Chapter 7 - Chloe'S Real Name
Nico left the underground room before Clara finished speaking.
I followed him.
He stopped at the stairs.
"No."
"I'm coming."
"You are injured."
"You have used that argument so often it has lost market value."
"Emma."
"My grandmother's ring is apparently holding the key to your dead wife's conspiracy, so I think I qualify for the field trip."
His eyes flashed.
"Bianca is not dead."
The correction came too quickly.
Hope had already infected him.
That was dangerous.
I softened my voice.
"Then let's find the truth before someone takes it away again."
He stared at me.
Then he looked over my shoulder at Clara and Leo.
"Leo stays here."
The boy crossed his arms.
"No."
Nico blinked.
"Excuse me?"
"Emma goes, I go."
"That is not how this works."
"You said families stay together when bad things happen."
Nico shut his eyes.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
"You told him that?"
"It seemed wise at the time."
"It was."
Leo lifted his chin.
"So I go."
Nico crouched in front of him.
"You stay in the safest room in this house with six men outside the door."
"I don't know those men."
"I do."
Leo looked toward Clara.
"I don't know her either."
Clara's face tightened.
"That's fair."
Nico looked at me.
The request in his eyes surprised me.
He was asking for help without saying it.
I knelt carefully beside Leo.
"Can you do something more important than coming with us?"
He frowned.
"What?"
"Stay here and make sure Clara does not disappear again."
Clara raised an eyebrow.
"I am wounded, not criminally slippery."
"You vanished from a restaurant after dropping a tray and reappeared at a mafia estate twelve hours later."
"Fair point."
Leo considered the assignment.
"Can I have a walkie-talkie?"
Nico immediately said, "No."
I said, "Yes."
He stared at me.
"You are not his parent."
"Correct."
"Then stop overruling me."
"Stop making bad tactical choices."
Clara laughed, then winced from her shoulder.
Nico looked betrayed by the entire room.
Ten minutes later, Leo had a security radio with only one programmed channel.
He held it like a general receiving battlefield intelligence.
"Check every twenty minutes," Nico told him.
"Ten."
"Twenty."
"Fifteen."
Nico stared.
"Who taught you to negotiate?"
Leo pointed at him.
"You."
We left with four vehicles.
Nico refused to take Mateo's usual security team.
Instead he chose men from an external crew who had not been at the estate four years ago.
The message was clear.
Trust had become a luxury.
Bell Street Exchange sat between a tailor and an empty pharmacy in a neighborhood where every storefront seemed tired.
Police lights flashed outside when we arrived.
Nico frowned.
"Who called them?"
One of his men checked his phone.
"Silent alarm."
Two uniformed officers stood near the entrance.
The older one recognized Nico and immediately became less interested in asking questions.
Money was not the only thing that changed posture.
Reputation did too.
"Burglary?" Nico asked.
The officer nodded.
"Back door forced."
"Anyone inside?"
"Not now."
"Cameras?"
"Cut."
I looked at Nico.
"Again."
He nodded.
We entered after the police cleared the scene.
The shop smelled like dust, metal, and old carpet.
Glass display cases held watches, jewelry, and electronics beneath harsh fluorescent lights.
My grandmother had worked upstairs from this place.
I tried to imagine her walking through the same doorway.
I could not.
The grandmother I remembered smelled like hand cream and cinnamon.
She wore cardigans with tissues folded in the sleeves.
She knew nothing about guns, mob families, or coded ledgers.
At least, that was what I had believed.
The vault door stood open in the back room.
Nico's men photographed everything before touching it.
Inside were rows of numbered boxes.
One slot was empty.
"Which box?" Nico asked.
The manager checked a register.
His hands shook.
"Three seventeen."
"Owner?"
The manager swallowed.
"There is no current owner listed."
"Previous?"
He hesitated.
Nico looked at him.
"Mr. Feldman."
"Eleanor Hayes."
The room disappeared around me for a second.
Nico caught my elbow.
"Emma."
"I'm fine."
He gave me a look.
"I know."
"That phrase has become insulting."
"Good."
I stared at the empty slot.
"My grandmother had a vault box here."
The manager nodded nervously.
"Opened in 1998."
"She died in 2015."
"The annual fees continued."
"Who paid them?"
The manager checked the ledger.
