Chapter 7 - WHY SALVATORE WANTED ME
Vincent doubled security.
I hated it.
Two men followed me to the kitchen.
A guard stood outside my apartment.
Another waited near Ellie's preschool.
Vincent wanted Ellie moved to a private location.
I refused.
“I'm not teaching my daughter to disappear because a dangerous man sent a text.”
Vincent stared at me.
“Rachel, this is not normal danger.”
“I know.”
“He helped kill Sofia.”
“I know.”
“He threatened you.”
“I noticed.”
“And you're arguing with me.”
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened.
Then he did something unexpected.
He asked:
“What do you want?”
I stopped.
Nobody powerful ever asked that question first.
“I want Ellie protected without making her feel hunted.”
“All right.”
“I want Isabella kept away from every conversation about Salvatore.”
“Yes.”
“And I want you to stop treating me like a package your security team needs to move.”
A pause.
“I'll try.”
It was probably the closest Vincent Moretti had ever come to surrender.
Detective Jennings traced the message through multiple relays.
No immediate location.
Then she asked the question nobody had considered.
“Why Rachel?”
Vincent answered, “Because Sofia trusted her.”
“That explains why he sees her as a problem. Not why he specifically needs her.”
I thought about the storage unit.
The key.
The note.
Sofia had named me repeatedly.
Maybe Salvatore assumed she had given me something.
“I don't have anything.”
Jennings looked at me.
“Think.”
“I have.”
“No. Think about before Sofia died.”
Five years of memories.
Birthdays.
Laundry.
Isabella's piano lessons.
Sofia drinking coffee barefoot in the kitchen.
One memory surfaced.
Two weeks before the accident.
Sofia had given me a box of Ellie's old baby clothes.
I had protested because they were expensive.
She insisted Isabella had outgrown them years earlier.
“Did she give you anything unusual?” Jennings asked.
“Baby clothes.”
“When?”
“About two weeks before she died.”
Vincent frowned.
“What clothes?”
I described the box.
Then remembered the pale yellow coat.
Sofia had said:
Save this one for when Ellie is older.
It was too large then.
Ellie still had not worn it.
We went to my apartment.
The box sat on the top shelf of the closet.
Inside were dresses.
Sweaters.
Shoes.
The yellow coat.
I picked it up.
Heavy.
Too heavy.
Jennings examined the lining.
Hand stitching.
A section had been closed after manufacture.
She opened it carefully.
Inside was a flash drive.
I laughed from disbelief.
“Sofia turned my closet into evidence storage.”
Vincent looked toward the ceiling.
“She was impossible.”
His voice contained love.
The flash drive contained accounting files.
But not just Salvatore's.
There were files on Vincent.
Illegal campaign contributions.
Cash businesses.
Payments authorized years earlier.
Jennings looked at him.
Vincent did not deny it.
“Sofia kept evidence against you too,” I whispered.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked at me.
“Insurance.”
“No.”
I thought about her letter.
“She wanted leverage to make you leave.”
Vincent understood.
Sofia had collected enough evidence to destroy Dominic.
Salvatore.
And, if necessary, her own husband.
Not because she hated Vincent.
Because she was desperate to force him out of a life that endangered Isabella.
There was another folder.
RACHEL.
My hands went cold.
Inside were copies of my employment documents.
Ellie's birth certificate.
My former boyfriend's arrest record.
My eyes widened.
“Why did Sofia have this?”
Jennings read.
“She investigated your daughter's father.”
I felt exposed.
Humiliated.
Then I saw the final document.
A court petition that had never been filed.
Sofia had prepared paperwork to help me obtain sole legal custody of Ellie if her father ever returned.
She had even arranged an attorney.
I sat down.
“She never told me.”
Vincent looked at the documents.
“She did things quietly.”
“Yes.”
There was an audio file.
Sofia again.
“Rachel, I know you won't ask for help.”
I laughed through tears.
Correct.
“So I'm preparing it without asking.”
Vincent glanced at me.
I ignored him.
“If Matthew ever comes back, Dominic has been instructed to connect you with Elaine Porter. She is a family-law attorney. Do not let pride make you stupid.”
I covered my eyes.
Vincent actually smiled.
“She knew you too.”
“Apparently.”
Then Sofia's tone became serious.
“If I am gone and Salvatore asks you about the yellow coat, tell no one where it is.”
We all froze.
She knew.
“He knows about it,” Jennings said.
“He must have seen her give me the box.”
The audio continued.
