Chapter 7 - The Woman Behind the Service Door
Dominic did not sleep.
Neither did Clara.
By sunrise, Marco DeLuca had been missing for six hours.
His apartment was empty.
His bank accounts showed no unusual activity.
His family had not heard from him.
Security footage from the storage facility had been erased.
Everything pointed in two directions at once.
Either Marco had betrayed Dominic and escaped deliberately—
or somebody wanted Dominic to believe he had.
Clara sat at the long kitchen island inside Dominic’s Lake Shore Drive residence wearing one of his staff’s oversized gray sweaters over the evening dress she had finally escaped from.
Her hair had fallen loose.
Her makeup was mostly gone.
A cup of coffee cooled beside her untouched.
Dominic entered wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
“You should sleep.”
“So should you.”
“I didn’t hire me to make good decisions.”
“You didn’t technically hire me either. Castellano Holdings did.”
“That explains the attitude.”
For the first time since the gala, Clara smiled.
Only for a second.
Then she looked back at the papers covering the counter.
Dominic sat opposite her.
“What have you got?”
“A headache.”
“Besides that.”
“Three people have disappeared in one night. Arthur came back. Pierce is working with Evelyn. Marco vanished. We still don’t know who accessed my mother’s storage unit.”
Dominic’s expression hardened at Pierce’s name.
Clara continued.
“The original scheme began before your father died. Payments restarted or continued afterward. Someone maintained them for seventeen years.”
“To Evelyn?”
“Maybe. But I found something strange.”
She pushed over a handwritten chart.
“The amounts change every three years, almost like an indexed payment.”
“Meaning?”
“Salary.”
Dominic frowned.
“You think somebody is being paid.”
“I think someone is on a seventeen-year payroll.”
“For what?”
“Silence.”
Dominic leaned back.
Clara studied him.
“You’re angry.”
“Yes.”
“Because people lied?”
“Because I let them.”
“You were twenty-one.”
“I’m not anymore.”
“Dominic, hindsight is an accountant’s favorite weapon and a terrible way to judge grief.”
He looked at her.
“That another thing your mother said?”
“No. That one’s mine.”
He almost smiled.
Then Vincent entered.
He had changed into jeans and a dark sweater, making him look younger than he had at the gala.
“Arthur found something.”
Arthur followed carrying a leather envelope.
“I kept this because Salvatore told me to burn it.”
Vincent stared.
“That seems like the opposite of instructions.”
“I was never very obedient.”
Dominic accepted the envelope.
Inside was an old property survey of Blackwater House.
A red X marked a section beneath the original boathouse.
Clara leaned closer.
“The ledger?”
“Maybe,” Arthur said.
Dominic looked at him.
“You had this seventeen years.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re giving it to me now.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Arthur’s answer was simple.
“Because Clara’s mother knew about Blackwater.”
Clara looked up.
Arthur continued.
“If Anna Bennett was involved, then Salvatore trusted someone outside the family with part of the truth. Maybe he knew none of us were safe.”
Dominic stared at the map.
“We go today.”
Clara shook her head.
“We need to find out who broke into my storage unit first.”
“Why?”
“Because if they took my mother’s letter, they may already know where the ledger is.”
Dominic’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
Everyone went silent.
He answered.
“Castellano.”
A woman’s voice.
“Mr. Castellano, your brother owes me a dance.”
Clara recognized it.
Evelyn Shaw.
Dominic’s face became cold.
“Where is Pierce?”
“Alive.”
“Marco?”
A pause.
“Also alive.”
Vincent stepped closer.
Dominic put the call on speaker.
Evelyn continued.
“Although Mr. DeLuca is extremely irritated by his accommodations.”
Dominic said, “What do you want?”
“The same thing your father wanted seventeen years ago.”
“And that is?”
“The truth.”
Dominic laughed once.
“You kidnap people strangely for someone interested in truth.”
“You’re assuming I kidnapped them.”
Clara leaned toward the phone.
“Evelyn.”
Silence.
Then: “Clara Bennett.”
“You knew my mother.”
Another pause.
“I knew of her.”
“What did she do?”
“She kept your family alive.”
Clara’s breath caught.
“My family?”
“You think Salvatore Castellano was the only person Victor Marlowe threatened?”
Dominic’s expression changed.
“Where are you?”
“You’ll get your answers at Blackwater.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
Arthur shook his head immediately.
