Chapter 3 - THE HOUSE WITH TOO MANY LOCKS
The Raldi residence did not look like a mafia fortress.
That made it worse.
Delaney expected iron gates, armed guards, maybe stone lions.
Instead she found a large but understated lakefront house outside Chicago, surrounded by old trees and enough security cameras to track a squirrel from three counties away.
Marco led her inside.
A woman in her sixties approached.
“I’m Rosa.”
Delaney glanced at her.
“Okay.”
Rosa smiled faintly.
“Marco said you might bite.”
“I don’t bite.”
“Good. I’ve had my tetanus shot, but I’d prefer not to test it.”
Delaney almost smiled.
Almost.
Rosa showed her upstairs.
“This room is yours.”
“I’m not staying.”
“Then this room is temporarily yours until you dramatically escape through a window.”
Delaney looked at her.
“You know people like me?”
“No.”
Rosa opened the curtains.
“I know people who are scared.”
Delaney stiffened.
“I’m not scared.”
“Then you are the first sensible person in this house.”
The bedroom contained clean sheets, a desk, attached bathroom, and a window overlooking the lake.
On the bed lay folded clothes.
Delaney touched none of them.
“What do you want?”
Rosa tilted her head.
“From you?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing.”
“Nobody gives people things for nothing.”
“That is a sad rule.”
“It’s an accurate one.”
Rosa considered her.
“Then let’s say I want you to shower because the chair you’re sitting on is antique.”
Delaney laughed before she could stop herself.
Rosa smiled.
“Progress.”
The shower took twenty minutes.
Delaney stood beneath hot water until dirt ran clear down the drain.
She had forgotten what it felt like to be warm without stealing electricity.
She hated how much she liked it.
Comfort was dangerous.
Comfort made people stay.
Staying made people reachable.
When she emerged, Rosa had left jeans, a dark sweater, socks, and shoes outside the bathroom.
Nothing expensive-looking.
Delaney appreciated that more than she wanted to admit.
Downstairs, Marco waited beside the kitchen island.
“Luca is alive.”
Delaney looked away too quickly.
“Good.”
“Surgery went well.”
“Okay.”
“He asked about you.”
“Why?”
Marco’s mouth twitched.
“You drove a car at the men burying him.”
“They were annoying me.”
“I’ll tell him.”
Delaney pulled out the anonymous message.
“Tell me about this.”
Marco’s expression changed.
He took the phone.
The photograph showed Melissa Mercer wearing her grocery-store uniform.
Beside her stood Adrian Voss.
Marco zoomed in.
“Where did you get this?”
“Someone sent it.”
“When?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
He swore.
“What?”
“Adrian knew your mother.”
Delaney stared.
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.”
“You expect me to believe your organization doesn’t know everyone Adrian talks to?”
“Adrian ran external operations.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he handled problems people didn’t want on paper.”
Delaney’s face hardened.
“Problems like poor tenants?”
Marco did not answer fast enough.
“Right.”
She grabbed her backpack.
Marco blocked the doorway.
“No.”
“Move.”
“Someone contacted you within an hour of our finding you.”
“Not my problem.”
“It means they know where you are.”
“They knew before.”
“Exactly.”
She shoved his chest.
He did not move.
“Move.”
“No.”
Delaney reached into her bag for the knife.
Marco calmly caught her wrist.
Not painfully.
“Delaney.”
“Let go.”
“You saved my best friend this morning.”
She froze.
Best friend.
Not boss.
Marco released her.
“I’m not imprisoning you. But until we know who sent this, walking outside alone is suicide.”
“Maybe I don’t care.”
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Marco stared.
Delaney instantly regretted it.
She looked away.
Marco’s voice became quieter.
“Your mother died eleven months ago.”
She said nothing.
“You disappeared from county services eight months ago.”
“Stop investigating me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Luca won’t.”
“That’s his problem.”
“Yes.”
Marco leaned against the counter.
“And now, unfortunately, you’re his problem too.”
Luca regained full consciousness at 4:17 that afternoon.
His first clear thought was that dying would have been less painful.
His second was about the girl.
“Delaney.”
Marco, sitting near the hospital window, looked up.
“She’s safe.”
“Where?”
“House.”
Luca relaxed slightly.
“Good.”
Marco held up the phone.
“We have a complication.”
He showed him the photograph.
Luca stared.
“Melissa Mercer.”
Marco blinked.
“You know her?”
“Yes.”
Delaney stood outside the partially open hospital-room door.
She had insisted on coming when Marco said Luca might recognize her mother.
Now her hand froze on the handle.
Inside, Marco asked, “How?”
Luca closed his eyes.
“Larkin Row.”
Delaney stepped into the room.
“You knew my mother.”
Marco turned.
Luca did not.
He looked directly at her.
“Yes.”
Rage came faster than grief.
“You knew her?”
“Yes.”
“And you never thought to mention that?”
“You didn’t give me much opportunity between preventing my burial and attempting to leave my house.”
“Don’t joke.”
His expression changed.
“You’re right.”
Delaney approached the bed.
“What did you do to her?”
“Nothing.”
“Your name was on the eviction.”
“My family name.”