His face changed.
"Cash."
"By who?"
"No name."
Nico leaned closer.
"Who has access records?"
The manager looked toward the office.
"Paper archives."
We found the files in a locked cabinet.
The last person to access box 317 before tonight had done so seven months ago.
Signature: Clara Bianchi.
I almost laughed.
"Of course."
Nico's mouth hardened.
"She did not mention this."
"Maybe because we left while she was still bleeding."
"You continue to defend her."
"I continue to notice that every person in this story lies by omission."
I looked at him.
"Including you."
His eyes narrowed.
"What have I omitted?"
"I don't know yet."
That answer annoyed him more than an accusation would have.
One of the guards called from the loading alley.
"Mr. Valenti."
We went outside.
Blood droplets crossed the pavement behind the shop.
They led toward a dumpster.
My stomach tightened.
A black jacket lay behind it.
Mateo's.
Nico picked it up.
The lining was soaked with blood.
There was no body.
"He was hit," one guard said.
Nico searched the pockets.
Keys.
A wallet.
Two phones.
No ring.
I looked at the brick wall.
A smear of blood continued toward a narrow passage.
"He walked away."
Nico followed the trail.
It ended at the curb where tire marks cut through a puddle.
"Someone picked him up," I said.
"Or took him."
Nico looked toward the street.
His phone rang.
Leo's assigned channel.
He answered immediately.
"Leo?"
Static.
Then Leo's voice.
"Papa, Clara says you need to come back."
"Why?"
"She remembered the number."
"What number?"
"The ring box."
Nico looked at me.
"Three seventeen?"
"No."
Leo sounded annoyed that adults were slow.
"The number inside the ring."
I froze.
"What number?"
Clara's voice came faintly in the background.
Then Leo repeated it.
"Nineteen eighty-nine, forty-two, eleven."
Nico looked at me.
"Does that mean anything?"
I shook my head.
Then I remembered something.
A childhood game.
My grandmother used to make me memorize three numbers before we crossed a busy street.
1989.
42.
11.
She called them the lucky numbers.
I had not thought about them in years.
"My grandmother taught me those numbers."
Nico's eyes sharpened.
"Why?"
"She said if I was ever scared and couldn't find her, I should remember them."
I felt cold all over.
"I thought it was a game."
Nico looked toward the empty vault.
"It was not a game."
We returned to the estate at noon.
Clara sat at the underground table with a fresh bandage.
Leo had drawn dinosaurs across three sheets of security stationery.
"Explain the numbers," Nico said.
Clara looked at me.
"1989 was the year Eleanor started copying Vittorio's private records."
"Forty-two?"
"A bank branch number."
"Eleven?"
"Safe deposit key."
I stared.
"Where?"
"I don't know."
Nico swore.
Clara raised one hand.
"But Bianca did."
"Where is she?"
Clara looked down.
"The last coordinates came from a place near Lake Geneva called Saint Gabriel Retreat."
"A church?"
"It used to be."
She took a breath.
"Now it is privately owned."
Nico's face turned cold.
"By who?"
Clara looked toward the ceiling as if Vittorio could hear through concrete.
"A shell company controlled by your uncle."
The room went silent.
Nico stood.
"We go tonight."
Clara shook her head.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because there is something else you need to understand first."
Nico's stare hardened.
"I am finished with people deciding what I am ready to hear."
Clara looked at Leo.
"Then send him upstairs."
Leo crossed his arms.
"No."
Nico almost argued.
I touched his wrist.
He stopped.
Clara spoke quietly.
"Bianca did not disappear only because Vittorio threatened Leo."
Nico's face changed.
"What are you saying?"
"She was collecting evidence against you too."
The air vanished from the room.
"Against me?"
"She believed you ordered Marco's death."
Nico looked stunned.
"I believed Marco betrayed her."
"Exactly."
Clara's voice tightened.
"Someone made each of you believe the other had destroyed your family."
"Who?"
"Vittorio."
Nico shook his head once.
"Marco is dead."
Clara looked directly at him.
"No."
Nico went completely still.
"How do you know?"
"Because I saw him six weeks ago."
Leo's dinosaur slipped from his hand.
Clara's next words landed like a bomb beneath the table.
May you like
"And Marco is being held at Saint Gabriel with Bianca."
