The Girl Who Offered Her Puppy at a Table Built on Fear

“You’re right,” he said.

Elena fed Bruno another piece of chicken.

“Is she hurt more?”

“I don’t know.”

“That means yes.”

“It means I don’t know.”

She rubbed her nose with the back of her wrist. “Mommy says people use ‘I don’t know’ when they don’t want to say the bad thing.”

“Your mother has a sentence for everything.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

It was the first time Elena had defended Maeve against him, though he had not meant the remark as criticism.

Sofia leaned against the counter. “Ask what you came to ask, then leave.”

Damiano took out the blue drive but kept it in his palm.

“Before your mother was taken, did she give you anything to keep?”

Elena shook her head.

“Did she hide anything in your backpack?”

“No.”

“Your jacket?”

“No.”

“Bruno’s collar?”

Elena pulled the puppy closer.

“I’m not taking him.”

“You took Mommy.”

“I did not.”

“Your men did.”

The correction stalled him.

Men acting under his name had taken Maeve. Whether he ordered it had mattered greatly to him until that moment. Elena did not appear interested in the distinction.

“Did your mother put anything near Bruno?” he asked.

“She put his food in the blue bag.”

“Where is the bag?”

“At home.”

Sofia said, “You are not taking her back there tonight.”

“I’m not.”

Elena watched Damiano close his hand around the drive. “What is that?”

“Something your mother gave Enzo.”

“Is it a movie?”

“Information.”

“About what?”

“About men who were stealing.”

“From you?”

“From many people.”

“Do you steal?”

Sofia turned her face away.

Damiano looked at the puppy chewing a strand of chicken. “Yes.”

Elena seemed surprised by the answer.

“Why?”

“Because I was good at it.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Yes.”

“Mommy says you’re dangerous.”

“She’s right.”

“Are you dangerous to me?”

Sofia looked back.

Damiano did not answer quickly. He could have said no. It was the answer a child deserved, but not one he had earned.

“Being near me may be dangerous,” he said. “I will try not to be.”

“That’s not the same.”

“No.”

Elena stared down at Bruno. “Mommy told me if men came, I had to run to Café Nate. She said not to bring my school tablet because they could follow it. She said take Bruno because nobody else would feed him.”

“Did she say anything about a blue bag?”

“No.”

“Any papers?”

“No.”

“A book?”

Elena’s head lifted.

“What book?”

“She put one in the freezer.”

Sofia frowned. “A book?”

“It was in a plastic bag with the peas. I asked why, and she said the freezer was harder to burn.”

Damiano stood.

Sofia caught his sleeve. “You are not bringing armed men into that apartment.”

“I won’t.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I.”

“Since when?”

The question remained between them.

Elena got to her feet. “I know which book.”

“You’re staying here,” Sofia said.

“It’s my house.”

“It may not be safe.”

“It wasn’t safe before.”

Sofia crouched. “That is exactly why you’re not going.”

Elena’s face reddened. “You’re not my aunt.”

Sofia absorbed the words without reacting.

Elena looked immediately ashamed, which made her angrier. She picked up Bruno and turned away.

Damiano said, “She may be.”

Elena looked back.

“If the test says I’m your father,” he continued, “Sofia would be your aunt.”

“What test?”

“A DNA test.”

“What if it says no?”

“Then she can still help you.”

“What if it says yes?”

Damiano looked toward Sofia, but she gave him nothing.

“Then we decide what that means,” he said.

“No,” Elena replied. “Mommy decides.”

The apartment door had been broken at the lock. Police tape did not cross it because no one had yet reported a crime.

Damiano stood in the hallway with Joseph Larkin, his attorney, rather than Enzo or any of the men. Larkin was fifty-eight, silver-haired, and dressed at three in the morning as though he might be photographed entering court. He had represented Damiano for eleven years and approved of surprises only when billing for them.

“You have a kidnapped former girlfriend, a possible daughter, a fugitive lieutenant, hidden financial records, and an unreported crime scene,” Larkin said. “Have I missed anything?”

“A puppy.”

“I will revise my assessment.”

They entered wearing gloves bought at a twenty-four-hour pharmacy.

The apartment was small and recently searched. Kitchen drawers hung open. Sofa cushions had been cut. A child’s backpack lay emptied near the wall, pencils and worksheets scattered across the floor. On the refrigerator, magnets held a school lunch calendar and a photograph of Elena missing her front teeth.

Damiano stopped in front of it.

Maeve stood behind Elena in the photograph, hands on her shoulders. Her hair was longer. She looked thinner than in the hostage video but older than Damiano’s last memory of her. Happiness had not erased the guarded set of her mouth.

Larkin opened the freezer.

Between a bag of peas and a box of frozen waffles sat a paperback wrapped in two grocery bags.

The book was an old library copy of The Secret Garden.

“Appropriate,” Larkin said.

“Don’t.”

“I’m tired.”

Inside the hollowed center lay a cheap smartphone with no battery and a folded sheet of paper.

Damiano unfolded it.

The paper contained a list of dates, companies, and payment amounts. At the bottom, Maeve had written:

If I disappear, the records on this phone must go to Mara Keene, Financial Crimes Task Force. Do not give them to Damiano unless Elena is in immediate danger. If he has Elena, tell him this: saving her does not mean owning her.

Larkin read over his shoulder.

“Who is Mara Keene?” Damiano asked.

“A detective. State police, I think. I’ve seen the name on subpoenas.”

“You know her?”

“I know of her. That is not the same thing.”

“Can you reach her?”