Chapter 3 - The Debt Beneath the Debt
Lydia did not agree to go with Dominic.
She informed him of that fact three times inside the restaurant, twice in the alley, and once while two armed men guided her into the back seat of a black armored SUV.
Dominic joined her from the opposite side.
“This is kidnapping,” she said.
“It is protective transportation.”
“The doors are locked.”
“The car is moving.”
“That does not improve your argument.”
Dominic pressed a clean handkerchief to the cut on his cheek. “The men who attacked us know your name, your face, and your connection to me. Returning you to an unsecured apartment would be irresponsible.”
“You don’t get to decide where I live.”
“I am deciding where you survive the night.”
She reached for the door handle.
It did not move.
Lydia considered hitting him.
Judging by the relaxed way he sat beside her, he had already considered that possibility too.
The city passed beyond the darkened windows. Manhattan’s lights gave way to quieter streets, tall gates, and houses protected by stone walls.
“Where are we going?”
“My home.”
“No.”
“You have made your position clear.”
“You have ignored it with impressive consistency.”
The corner of Dominic’s mouth lifted.
Lydia hated that she was beginning to recognize the almost-smile.
She folded her arms. “Who is Vincent Valenti?”
“A man who believes everything has a price.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“I believe everything has a consequence. There is a difference.”
“Was he trying to kill me?”
“Possibly.”
“Could you try sounding concerned?”
“I am concerned.”
“You look bored.”
“I look calm because panic is rarely useful.”
“You threw a man through a table.”
“He had a gun.”
“So did everyone else in the restaurant.”
“Welcome to Manhattan.”
Despite herself, Lydia let out a breath that was almost a laugh.
Dominic looked at her.
She immediately frowned again.
The SUV passed through iron gates and traveled up a long drive toward a limestone mansion overlooking the Hudson. It was less like a home and more like a small embassy prepared for war.
Security cameras tracked the vehicle.
Men stood near the entrance.
The front doors opened before they reached them.
A woman in black trousers and a cream sweater waited in the foyer. She appeared to be in her early thirties, with glossy dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and the same nearly black eyes as Dominic.
When Lydia entered, the woman looked from her stained cardigan to her broken glasses.
Then she looked at Dominic’s torn shirt.
“I see dinner went well,” she said.
“Sofia,” Dominic warned.
“This is Lydia Hayes,” Sofia said. “Forensic accountant. Brooklyn resident. Rescuer of irresponsible fathers.”
Lydia stared at her. “Does everyone in this family have a file on me?”
“Only the people who read.”
Dominic handed his coat to a waiting employee.
“Sofia is my sister.”
“Half-sister,” Sofia corrected. “He likes removing the half because it makes him sound less emotionally damaged.”
“I remove the half because we share the same father.”
“And entirely different levels of charm.”
Lydia liked her immediately, which felt unwise.
Dominic instructed one of his men to locate Frank, then told Sofia to find Lydia something to wear.
“My clothes are fine,” Lydia said.
Sofia leaned closer and sniffed.
“Are those onions?”
“It was a strategic decision.”
“I respect it.”
Dominic gave his sister a look.
Sofia took Lydia’s arm. “Come on. You can explain while we burn the cardigan.”
Twenty minutes later, Lydia stood in a guest bedroom wearing black trousers and a soft gray sweater borrowed from Sofia. She had showered twice, washed her hair with expensive shampoo, and scrubbed her wrists until her skin turned pink.
Without the glasses and ugly clothes, she no longer had armor.
She looked like herself.
Dark hair fell in loose waves past her shoulders. Her eyes appeared brighter without the dirty lenses. The silver ring remained on her right hand.
Sofia leaned against the dresser.
“You know he noticed your eyes, don’t you?”
Lydia glanced at her. “Your brother notices everything.”
“No. He notices danger, betrayal, and poorly prepared steak. Beauty usually has to introduce itself with identification.”
“I’m not interested in your brother.”
“Of course not.”
“I mean it.”
“I agreed with you.”
“You agreed in a sarcastic voice.”
