Chapter 3 - The Name Everyone Feared
Harper learned who Luca Moretti was from a twenty-second search on Vincent's phone.
She immediately wished she hadn't.
Vincent had taken the device from her before she could open the third article.
“You've seen enough.”
“I've seen several photographs of the man who slept on my sofa standing beside senators, union presidents, real-estate developers, and people described as ‘alleged organized-crime associates.’”
“Newspapers exaggerate.”
Harper stared at him.
“One headline literally calls him Boston's most powerful underworld figure.”
Vincent shrugged.
“Very dramatic.”
“Is it wrong?”
Vincent didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
The SUV moved through downtown Boston.
Another vehicle remained behind them.
Harper couldn't determine whether it belonged to Vincent's people or someone following them.
Maybe that was intentional.
“Where are we going?”
“A secure residence.”
“Whose?”
“Luca's.”
“Of course.”
Harper watched buildings pass.
“Does he actually run the mafia?”
Vincent sighed.
“You shouldn't believe everything you read.”
“That's the second time you've avoided answering.”
“I've survived fifty-three years by knowing when not to answer questions.”
“That's comforting.”
Vincent glanced at her.
“You joke when you're afraid.”
Harper looked out the window.
“I'm not afraid.”
“You haven't stopped twisting your sleeve since we left the restaurant.”
She released the fabric.
“I liked you better when you were unconscious.”
“That was Luca.”
“I liked everybody better when Luca was unconscious.”
Vincent's mouth twitched.
The SUV eventually left the crowded streets and entered a quieter neighborhood overlooking the harbor.
A black iron gate opened before them.
Beyond it stood a mansion.
Not gaudy.
Harper almost wished it had been.
The house was old Boston wealth: gray stone, tall windows, slate roof, understated architecture that communicated money more effectively than marble lions ever could.
Security cameras followed the SUV.
Two men inspected the vehicle before allowing it into an underground garage.
“This is absurd,” Harper whispered.
Vincent opened her door.
“For us, this is Tuesday.”
Inside, everything was quiet.
Polished wood.
Muted artwork.
No unnecessary decoration.
Harper expected men carrying weapons everywhere.
Instead, she saw two employees moving flowers in the foyer and a woman carrying a stack of towels.
It looked disturbingly normal.
Vincent led her upstairs.
“Luca is with Dr. Salvatore.”
“An actual doctor?”
“Yes.”
“With a license?”
“I believe several.”
They reached a large study.
Vincent opened the door.
Luca sat behind a desk.
Harper stopped.
He looked completely different.
His hair was combed back.
He wore a clean white shirt with the collar open.
Dark trousers.
The wound at his side forced him to sit carefully, but otherwise there was little evidence that Harper had found him nearly unconscious twelve hours earlier.
A man in his sixties stood nearby closing a medical bag.
“You should be in bed,” the doctor said.
“I am sitting.”
“That wasn't what I said.”
Luca looked toward Harper.
His expression changed.
Only slightly.
But Harper saw it.
Relief.
“You came.”
“I was kidnapped from work.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“You were escorted.”
“Against my preference.”
Luca looked toward Vincent.
“I told you not to frighten her.”
“She wasn't frightened.”
“Then why did you bring her through the kitchen?”
Vincent remained silent.
Luca's eyes sharpened.
“What happened?”
“There was a watcher across from the restaurant.”
The room changed.
Luca stood.
Pain crossed his face.
He ignored it.
“Description.”
Vincent provided one.
Luca asked three precise questions.
Harper watched the transformation.
The wounded stranger disappeared.
In his place stood the man from the headlines.
Every word produced movement.
Calls were made.
Names mentioned.
Vehicles redirected.
Within a minute, four men had left the house.
Luca turned to Harper.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“You shouldn't be involved.”
“Technically, I told you that this morning.”
“Yes.”
“And yet here I am.”
“Yes.”
Harper studied him.
“So fix it.”
Something passed through Luca's eyes.
People apparently didn't order him around often.
“How?”
“Who attacked you?”
“We don't know yet.”
“Find out.”
“We're trying.”
“Why were you alone?”
Luca looked toward Vincent.
Vincent looked away.
Harper caught the exchange.
“What?”
Neither answered.
Harper folded her arms.
“I'm not staying in a mansion with armed security while everyone speaks in mysterious pauses.”
Luca gestured toward the chair opposite his desk.
“Sit.”
“I'd rather stand.”
“Harper.”
“No.”
Again, something near amusement appeared in his expression.
Dr. Salvatore looked fascinated.
Vincent looked tired.
Luca finally said, “I was supposed to meet someone at Pier Twelve last night.”
“Who?”
“One of my senior people.”
“For what?”
“Information.”
“About?”
“A theft.”
Harper waited.
Luca continued.
“Money has been disappearing from businesses connected to my organization.”
