Chapter 2 - The Woman in Room 614

The hotel was twelve minutes away.

Marco drove.

Arthur sat beside him.

I sat in the back.

Valentina followed in another car.

So did her father.

Marco had told them not to.

They came anyway.

No one spoke.

Marco kept both keys in his right hand.

Central Station.

Locker 318.

Hotel room 614.

Sixteen years.

One mother.

Two keys.

Too many people who had decided what he was allowed to know.

When we reached the hotel, Arthur stopped at the entrance.

“Marco.”

“What?”

“She may not open the door.”

Marco looked at him.

“She came here.”

“Yes.”

“For me?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m knocking.”

Room 614 was at the end of the sixth floor.

Marco stood outside it.

For the first time all night, he looked nervous.

Not angry.

Not dangerous.

Nervous.

He knocked.

Nothing.

Again.

“Mom?”

Silence.

Valentina appeared behind us.

Marco looked at her.

“I told you not to come.”

“I know.”

Her father arrived seconds later.

He looked pale.

Arthur stared at him.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

The retired commissioner answered:

“Neither should you.”

Marco looked between them.

“Everyone stops deciding that now.”

He knocked again.

“Mom?”

A lock moved.

The door opened.

A woman stood inside.

Early sixties.

Dark hair streaked with silver.

Thin.

Elegant.

She looked at Marco.

Then at the tattoo visible above his open collar.

Her hand covered her mouth.

“My son.”

Marco didn’t move.

Neither did she.

Sixteen years stood between them.

Then she reached for his face.

He stepped backward.

Not far.

But enough.

Her hand stopped.

“I’m sorry.”

Marco looked at her.

“You’re alive.”

“Yes.”

“For sixteen years.”

“Yes.”

“And everyone knew before I did.”

“No.”

Arthur lowered his head.

The commissioner looked away.

Marco continued.

“You knew Valentina.”

His mother looked toward her.

“Yes.”

“You met her three months ago.”

“Yes.”

“And you still didn’t call me.”

Tears filled her eyes.

“My name is Elena Santoro.”

Marco laughed bitterly.

“I know your name.”

“I spent sixteen years saying it beside an empty grave.”

Silence.

She closed her eyes.

“I never asked them to bury me.”

Marco’s face hardened.

“Who did?”

She looked at the commissioner.

He didn’t speak.

Arthur did.

“His department declared her dead seven months after she disappeared.”

Marco turned.

“You signed that too?”

The commissioner swallowed.

“Yes.”

Valentina whispered:

“Dad.”

He looked at his daughter.

“I was trying to keep her alive.”

Elena shook her head.

“You were trying to keep everyone quiet.”

Marco stepped into the room.

On the table were folders.

Photographs.

Old police reports.

One opened passport.

Recent.

Elena’s photograph.

Toronto address.

Marco touched it.

“So this is real.”

“Yes.”

“You really lived there.”

“Yes.”

“Alone?”

Elena hesitated.

Marco noticed.

“No.”

“Who with?”

She looked at Arthur.

Arthur looked at the floor.

Marco’s voice lowered.

“Who?”

Elena answered:

“Your father.”

Silence.

Marco’s father had died nineteen years earlier.

Officially.

A boating accident.

Marco stared.

“My father?”

Elena nodded.

“Until six years ago.”

Marco’s face changed completely.

“You’re telling me both my parents were alive?”

“For ten years after I disappeared.”

“Yes.”

“He survived the boat accident?”

“There was no accident.”

Arthur closed the hotel door.

Marco turned toward him.

“You knew?”

“Not then.”

“When?”

“Ten months ago.”

“The same time you disappeared.”

Arthur nodded.

“I found Elena.”

“And she told you.”

“Yes.”

Marco looked at his mother.

“Why would my father fake his death?”

Elena sat down slowly.

“Because he discovered the same corruption I did.”

“Police?”

“Yes.”

“My uncle?”

“Yes.”

“Your fiancé’s father?”

Valentina flinched.

Elena looked at the commissioner.

“At first.”

The commissioner stepped forward.

“I tried to get them out.”

Elena laughed quietly.

“You tried to get yourself out.”

He stopped.

Marco asked:

“What happened to my father?”

Elena looked at him.

“He wanted to come back.”

“When?”

“Six years ago.”

“Why didn’t he?”

“He was killed.”

The room went silent.

Marco stared.

“By who?”

Elena looked toward Arthur.

Arthur reached into his coat.

Not another key.

A photograph.

Marco took it.

A parking garage.

His father.

His uncle.

The commissioner.

And one fourth man.

Face partially hidden.

Marco stared.

“What is this?”

“The night your father died.”

Marco looked at the commissioner.

“You were there.”

“Yes.”

“Did you kill him?”

“No.”

“Did my uncle?”

The commissioner shook his head.

Marco looked at Elena.

“Then who?”

She pointed at the fourth man.

“He did.”

Marco narrowed his eyes.

“Who is that?”

Arthur answered.

“Someone your father trusted.”

“Name.”

Arthur hesitated.

Marco stepped closer.

“Name.”

“Victor Hale.”

Marco frowned.

“I don’t know him.”

Elena’s face tightened.

“You do.”

She opened another folder.

Inside was a photograph from Marco’s childhood.

Birthday party.

Marco.

His father.

His mother.

His uncle.

And the same fourth man.

Standing behind twelve-year-old Marco.

Marco stared.

“That’s…”

Arthur nodded.

“Your godfather.”

Marco went still.

His godfather had vanished shortly after his father’s supposed death.

Everyone said he moved to Europe.

Marco whispered:

“Victor killed my father?”

Elena looked at him.

“Your father recorded the meeting.”

She opened a laptop.

“One file.”

Marco stared at the screen.

“You watched it?”

“Yes.”

“Does it show who killed him?”

“Yes.”

Valentina stepped closer.

“Then why aren’t we watching it?”

Elena looked at her.

“Because the video also shows why your father was there.”

Valentina froze.

Marco looked at the commissioner.

His face had changed.

Elena pressed play.

The screen showed the garage.

Marco’s father stood near a car.

His uncle arrived.

The commissioner followed.

Then Victor.

Audio crackled.

Marco’s father said:

“I have the originals.”

His uncle answered:

“Then give them to me.”

“No.”

The commissioner spoke:

“Anthony, listen to me.”

Marco stopped.

“Anthony?”

The commissioner closed his eyes.

Elena paused the video.

Marco looked at Valentina’s father.

“Your name is Anthony Russo.”

“Yes.”

Marco looked at Elena.

“You said my father’s name.”

She shook her head.

“No.”

“The commissioner was talking to himself?”

“No.”

Elena pointed at Marco’s father.

“Your father’s real name was Anthony Russo.”

Silence.

Valentina stared at her father.

“No.”

Marco stared at both of them.

“What?”

The retired commissioner whispered:

“My name is Daniel Russo.”

Valentina looked at him.

“No.”

He nodded.

“Anthony was my older brother.”

The room stopped.

Marco looked at Valentina.

Then at Daniel.

Then back to Elena.

“My father was her uncle?”

Elena said nothing.

Marco’s face drained of color.

Valentina covered her mouth.

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Marco whispered:

“Then Valentina is my cousin.”