“Convenient.”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
“My uncle Renato controlled the property company.”
“Same family.”
“Not the same man.”
“To people on the street, it doesn’t matter which billionaire signed which paper.”
That hit.
Luca looked away.
“No,” he said. “It probably doesn’t.”
Delaney stared.
She had expected denial.
Arrogance.
Threats.
Not agreement.
“What did you know?”
Luca took a careful breath.
“Your mother contacted me thirteen months ago.”
“Why?”
“She believed residents at Larkin Row were being illegally displaced.”
“They were.”
“Yes.”
The word cracked something open.
“You knew?”
“Not initially.”
“When did you find out?”
“When your mother brought me evidence.”
Marco stared.
“What evidence?”
“Forged safety inspections. Bribes. Buildings deliberately left without heat so tenants would accept low relocation payments.”
Delaney’s hands shook.
“My mother said the boiler failures weren’t accidents.”
“She was right.”
“Then why did nothing happen?”
Luca’s face darkened.
“Because two weeks after she contacted me, the documents disappeared.”
“And?”
“And your mother stopped answering calls.”
“She was sick.”
“I didn’t know.”
“She had cancer.”
Luca went still.
Delaney’s voice cracked.
“She was working forty hours a week while doing chemo because the relocation payment didn’t cover anywhere else.”
He said nothing.
“You could have helped.”
“Yes.”
The answer was barely audible.
“You could have stopped it.”
“I tried.”
“Not hard enough.”
“No.”
Again.
No excuses.
Delaney hated him for making anger harder.
Luca looked at Marco.
“Get the gray file from my private safe.”
Marco frowned.
“Which file?”
“Mercer.”
Delaney stared.
“You have a file with my name?”
“Your mother’s.”
Marco left.
Luca looked tired.
“Melissa came to my office through the service entrance because she thought Renato had someone following her.”
“Was he?”
“I believe Adrian was.”
Delaney remembered the photograph.
“What did my mom find?”
“Something bigger than Larkin Row.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“She refused to tell me everything until I proved she could trust me.”
Delaney almost smiled bitterly.
“That sounds like her.”
“She was difficult.”
“That definitely sounds like her.”
For the first time, something warm crossed Luca’s eyes.
“She told me rich men confused impatience with authority.”
Delaney swallowed.
Her mother had said that.
Many times.
Marco returned carrying a sealed folder.
Luca nodded toward Delaney.
“Give it to her.”
She opened it.
Inside were photocopies of inspection reports, tenant statements, and handwritten notes.
Melissa’s handwriting.
Delaney recognized the sharp capital letters immediately.
Then she saw an envelope.
Her name.
FOR DELANEY — IF I CAN’T FIX THIS
Her knees nearly gave out.
She stared at Luca.
“You had this?”
“I didn’t know it was there.”
“That’s my mother’s handwriting.”
“I know.”
She tore it open.
Inside was a single page.
Sweetheart,
If you are reading this, it means I failed to get us somewhere safe before my time ran out.
Delaney covered her mouth.
She kept reading.
Do not let anyone convince you being poor means being powerless. People with money survive because they count on exhausted people not having the energy to ask questions.
I found something at Larkin Row. Something involving the Raldis, city contracts, and a charity called Harbor Light.
I gave part of what I found to Luca Raldi.
I did not tell him the rest.
Not because I knew he was bad.
Because I didn’t yet know whether he was good.
Delaney looked at Luca.
He had gone pale.
The letter continued.
If Luca helps you without asking what he gets in return, maybe I was wrong to distrust him.
If he tries to buy your silence, run.
But remember something I learned too late:
People are not their last names.
They are their choices.
Delaney stopped.
Her vision blurred.
At the bottom, one final line had been underlined twice.
The rest is where your father taught you to count stars.
Delaney read it again.
Luca watched her carefully.
“What does that mean?”
She folded the letter immediately.
“Nothing.”
“You recognized it.”
“No.”
“Delaney.”
“My mother didn’t trust you enough to tell you.”
His eyes met hers.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t either.”
She stared.
He continued.
“Not yet.”
Marco’s phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He turned on the television.
Breaking news filled the screen.
An anchor stood outside City Hall.
Behind her appeared a photograph of Luca.
Then Delaney.
Security footage from the clearing.
The headline read:
HOMELESS TEEN LINKED TO RALDI ORGANIZED-CRIME SHOOTOUT
Delaney’s face went white.
The anchor continued.
“Authorities are seeking seventeen-year-old Delaney Mercer for questioning in connection with this morning’s violence—”
“Seventeen?” Luca said.
Delaney did not answer.
Marco swore.
“This was leaked.”
The anchor continued.
“Sources describe Mercer as possibly armed and dangerous.”
Delaney laughed.
It came out hollow.
“Of course.”
Luca looked at Marco.
“Who controls the story?”
Marco answered quietly.
“Deputy Mayor Caldwell’s office released the statement.”
Luca’s expression became terrifying.
Delaney looked at him.
“Who’s Caldwell?”
Luca met her eyes.
“The man responsible for Larkin Row.”
May you like
And suddenly the grave by the lake no longer looked like an isolated execution.
It looked like the first move in something much larger.
