Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Died Twice

The elevator doors closed before Emma could ask the question again.

“My mother is dead.”

Luca did not answer immediately.

That frightened her more than denial would have.

Marco pressed the emergency override and sent the elevator downward instead of toward the public lobby.

“Where are we going?” Emma asked.

“Somewhere without microphones,” Luca said.

“You own the building.”

“Yes.”

“And somebody still planted one under your table.”

“Yes.”

“That is not reassuring.”

“No.”

The elevator stopped beneath the hotel.

A private garage waited beyond steel doors.

Three black vehicles.

Six armed men.

No guests.

Emma held the brass key beneath her coat as if warmth could explain it.

“My mother died six months ago.”

Luca looked at her.

“Name?”

“Marianne Carter.”

Marco opened a tablet.

“Birth name?”

Emma hesitated.

“Marianne Reed.”

The room changed.

Not dramatically.

But Luca stopped moving.

Marco looked up.

Professor Ferrante, who had been brought down by another elevator, removed his glasses.

“Reed,” he repeated.

Emma turned.

“What?”

Ferrante’s voice became careful.

“The Keeper line in the family record was Reed.”

Emma laughed once.

It sounded wrong.

“My mother was a nurse from Queens.”

“Maybe,” Luca said.

“She hated Sicily.”

“Maybe.”

“She couldn’t speak Italian.”

Ferrante looked at the key.

“Maybe she made certain you believed that.”

Emma stared at all of them.

Then Luca asked the question she did not want.

“Did you see her body?”

Silence.

Emma’s grip tightened around the key.

“No.”

Marco’s expression sharpened.

“Why not?”

“She died at a private facility. I was working out of state. The hospital said there had been complications after surgery.”

“Which hospital?”

“St. Vincent Mercy.”

Marco searched.

His face changed within seconds.

“There is no St. Vincent Mercy in the county you named.”

Emma’s stomach turned.

“There was paperwork.”

“Do you still have it?”

“At my apartment.”

The apartment someone had already searched.

Luca looked toward Marco.

“Send a team.”

Emma stepped between them.

“No.”

Luca’s eyes returned to her.

“My things are not evidence.”

“Tonight they are.”

“My mother is not your investigation.”

“No.”

His voice remained calm.

“She is yours.”

That stopped her.

A car door opened nearby.

One of Luca’s men dragged the gray-haired photographer from the rear seat.

His hands were restrained.

His lip was split.

His composure was not.

Emma recognized him instantly.

“That’s him.”

The man smiled at her.

Not kindly.

“Emmalina Reed.”

Her blood went cold.

Nobody had called her that since her grandfather died.

Luca moved once.

Enough.

The photographer’s smile disappeared.

“What is your name?” Luca asked.

“Silas Crane.”

“Who hired you?”

Silas looked at Emma instead.

“Her mother.”

Emma stopped breathing.

“No.”

Silas gave a tired shrug.

“She paid me to make sure you reached Moretti before midnight.”

Luca’s gaze sharpened.

“Why?”

“Because after midnight, Vittorio’s people were supposed to take her.”

Emma stared.

“My mother is dead.”

Silas looked almost sympathetic.

“That is what Marianne needed you to believe.”

The brass key suddenly felt heavier.

Luca crouched in front of Silas.

“Where is she?”

Silas smiled again.

This time at Luca.

“If I knew that, Bellini would have killed me already.”

Marco’s phone rang.

He listened.

Then held it toward Luca.

“We found Emma’s apartment.”

Emma’s pulse jumped.

“Was it searched?”

“Completely.”

“And the paperwork?”

“Gone.”

She closed her eyes.

Marco continued.

“But whoever searched the bedroom missed something.”

He turned the screen.

A photograph.

Her mother.

Alive.

Standing outside a train station.

The timestamp was three weeks ago.

Emma’s knees nearly gave way.

Luca caught her elbow.

She did not pull away.

“Where?” she whispered.

Marco zoomed in on the station sign.

“Palermo.”

Professor Ferrante sat down slowly.

Emma looked at Luca.

“My mother told me never to go to Sicily.”

Luca’s face became unreadable.

“Then Sicily is exactly where this began.”

On Silas’s coat, Marco found a second photograph.

Marianne Reed.

Vittorio Bellini.

And Luca’s father.

All three standing beside the same monastery from the old Moretti photograph.

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On the back were four handwritten words:

THE KEEPER NEVER DIED ALONE.