Chương 6
It showed Clara at eighteen years old beside a woman he assumed was her mother.
Both were laughing.
The picture looked like it belonged to a different person.
A person who had not yet learned how expensive life could become.
“Dominic.”
Enzo’s voice changed.
That was enough.
Dominic followed him.
Enzo stood beside the closet.
“The wall.”
A small section near the floor looked slightly different.
Not damaged.
Moved.
Dominic crouched.
Behind a loose piece of wood was a narrow space.
Inside was an envelope.
No name.
No address.
Just a date written across the front.
Dominic recognized it immediately.
His face went still.
“What?”
Enzo saw his expression.
“What is it?”
Dominic did not answer.
Because the date was impossible.
It was the date Isabella Rossi had nearly died.
The same night Clara Bennett became a target.
He opened the envelope carefully.
Inside was a handwritten note.
Three sentences.
That was all.
But three sentences were enough to change everything.
Dominic read it once.
Then again.
Enzo watched him.
“Tell me.”
Dominic handed him the paper.
Enzo read silently.
His expression changed.
“No.”
Dominic looked toward the apartment window.
The city moved outside.
Cars.
People.
Noise.
A million lives continuing while his entire understanding of the situation collapsed.
Because the note was not from Victor Costa.
It was not from an enemy.
It was from someone Dominic trusted.
Someone who had been dead for twelve years.
“What does this mean?” Enzo asked.
Dominic folded the paper.
“It means Clara was never random.”
A sound came from the hallway.
Both men turned.
One of the security guards stepped inside.
“Mr. Rossi.”
“What?”
“The hospital called.”
Dominic immediately reached for his phone.
“What happened?”
The guard looked uncomfortable.
“It is not Clara.”
That should have been a relief.
It was not.
“Then who?”
The guard looked at the floor.
“Isabella Rossi.”
Dominic went still.
“What about her?”
“She left the hospital.”
Enzo frowned.
“She cannot leave without security.”
“She did.”
“How?”
The guard hesitated.
“She told them she was visiting Clara.”
Dominic’s face changed.
Because Isabella would not leave without telling him.
Not unless she had a reason.
Not unless she knew something.
The phone rang.
Unknown number.
Dominic answered.
No one spoke at first.
Then a woman’s voice came through.
“Dominic.”
His entire body tightened.
“Where are you?”
A quiet breath.
Then:
“I need you to listen before you do anything.”
He looked at Enzo.
The apartment suddenly felt colder.
“Mother.”
“I know who Clara is.”
The words landed harder than the shooting.
Dominic closed his eyes.
“What did you say?”
“I know who she is.”
“Where are you?”
“Dominic.”
Her voice softened.
And that frightened him more.
“I should have told you years ago.”
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Because there was only one person Dominic had ever known who could make him feel like a son instead of a weapon.
His mother.
And she had been hiding something from him.
“Tell me where you are.”
“No.”
“Mother.”
“If I tell you, you will come here angry.”
“Yes.”
“And you will make decisions before hearing the whole truth.”
Dominic gripped the phone.
“You left a hospital without telling me.”
“Yes.”
“You are asking me not to be angry.”
“Yes.”
“That is unreasonable.”
A small pause.
Then Isabella said quietly:
“You always did hate when I sounded like you.”
For one second, despite everything, Dominic almost laughed.
Almost.
Then she continued.
“Clara is not the person you think she is.”
Dominic looked at the note in his hand.
The date.
The handwriting.
The impossible connection.
“Who is she?”
Isabella did not answer immediately.
When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.
“She is the daughter of the man who saved my life.”
Dominic frowned.
“That does not make sense.”
“It will.”
“Mother.”
“I am sorry.”
Those words frightened him more than anything else.
Because Isabella Rossi rarely apologized.
“I am sorry I let you believe the wrong enemy was responsible.”
Dominic looked at Enzo.
The room felt suddenly too small.
“Who was responsible?”
Isabella’s voice broke slightly.
“The person who taught you how to become Dominic Rossi.”
The call ended.
And for the first time in years, Dominic had no idea who the enemy was.
The call ended, but Dominic kept the phone against his ear for several seconds.
The silence afterward felt louder than Isabella’s voice.
Enzo watched him carefully.
“What did she mean?”
Dominic lowered the phone.
“I do not know.”
That answer unsettled Enzo more than any confession could have.
Dominic Rossi was a man who always knew something.
He knew where money moved.
He knew who owed favors.
He knew which people were lying before they finished their sentences.
Not knowing was the one thing he hated more than losing.
“We need to find her,” Enzo said.
Dominic looked at the note again.
“No.”
Enzo frowned.
“No?”
“If she wanted me to find her, she would have told me where she was.”
“That sounds unlike you.”
“It is.”
“Then what are you doing?”
Dominic folded the note and placed it back inside the envelope.
“For once, I am listening.”
Enzo stared at him.
“You are trusting her?”
“I am trusting that she knows something I do not.”
“That is dangerous.”
“Yes.”
The answer was calm.
Too calm.
Enzo knew that tone.
It was the one Dominic used before making decisions that changed everything.
“You should tell Clara.”
Dominic looked toward the apartment hallway.
“She already knows something is wrong.”
“She deserves the truth.”
“She deserves the complete truth.”
Enzo shook his head.
“You are waiting because you are afraid.”
Dominic looked at him.
“Be careful.”
“You are.”
The warning hung there.
Years of friendship allowed Enzo to say things other people could not.
“You are afraid she will look at you differently.”
Dominic said nothing.
That was enough.
Back at the hospital, Clara was beginning to realize that waiting was its own kind of pain.
May you like
She hated hospitals.
Not because of the machines.