“The files on this drive are not the most important thing.”
Vincent frowned.
“The most important thing is a list of witnesses Salvatore believes were eliminated.”
Jennings leaned closer.
“Eliminated?”
Sofia continued.
“They are not dead.”
A file opened automatically after the recording ended.
Six names.
Caroline Reed was one.
Elliot Crane was another.
The missing contractor from the photograph.
Four others.
Addresses had been replaced by codes.
Jennings stared.
“Sofia helped hide witnesses.”
Vincent looked stunned.
“From Sal?”
“Yes.”
The detective scrolled.
“If these people are alive, they can corroborate years of crimes.”
“Can we find them?”
“Maybe.”
At the bottom was another message.
Rachel knows where Caroline went.
I stared at the screen.
“No, I don't.”
Vincent looked at me.
“Think.”
“Everyone keeps saying that like my brain has a secret basement.”
Then I remembered Caroline's last day.
She had hugged me.
She had said:
If anyone asks, I finally went somewhere warm.
I joked:
Florida?
She answered:
Warmer.
At the time, I thought she meant she was leaving Chicago.
Now I remembered something else.
Caroline's mother lived in New Mexico.
Jennings made calls.
Two hours later, she found a woman matching Caroline's description living under her grandmother's surname outside Santa Fe.
Alive.
Protected informally by Sofia's private investigator.
The missing people were not victims.
They were witnesses Sofia had quietly moved beyond Salvatore's reach.
Jennings contacted federal authorities.
The case changed again.
Salvatore was no longer facing one frightened child and a dead woman's recordings.
He was facing living witnesses.
That night, Vincent received a call.
Salvatore.
He put it on speaker.
“Vinny.”
Vincent's expression hardened.
Only family called him that.
“Where are you?”
“You disappoint me.”
“I'm learning to live with that.”
“You gave family records to police.”
“You killed my wife.”
“I protected what your father built.”
“My father built companies. You built a sewer beneath them.”
Salvatore laughed.
Then:
“Rachel is standing beside you.”
Vincent looked toward the windows.
Every curtain was closed.
“How do you know?”
“Because she always stands too close when she's angry.”
My skin went cold.
He knew me.
Watched me.
Studied the estate longer than we realized.
Salvatore continued.
“She thinks Sofia trusted her because she was kind to Bella.”
I said, “Sofia trusted me because I wasn't you.”
Silence.
Vincent looked at me.
Probably not the smartest thing I had ever said.
Salvatore's voice changed.
“You found the coat.”
“Yes.”
“Then you found the names.”
“Yes.”
“Those people belong to me.”
“They're people.”
“Give me the drive.”
“No.”
“And I leave the girls alone.”
“No.”
His voice became soft.
“You think Vincent can protect you?”
I looked at Vincent.
“No.”
His eyes sharpened.
I continued.
“I think evidence can bury you without either of us touching you.”
Salvatore hung up.
Vincent stared at me.
“You enjoy making dangerous men angry?”
“Only recently.”
Jennings' phone rang.
She answered.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
We waited.
Then she looked at Vincent.
“Federal agents located Salvatore's vehicle.”
“Where?”
“Near Lake Forest.”
Vincent stood.
Jennings continued.
“But Salvatore wasn't inside.”
“Who was?”
She swallowed.
“Your uncle's driver.”
“What did he say?”
“He claims Salvatore is already on the estate.”
Every person in the room went still.
The alarms never sounded.
No gate opened.
No camera caught him.
That meant Salvatore had entered through a route older than the modern security system.
Vincent looked toward the floor.
“The tunnels.”
I frowned.
“What tunnels?”
He was already moving.
“My grandfather built service passages during Prohibition.”
“You have secret tunnels under your house?”
“It has been a complicated family.”
An alarm suddenly sounded upstairs.
Not security.
A smoke detector.
Ellie's room.
I ran.
Vincent grabbed my arm.
“Rachel!”
I pulled free.
My daughter was upstairs.
Nothing on earth was stopping me.
Smoke filled the west hallway.
Not fire.
A smoke canister.
A diversion.
I reached my apartment.
The door stood open.
The girls were gone.
On Ellie's bed sat the gray rabbit with one missing ear.
Pinned beneath it was a note.
BRING THE DRIVE TO THE OLD BOATHOUSE.
COME ALONE.
Below that, in a child's shaky handwriting, were three words.
MOMMY DON'T COME.
Ellie had written them.
May you like
My four-year-old knew enough to warn me.
And Salvatore had both girls.