Trap.
Evelyn seemed to hear the silence.
“Bring Arthur Bellini.”
Arthur stared.
“And Vincent.”
Vincent looked unsurprised.
“And Clara.”
Dominic’s voice became dangerous.
“No.”
Evelyn laughed softly.
“You still think you’re the person deciding who matters.”
“What happens if I refuse?”
“Leonard Pierce dies.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“You’re threatening your own partner?”
“Pierce isn’t my partner.”
Clara and Dominic exchanged a look.
“Then what is he?” Clara asked.
“A coward who finally decided to confess.”
The line went dead.
Vincent exhaled.
“This family desperately needs simpler friends.”
Arthur was staring at the phone.
Dominic noticed.
“What?”
“Her voice.”
“What about it?”
“I heard it once before.”
Clara leaned closer.
“When?”
“Seventeen years ago.”
Arthur looked shaken.
“After Salvatore died, I returned to Blackwater. Someone was in the house.”
“Evelyn?”
“She would have been a teenager.”
“She was nineteen,” Clara said after calculating.
Arthur nodded.
“I found a young woman behind the service door. Crying. She said her father had disappeared.”
“Elias.”
“Yes.”
“She knew Salvatore?”
“She blamed him.”
Dominic asked, “What did you tell her?”
“That her father was alive.”
Clara’s eyes widened.
“You told Evelyn?”
“I couldn’t let her believe he was dead.”
“Then she knew Elias survived.”
“For a while.”
“What happened?”
Arthur’s expression darkened.
“She received a package six months later.”
“From Elias?”
“That’s what she thought.”
“What was inside?”
“A watch.”
Clara waited.
Arthur continued.
“It belonged to her father.”
“And?”
“Blood on the strap.”
Dominic went still.
“No body?”
“No.”
“No letter?”
“No.”
“So somebody made her think Elias was dead.”
“Yes.”
Clara felt a chill.
“And she blamed the Castellanos.”
Arthur nodded.
“For seventeen years.”
Dominic looked toward Lake Michigan beyond his windows.
Blackwater had become the point where every line met.
His father.
Elias.
Pierce.
Marlowe.
Evelyn.
Clara’s mother.
The missing ledger.
And now Marco.
They spent the afternoon preparing quietly.
No electronic plans.
No hotel systems.
No Castellano corporate network.
Clara insisted on one thing.
“I go.”
Dominic rejected it immediately.
“No.”
“Evelyn asked for me.”
“That strengthens my argument.”
“My mother is part of this.”
“Which strengthens mine.”
Clara stepped closer.
“You don’t get to decide I’m helpless because you’re afraid.”
The room went silent.
Vincent suddenly became interested in the window.
Arthur found the ceiling fascinating.
Dominic stared at Clara.
“You think I’m afraid?”
“Yes.”
“Of what?”
Her voice softened.
“Losing someone else.”
Something changed in his eyes.
She had gone too far.
Or exactly far enough.
He looked away.
When he spoke again, his voice was quieter.
“You’re coming.”
Vincent blinked.
“That worked?”
Dominic turned toward him.
“You’re staying.”
“It was worth asking.”
At six that evening, they left Chicago.
Dominic, Clara, Vincent, Arthur, and a small security team drove north toward Wisconsin.
Snow began falling near the state line.
Clara watched the landscape grow darker.
Dominic sat beside her.
After an hour, he said, “You were right.”
“About?”
“Being afraid.”
She turned.
He stared forward.
“I don’t like people becoming important unexpectedly.”
Clara’s heart stumbled.
“That sounds inconvenient.”
“It is.”
“Especially for a man who likes control.”
“I don’t like control.”
She raised an eyebrow.
Dominic looked at her.
“I like certainty.”
“That’s control wearing a better suit.”
This time he actually smiled.
Then the convoy slowed.
The lead vehicle had stopped.
Dominic’s smile vanished.
Arthur’s voice came over the radio.
“Road blocked.”
Dominic looked ahead.
A black SUV sat sideways across the narrow road.
Driver’s door open.
No one visible.
Then Clara saw something hanging from the rearview mirror.
A silver watch.
Arthur recognized it.
His face drained of color.
“Elias Crane’s.”
And beneath the watch, taped to the windshield, was a note.
May you like
HE NEVER LEFT BLACKWATER.
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