Chapter 2 - The Social Security Number of a Dead Woman
Camila did not scream.
Screaming was useful when help existed.
On Mercer Street, at eleven forty-eight on a rainy Thursday night, there was nobody she trusted enough to call.
The man across the street was older than he had been ten years ago, but Camila remembered the shape of his face.
Anton Greco.
Sylvio Costa’s Sicilian lieutenant.
During the Feast of Saint John massacre, Anton had stood beneath the Lo Bianco estate gates with a rifle in one hand and blood across his shirt.
Camila had watched him through a crack between wooden crates as the truck carrying her away turned onto the coastal road.
Some faces could not be forgotten.
Anton smiled.
“Isabella.”
Hearing the name spoken aloud hit her harder than she expected.
Camila turned and ran.
Anton’s men moved immediately.
She sprinted toward East Fourth Street, shoes striking wet pavement.
A vehicle accelerated behind her.
Camila crossed between parked cars, nearly slipping as she reached the sidewalk.
She heard a door slam.
Footsteps.
“Isabella!”
She did not look back.
The neighborhood had changed in the years she lived there. Luxury condos had begun replacing old triple-deckers, but enough narrow alleys remained for someone desperate enough.
Camila cut between two brick buildings.
A man grabbed for her sleeve.
She twisted away.
Fabric tore.
She kept moving.
At the alley’s far end, headlights appeared.
Another black vehicle blocked her escape.
Camila stopped.
For one terrible second she believed Anton had surrounded her.
Then the rear door opened.
Dominico Costa stepped out.
His expression changed when he saw men chasing her.
“Get in.”
Camila hesitated.
“Now.”
She had no reason to trust him.
But Anton Greco was already entering the alley.
Camila ran toward Dominico.
Matteo opened the rear door.
She dove inside.
Dominico followed.
“Drive.”
The sedan accelerated.
Anton reached the street seconds too late.
Camila twisted around.
Through the rain-streaked rear window, she saw him standing beneath a streetlamp, watching.
He lifted his phone.
Dominico noticed.
“Who is that?”
Camila remained silent.
“Camila.”
She looked at him.
“Or should I call you Isabella?”
Her face lost color.
Matteo glanced backward from the front passenger seat.
Leo sat beside him with the tablet.
Nobody spoke.
Finally Camila said, “Stop the car.”
“No.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand my uncle ordered me to kill you.”
That silenced her.
Dominico watched every change in her face.
“Ten minutes after you left the restaurant, Sylvio called.”
Camila’s voice became small.
“He knows?”
“He knew your real name before I did.”
The implications filled the car.
Dominico continued.
“He also knew where I met you.”
Camila looked toward the windows.
“He has people everywhere.”
“You know him.”
“I know what he did.”
Dominico’s jaw tightened.
“What did he do?”
Camila laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“You really don’t know.”
“I wouldn’t be asking.”
She studied him.
For three years, survival required distrusting everyone.
Dominico Costa should have been at the top of that list.
Yet Anton had tried to take her.
Dominico had stopped him.
That did not make Dominico safe.
Only less immediately dangerous.
“My apartment,” Camila said.
“What about it?”
“I need something inside.”
“No.”
“There are documents.”
“Forget them.”
“There is one thing I cannot leave.”
Dominico’s expression hardened.
“What?”
Camila looked directly at him.
“Proof.”
That word changed everything.
“Proof of what?”
She hesitated.
“The massacre.”
Matteo turned around.
Leo stopped typing.
Dominico leaned closer.
“What proof?”
“I’m not discussing it inside this car.”
“You’re in no position to negotiate.”
“Then throw me out.”
Dominico stared at her.
Camila’s fear was real.
So was her stubbornness.
He almost admired it.
Almost.
“Your building is compromised,” he said.
“There’s another entrance.”
“Anton probably knows.”
“He doesn’t know the building like I do.”
Dominico considered it.
Then he told the driver to circle the block.
Matteo looked shocked.
“You’re serious?”
“I’m not leaving evidence about my family in an apartment Sylvio’s people can burn.”
Camila looked at him sharply.
“Our families,” she corrected.
Dominico’s eyes met hers.
Neither looked away.
Five minutes later they entered Mercer Street through an underground parking garage connected to the neighboring building.
Camila led them through a maintenance corridor.
“How do you know this exists?” Leo asked.
“I pay attention.”
They climbed one flight.
Apartment 3B was dark.
The door remained closed.
Camila touched the knob.
“Someone’s been inside.”
Dominico immediately moved her behind him.
“How can you tell?”
“I leave a thread between the frame and the door.”
She pointed.
“Gone.”
Matteo drew his weapon.
Dominico motioned for silence.
The door opened.
Nothing.
Furniture remained intact.
No overturned drawers.
No broken windows.
That made Camila more afraid.
“They knew what they were looking for.”
She rushed to the bedroom.
Dominico followed.
Camila dropped to her knees beside the bed and pulled at a floorboard.
It came loose.
The cavity beneath it was empty.
Her breath stopped.
“No.”
Money.
Passports.
Everything was gone.
Then she noticed something.
The photograph remained.
It lay face-down beneath the floorboard.
Camila picked it up.
Dominico caught a glimpse before she could hide it.
A young woman.
A teenage girl.
And an older man standing on a terrace overlooking the sea.
Vincenzo Lo Bianco.
Dominico had seen photographs.
The girl beside him had Camila’s eyes.
“You’re really her.”
Camila said nothing.
Dominico’s gaze moved toward the woman in the photograph.