“That is my natural voice.”
Lydia turned away from the mirror. “Why did Dominic know where my father was?”
“We monitor Valenti properties.”
“Is that legal?”
“No idea. I handle public relations.”
“For a crime family?”
“For a transportation, construction, security, hospitality, and charitable organization with a complicated historical reputation.”
“That was disturbingly polished.”
“I practice.”
A knock sounded.
A man entered carrying Lydia’s handbag and a laptop. He was tall, sandy-haired, and wore a navy suit without a tie.
“Matteo,” Sofia said. “Dominic’s attorney and professional disapprover.”
“I prefer counselor.”
“You prefer billing by the hour.”
Matteo handed Lydia her belongings. “Your apartment is secure. No signs of forced entry.”
“What about my father?”
“We haven’t located him.”
Lydia took her phone from the bag.
There were eleven missed calls from Frank.
All had occurred before the restaurant attack.
One voicemail waited.
She played it.
Frank’s frightened voice filled the room.
“Lydie, listen to me. Don’t trust Rossi. Don’t sign anything. Your mother tried to protect you from them, and I should’ve told you years ago. I’m sorry. I swear, I never wanted—”
The message ended abruptly.
Sofia and Matteo exchanged a glance.
“What did he mean about my mother?” Lydia asked.
Matteo’s expression became carefully neutral.
That was answer enough.
“You know something.”
“You should speak to Dominic.”
“I’m speaking to you.”
“And I am advising you to speak to Dominic.”
Lydia pushed past them.
She found Dominic in a library on the first floor. Floor-to-ceiling shelves covered three walls. A fire burned beneath a carved mantel. On the large desk lay several files, photographs, and a map of New York marked with colored pins.
Dominic had changed into a clean black shirt.
He stood with his back to her, speaking quietly into a phone.
“Alive,” he said. “I want Frank Hayes alive.”
He ended the call when Lydia entered.
“What did my mother have to do with your family?”
Dominic’s face did not change.
“Close the door.”
“No.”
“Lydia.”
“Don’t use that voice with me. My father said my mother tried to protect me from the Rossis. Your lawyer looked like he wanted to crawl out a window when I asked about her. What are you hiding?”
Dominic slowly placed his phone on the desk.
“Your mother worked for my father.”
Lydia’s anger stalled.
“She was a nurse.”
“Before that.”
“She never said anything about accounting.”
“She kept the books for Rossi Shipping for six years.”
“That’s impossible.”
“She was very good.”
The room seemed suddenly too warm.
“My mother hated organized crime.”
“Most people who understand it do.”
“Why would she work for your father?”
“She needed money. My father needed someone who could make complicated numbers appear simple.”
Lydia walked toward the desk.
One of the photographs showed a younger Eleanor Hayes standing beside a cargo ship. Her dark hair was pulled into a knot. She was laughing at someone beyond the camera.
Lydia had never seen the picture.
She picked it up with trembling fingers.
“Where did you get this?”
“My father kept records.”
“Did he hurt her?”
“No.”
The certainty in Dominic’s response made her look up.
“How do you know?”
“Because she saved my life.”
Lydia stared at him.
Dominic rested both hands on the desk.
“When I was nineteen, someone placed a bomb in one of our warehouses. Your mother found an irregular payment connected to the delivery company. She warned me not to go inside.”
“What happened?”
“My mother and my older brother entered before I could stop them.”
Lydia saw the pain only because she was looking for it.
It appeared for less than a second, a shadow behind his eyes.
“They died?” she asked softly.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
Dominic accepted the words with a slight movement of his head.
“My father believed Eleanor had helped arrange the bombing,” he said. “She had discovered the payment but failed to identify the source. He thought that was intentional.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because she pulled me away from the building seconds before it exploded.”
Lydia looked at the photograph again.
“My mother never told me.”
“She disappeared from our world the next morning. A year later, she married your father.”
“My parents were already married when I was born.”
“Yes.”
Something in his voice made her skin prickle.
“What aren’t you saying?”
