tell me everything.”
“I told you what happened.”
“You told me the hospital.”
“I don’t know more.”
“You know what happened before.”
Evelyn looked away.
Vincent waited.
That was something new.
The younger Vincent would have demanded.
This one waited.
She hated that it worked.
“Two weeks before Noah was born, I received an envelope.”
Vincent’s expression changed.
“What was inside?”
“Photographs of me.”
“From where?”
“Everywhere.”
She remembered them.
Grocery store.
Doctor’s office.
Her mother’s apartment.
Her bedroom window.
“And a note.”
“What did it say?”
“Leave Vincent Moretti, or bury him.”
Vincent became still.
“You never told me.”
“I thought it was someone trying to scare me away.”
“From the family?”
“From you.”
“What did Dominic say?”
“I didn’t tell him either.”
“Why?”
“Because everybody in your world solved problems with threats.”
Vincent almost argued.
Then stopped.
She wasn’t wrong.
“I planned to tell you I was pregnant.”
“That night?”
“The night you went to Chicago.”
He closed his eyes.
“I remember.”
He remembered Evelyn standing in the kitchen, nervous.
She had said they needed to talk.
His phone rang.
Dominic told him Chicago could not wait.
Vincent kissed Evelyn and promised they would talk when he returned.
He never saw her again.
Until the funeral.
“I called you from Chicago,” he said.
“I know.”
“You didn’t answer.”
“I was already in labor.”
Vincent looked at her sharply.
“Noah was early?”
“Three weeks.”
He looked toward the stairs.
Every missing detail felt like theft.
“Who found you at the hospital?”
“I never learned his name.”
“What did he look like?”
“Fifties. Gray coat. Scar near his ear.”
Vincent’s eyes hardened.
Evelyn noticed.
“You know him.”
“Maybe.”
“Who?”
“A man who worked for my uncle Salvatore.”
Her stomach dropped.
Salvatore Moretti.
Dominic’s younger son.
Vincent’s uncle.
A man who smiled at every Christmas dinner and remembered everyone’s birthday.
“No.”
“You asked.”
“Why would he want Noah dead?”
“I don’t know.”
Vincent did not say what he was thinking.
Succession.
Bloodline.
Power.
Dominic had spent decades keeping the family empire balanced between Vincent and Salvatore’s branch.
A son of Vincent’s could shift that balance permanently.
But killing a pregnant woman over inheritance?
Even for the Morettis, that was monstrous.
Evelyn whispered, “After the man left, a nurse came in.”
“What nurse?”
“She wasn’t really a nurse.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“She gave me clothes. Said Dominic sent her.”
That surprised him.
“She put Noah in a carrier and took us through a service elevator. An ambulance drove us out.”
“Where?”
“Connecticut first. Then Maine. Eventually Portland.”
“And Dominic?”
“I saw him once.”
“When?”
“When Noah was three months old.”
Vincent’s hands tightened.
“He saw my son?”
“Yes.”
Something like betrayal crossed his face.
Evelyn continued.
“He cried.”
Vincent looked up.
“Dominic?”
“Yes.”
Vincent had seen his grandfather cry once.
At Lucia’s funeral.
“He told me he was sorry.”
“For what?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
Vincent stood and walked toward the window.
Evelyn watched his reflection.
“He gave me a photograph.”
Vincent turned.
“What photograph?”
“One of me holding Noah in the hospital.”
His face emptied.
“That photograph existed?”
“Yes.”
Vincent remembered a conversation seven years earlier.
Salvatore had come to Dominic’s office.
The door had been partly closed.
Vincent had heard voices.
He remembered one sentence.
She was never here.
At the time, Vincent assumed they were discussing Evelyn’s disappearance.
Now the memory returned differently.
“Who had the picture?”
“Dominic said someone took it from hospital surveillance.”
Vincent felt cold.
He remembered walking into the office later.
The smell of burned paper.
Ash in the fireplace.
Salvatore standing beside Dominic’s desk.
Dominic saying nothing.
Vincent had never connected it.
Until now.
“The photograph was burned.”
Evelyn stared at him.
“How do you know?”
“I saw the ashes.”
That matched the hidden moment at the beginning of everything: a photograph of Evelyn holding her newborn had been deliberately destroyed, followed by the chilling declaration that she had never been there.
Evelyn whispered, “Then Dominic knew.”
“Yes.”
“He knew somebody was erasing us.”
“Yes.”
“And he let you believe I left.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“He protected you by destroying me.”
“Maybe he thought that was necessary.”
“It wasn’t his choice.”
“No.”
Their eyes met.
For the first time since the funeral, they were angry at the same person.
A dead man.
Suddenly a sound came from upstairs.
Glass breaking.
Vincent moved instantly.
He pulled a handgun from beneath his jacket.
Evelyn froze.
“Noah.”
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Evelyn—”
She was already running.
They reached Lucia’s bedroom.
Noah stood beside the bed, frightened.
A lamp lay broken on the floor.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Evelyn grabbed him.
“You’re okay?”
“I tried getting water.”
Vincent lowered the weapon.
Then noticed something.
A small metallic object beneath the bookshelf.
He crouched.
Removed it.
Listening device.
Evelyn’s face changed.
“How long has that been there?”
Vincent examined it.
“Not long.”
“Who knew we were coming?”
“Samuel. Marco. My people.”
“And Luca.”
Vincent stared at the device.
Someone inside his circle had anticipated Dominic’s clue.
Which meant the enemy wasn’t merely watching Evelyn.
They were listening to Vincent too.
He crushed the device beneath his shoe.
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
Vincent answered.
Silence.
Then a distorted male voice.
“The bank opens at nine.”
Vincent’s eyes went cold.
The voice continued.
“Don’t be late.”
The call ended.
Evelyn stared at him.
“They know.”
Vincent looked toward Noah.
“Yes.”
“Then we can’t go.”
Vincent slipped the phone into his pocket.
“We have to.”
“Why?”
“Because whatever is inside box 314 scares them enough to threaten us.”
He looked at Evelyn.
“And people make mistakes when they’re scared.”
Outside, dawn began spreading across the lake.
By nine o’clock, Vincent Moretti planned to discover what his grandfather had hidden.
May you like
And somewhere nearby, another man was making plans to ensure he never left the bank alive.
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