“Legal businesses?”
A pause.
“Some.”
Harper sighed.
“Continue.”
“The person who contacted me claimed to know who was responsible.”
“And you went alone?”
“I didn't.”
Vincent spoke.
“Six men were with him.”
Harper looked between them.
“Where are they?”
Silence.
Luca answered.
“Two are in the hospital.”
“And the others?”
“Missing.”
Harper's stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
“The meeting was an ambush.”
Luca walked toward the window.
“They knew which vehicle I would use. They knew the route. They knew where my security would be positioned.”
“Someone inside your organization betrayed you.”
“Yes.”
“And you escaped?”
“Barely.”
He explained without dramatics.
The first vehicle had been blocked.
Luca had gotten out through an industrial yard.
He had lost his phone during the escape and crossed several neighborhoods on foot.
At some point he realized he was being followed.
He doubled back.
Climbed fences.
Used alleys.
Then freezing rain began.
His injury worsened.
By the time he reached Harper's building, he barely remembered entering.
“Why my building?”
“I didn't choose it.”
“So I really was random.”
“Yes.”
Harper wasn't sure why that answer produced a strange sensation in her chest.
Relief, maybe.
Luca turned.
“The problem is that whoever arranged the attack may now know where I survived.”
“How?”
“We retrieved security footage from businesses along the route.”
Vincent placed several photographs on the desk.
One showed Luca crossing a street.
Another showed him entering Harper's block.
A third showed something else.
Harper.
Leaving Brennan's the previous night.
“You were on camera two blocks before reaching home,” Vincent explained. “About nine minutes after Luca disappeared into your building.”
Harper looked at him.
“That proves nothing.”
“To us.”
Luca's voice was quiet.
“But someone searching footage may connect you.”
Harper stared at her own image.
A woman walking home in a cheap parka.
She looked ordinary.
Invisible.
Exactly how Harper had always felt.
Now that invisibility was gone.
“What happens next?”
“You stay here.”
Harper laughed.
“No.”
“Temporarily.”
“No.”
“Until I identify the person responsible.”
“I have rent.”
“I'll pay it.”
“No.”
“I knew you'd say that.”
“Then why suggest it?”
“Optimism.”
Harper shook her head.
“I have a job.”
“We can—”
“Don't say you'll replace my salary.”
Luca closed his mouth.
Vincent suddenly seemed extremely interested in the bookshelves.
Harper pointed toward Luca.
“My life might look pathetic from inside this house, but it's mine.”
Luca's expression changed.
“I don't think it's pathetic.”
“You looked at my overdue bills.”
“I looked at everything.”
“Exactly.”
“I assess surroundings. It's habit.”
“Well, assess this. I'm going home.”
“No.”
The word was immediate.
Harper's anger rose.
“You don't own me.”
“I know.”
“Then stop talking like you do.”
Luca took a slow breath.
He seemed to deliberately soften his voice.
“There is a man watching your workplace.”
“Maybe.”
“There could be another near your apartment.”
“Maybe.”
“I will not send you back into that.”
“Why do you care?”
The question landed harder than Harper intended.
Luca became completely still.
“Because you saved my life.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because apparently you don't understand what it means to me.”
Harper looked away.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then Vincent's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression immediately darkened.
“What?”
Harper looked at Luca.
Luca watched Vincent.
“When?”
Another pause.
“Send it.”
Vincent ended the call.
“What happened?” Luca asked.
Vincent placed the phone on the desk.
A photograph appeared.
Harper recognized her building.
Her stomach dropped.
The apartment door to 3B stood open.
The frame had been splintered.
Her living room had been destroyed.
Drawers pulled out.
Cushions cut.
Cabinets emptied.
Someone had searched everything.
Harper stared.
“No.”
She grabbed Vincent's phone.
Zoomed in.
Her photographs lay across the floor.
Her mother's old ceramic bowl was shattered.
Her nursing textbooks had been thrown from the shelf.
Something inside Harper went strangely quiet.
Luca came beside her.
“Harper.”
She didn't respond.
“That happened thirty minutes ago.”
Vincent spoke gently now.
“Mrs. Donnelly heard the noise and called the landlord. She didn't see who did it.”
“Is she okay?”
“Yes.”
Harper closed her eyes.
Luca said, “You're not going back.”
This time she didn't argue.
But then Vincent's phone vibrated again.
A second photograph arrived.
This one had been found pinned to Harper's broken apartment door.
A handwritten note.
Five words.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LET HIM DIE.
Harper read it twice.
Then looked at Luca.
His face had gone terrifyingly calm.
And Harper suddenly understood that the man standing beside her was more dangerous than everyone who had destroyed her home.
The difference was that his anger wasn't directed at her.
May you like
It was directed at whoever had just made Harper Hayes part of their war.
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