Dominic came around the desk.
“Your mother took something when she left.”
“What?”
“A ledger containing names, accounts, and payment records. It could have destroyed my father’s organization and everyone connected to it.”
“Did she give it to the police?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because no arrests followed.”
“Maybe she destroyed it.”
“My father searched for it until the day he died.”
“And now you’re searching for it.”
“Yes.”
Lydia set down the photograph.
The truth began assembling itself in pieces she did not like.
“My father’s gambling debt.”
“May be connected.”
“The missing charity funds.”
“May be connected.”
“The dinner with Augustus.”
“Was never supposed to happen.”
She stepped back from him. “You knew my father was lying before I arrived.”
“I suspected.”
“And you let me walk into that restaurant anyway.”
“I needed to know who was watching.”
Lydia’s hand flew before she could reconsider.
The slap cracked through the library.
Dominic’s head turned slightly.
A red mark appeared on his cheek beside the small cut from the restaurant.
He did not grab her.
He did not threaten her.
He slowly looked back.
“You used me as bait,” she said.
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt more than a denial.
“You could have had me killed.”
“I had twelve men covering the building.”
“Someone still fired at my head.”
“And that failure will be addressed.”
She wanted to slap him again.
Instead, she picked up the black financial folder from his desk.
“I’m leaving.”
“No.”
“I will review your foundation records from my apartment. I will not stay in your house.”
“You will stay until we know who ordered the attack.”
“You don’t control me.”
“No,” he said. “But I understand the people hunting you.”
Lydia reached the door.
Dominic spoke again.
“The first false payment from the foundation was authorized with your mother’s employee code.”
She stopped.
“My mother has been dead for eight years.”
“I know.”
“Then someone copied it.”
“Possibly.”
Lydia turned.
Dominic opened another file and removed a payment authorization form.
The code EHA-117 appeared at the bottom.
Beside it was a handwritten signature.
Eleanor Hayes.
Lydia knew her mother’s handwriting. She had saved every birthday card, every grocery list, every note.
The signature looked perfect.
But one detail was wrong.
Her mother had broken her wrist when Lydia was twelve. Afterward, the capital E in her name always leaned backward.
This E leaned forward.
“It’s forged,” Lydia said.
“You are certain?”
“Yes.”
She brought the page closer to the lamp.
A nearly invisible series of dots ran beneath the authorization number.
Printer identification marks.
“Do you have the original digital file?”
Dominic nodded.
“I need metadata, server records, vendor addresses, and access logs. I want everything untouched.”
“Agreed.”
“And my father’s debt remains frozen.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not working for you. I’m working to find him.”
“Call it whatever helps.”
Lydia pointed at him. “And you do not hide anything else about my mother.”
Dominic held her gaze.
“That may be difficult.”
“Try.”
A knock interrupted them.
Matteo entered carrying a thin package wrapped in brown paper.
“This was delivered to the gate,” he said. “No vehicle. No courier.”
Dominic took the package and opened it.
Inside was a small red ledger.
Lydia’s heart hammered.
Dominic flipped through the pages.
They were blank.
Something silver fell onto the desk.
Lydia recognized it immediately.
Her mother’s locket.
She had buried Eleanor wearing that locket eight years earlier.
A folded note lay beneath it.
Dominic opened the note and read aloud.
“Stop searching for the dead, or the daughter joins her.”
Lydia reached for the locket.
A dark stain marked the broken chain.
She looked at Dominic.
“Someone opened my mother’s grave.”
Dominic’s expression turned colder than she had yet seen it.
“No,” he said.
He turned the locket over.
A tiny digital light blinked beneath the clasp.
“They opened something worse.”
He carried it to the fireplace and threw it into the flames.
The locket sparked.
A sharp pop followed.
Lydia stared.
“A listening device?” she whispered.
Dominic watched the metal blacken.
“Someone wanted to hear what you know.”
Outside the library, an alarm began to scream.
Matteo reached inside his jacket.
May you like
Dominic moved in front of Lydia.
Then every light in the mansion went dark.