“Your mother?”
Camila’s face changed.
“My mother died before the massacre.”
Dominico handed the photograph back.
“What proof were you talking about?”
Camila checked deeper into the cavity.
Her fingers found wood.
Then metal.
She exhaled.
Still there.
She removed a small silver medallion.
Matteo frowned.
“That?”
“No.”
Camila pressed the edge.
A hidden compartment opened.
Inside was a tiny memory card.
Dominico stared at it.
“What’s on that?”
“My father’s insurance policy.”
Against whom?”
“Everyone.”
She stood.
“My father knew someone was betraying him. For months before the massacre, he recorded conversations. Meetings. Payments. Names.”
Dominico felt his stomach tighten.
“Does it mention Sylvio?”
Camila looked at him.
“It mentions the Costas.”
Matteo immediately stepped forward.
Dominico raised a hand.
“Continue.”
Camila’s eyes never left Dominico.
“My father believed your father was negotiating peace.”
“My father died three years ago.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“I read newspapers.”
Dominico ignored the edge in her voice.
“What did your father believe about Sylvio?”
“He believed Sylvio was arranging the attack.”
Dominico’s expression hardened.
“And you have proof?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just said—”
“I never watched everything on the card.”
“Why?”
Camila looked down at the medallion.
“Because Sofia told me that once I knew every name, I’d spend the rest of my life deciding whether revenge mattered more than survival.”
Dominico understood that kind of advice.
“Who is Sofia?”
“The woman who got me out.”
“Where is she?”
Camila’s eyes lifted.
“Dead.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
The timing struck him.
“You disappeared three years ago.”
“Yes.”
“My father died three years ago.”
“Yes.”
Neither said anything.
Coincidences were uncommon in their world.
Three years ago Dominico’s father suffered a sudden fatal heart attack.
Three years ago Camila’s protector died.
Three years ago Camila Hayes appeared with professionally manufactured documents.
Dominico looked toward Leo.
“Check Sofia Bellini.”
Leo began searching.
Camila flinched.
“You know her full name?”
“Yes.”
“That identity was sealed.”
Leo looked up.
“How do you know that?”
Camila realized her mistake.
She closed her eyes.
Dominico crossed his arms.
“We’re past secrets.”
“No,” she whispered. “We’re not.”
Before Dominico could answer, the hallway floor creaked.
Matteo instantly turned.
A shadow passed beneath the apartment door.
Dominico grabbed Camila and pulled her behind the wall.
The first bullet punched through the door.
Wood splintered.
Matteo returned fire toward the frame.
Leo dropped behind the sofa.
Camila crouched, breathing hard.
The lights went out.
Someone had cut the building power.
Dominico guided Camila toward the bedroom window.
“Fire escape.”
She shook her head.
“They’ll cover it.”
“Then what?”
Camila pointed toward the closet.
Dominico almost thought she had panicked.
Then she pulled clothing aside and pushed against the rear wall.
A narrow maintenance opening appeared.
“You really do pay attention,” he muttered.
They climbed inside.
Matteo followed.
Leo came last.
The passage smelled of dust.
Behind them, the apartment door crashed open.
Voices entered.
Anton’s voice.
“Find the card.”
Camila froze.
Dominico heard it too.
Not find the girl.
Find the card.
Sylvio knew about the evidence.
They moved through the narrow corridor until it opened above a laundry room.
Everyone dropped down.
Dominico’s phone vibrated.
A message.
From Sylvio.
YOU HAVE SOMETHING THAT BELONGS TO ME.
Dominico showed Camila.
Her expression turned grim.
“He knows you helped me.”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re in danger too.”
Dominico almost smiled.
“I’ve been in danger since I learned to walk.”
“This is different.”
“How?”
Camila looked toward the ceiling.
“Because Sylvio killed my entire family over that card.”
Dominico held her gaze.
“And now he thinks I have it.”
“You do.”
She placed the silver medallion in his palm.
Dominico stared at it.
“What are you doing?”
“If they catch us separately, they’ll search me first.”
He closed his fingers around it.
“You trust me?”
“No.”
That almost made him laugh.
“Then why give it to me?”
“Because right now,” Camila whispered, “I think your uncle is more afraid of you than he is of me.”
They escaped through the rear loading door.
Another Costa vehicle arrived.
As Leo opened it, his tablet chimed.
“I found Sofia Bellini.”
Camila turned.
“You can’t.”
“I did.”
“What?”
Leo stared at the screen.
“Sofia Bellini didn’t die three years ago.”
Camila’s entire face changed.
“That’s impossible.”
“There’s no death certificate.”
“She died in my arms.”
Leo rotated the screen.
“I didn’t say she survived.”
Dominico stepped closer.
“What are you saying?”
“The woman Camila knew as Sofia Bellini wasn’t Sofia Bellini.”
Camila went still.
Leo enlarged a government record.
“The real Sofia Bellini died in Palermo twenty-two years ago.”
Rain struck the loading dock roof.
Camila seemed suddenly unable to breathe.
The woman who had raised her, hidden her, protected her, and created Camila Hayes had lied about her own identity.
Dominico read the final line on Leo’s screen.
An archived photograph had been attached to the original Sofia Bellini file.
It showed a different woman entirely.
Leo spoke softly.
“Camila… who was the woman who saved you?”
Camila stared at the photograph.
Then at Dominico.
“I don’t know.”
And for the first time since the massacre, she realized the greatest secret of her life might not be why her family had died.
May you like
It might be who had deliberately kept her alive.
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