Chapter 3 - The Dead Man’s Box
Mateo Reyes had been dead for three years.
But at eleven thirty that night, Elena opened the box that had survived him.
She had kept it beneath folded sweaters because grief was strange that way. People imagined mourning meant clinging to objects.
Sometimes mourning meant hiding them where they could not ambush you.
The box contained a watch that no longer worked.
Three photographs.
A hospital bracelet from Mia’s birth.
A ridiculous Valentine’s card showing two cartoon avocados embracing beneath the words AVO GREAT DAY.
And an envelope Mateo had told Elena never to open unless someone asked about the hawk.
For three years, nobody had.
Until Mia did.
Elena sat on the floor of her small apartment in the staff wing.
Her daughter slept several feet away, one arm around a stuffed bear.
Elena broke the seal.
Inside was a brass key.
A photograph.
And one sentence.
Trust the man who refuses the throne.
Elena frowned.
The photograph showed seven men outside a warehouse.
She recognized Julian immediately.
Much younger.
Beside him stood Luca’s father, Antonio Valente.
Two others were men Elena had seen in old newspaper photographs.
The remaining three were strangers.
Except one.
Her breath stopped.
Mateo.
Her husband stood at the edge of the photograph.
Twenty-four years old.
Smiling.
Wearing the silver hawk ring.
“No.”
She turned the picture over.
A date had been written on the back.
Twelve years earlier.
Mateo had known the Valentes long before he ever told Elena he worked as an accountant.
A knock came.
Elena shoved the photograph beneath her leg.
“Who is it?”
“Me.”
Luca.
Of course.
Apparently terrifying mafia bosses considered midnight an acceptable time for unresolved conversations.
Elena opened the door halfway.
He had removed his jacket and tie.
That somehow made him more intimidating.
“What?”
“I need the box.”
“No.”
One eyebrow lifted.
“You’re refusing me?”
“Yes.”
Interesting.
People rarely did.
He leaned against the doorframe.
“Elena.”
“You don’t get everything because people are frightened of you.”
“No. Sometimes I get things because they’re mine.”
“My husband’s possessions aren’t yours.”
“If your husband was involved with my father, they may concern me.”
“Concern is not ownership.”
They stared at each other.
From behind Elena came a sleepy voice.
“You’re fighting too loud.”
Both adults froze.
Mia sat up in bed, hair pointing in six directions.
Luca glanced at her.
“We’re not fighting.”
Mia squinted.
“You have the face.”
“What face?”
“The angry eyebrows.”
Elena covered her mouth.
Luca looked offended.
“I do not have angry eyebrows.”
“You do.”
“Mia, go back to sleep.”
The child pointed toward Elena.
“She has angry eyebrows too.”
Luca looked at Elena.
Elena looked at Luca.
Against every reasonable instinct, they both laughed.
Quietly.
Briefly.
But the tension cracked.
Mia collapsed back onto her pillow.
“Good,” she murmured. “No fighting.”
Thirty seconds later she was asleep again.
Luca’s expression softened.
Elena noticed.
He noticed her noticing.
The softness vanished.
“May I see the box?”
The change in wording mattered.
Elena stepped aside.
They sat on the floor like two conspirators in the world’s strangest preschool meeting.
She showed him the photograph.
Luca’s face changed instantly.
“He knew my father.”
“So it seems.”
“Why would he hide that?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
Luca examined the others.
His finger touched one man.
“Charles Mercer. Julian’s older brother.”
Another.
“Victor Dane. He handled maritime logistics.”
He stopped at the final man.
Elena saw his jaw tighten.
“Who?”
Luca did not answer immediately.
“My uncle.”
“Your father’s brother?”
“No.”
“My mother’s.”
The man in the photograph looked nothing like Luca.
Thin.
Silver-haired even then.
Smiling pleasantly.
“Sebastian Vale.”
“What happened to him?”
“He died.”
Elena waited.
“When?”
“According to everyone who attended his funeral? Nine years ago.”
“According to you?”
Luca turned the photograph over.
“My uncle had a habit of dying whenever consequences approached.”
Elena stared.
“That is not a normal sentence.”
“My family was not normal.”
“I noticed.”
His mouth nearly moved.
Then Elena gave him Mateo’s note.
Luca read it.
Trust the man who refuses the throne.
“What does it mean?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
But he did know something.
After Antonio Valente’s death, several members of the organization had suggested Julian temporarily assume control.
Julian refused.
He insisted twenty-two-year-old Luca inherit immediately.
Trust the man who refuses the throne.
Was Mateo telling Elena to trust Julian?
If so, why did the hawk ring frighten him?
Luca looked toward Mia.
She had kicked off her blanket.
He stood, crossed the room and pulled it over her.
The movement was so natural Elena forgot to guard her expression.
“You’re different around her,” she said.
Luca paused.
“Children don’t negotiate.”
“Mia negotiates constantly.”
“She’s terrible at it.”
“She got three desserts yesterday.”
Luca reconsidered.
“Perhaps I underestimated her.”
Elena smiled.
Then something fell from the box.
A small metal token.
Luca picked it up.
Stamped into one side was the number 417.
The other side carried a lighthouse.
Elena whispered, “I’ve never seen that.”
Luca had.
“Grand Central.”
“What?”
“Old storage lockers used to issue tokens like these.”
“Used to?”
“Decades ago.”
“Then why did Mateo have one?”
Luca turned it beneath the light.
“Because someone recreated it.”
He pulled out his phone.
Within two minutes, he had awakened three people.
Elena watched in disbelief.
“Do your employees ever sleep?”
“They’re paid well.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No.”
Twenty minutes later, Luca received an address.
Locker 417 existed.
Not in Grand Central.
At a private luggage-storage facility three blocks away.
Registered eleven years ago.
Paid annually in cash.
The name attached to the account made Luca sit very still.
Elena saw it.
“What?”
He turned the screen toward her.
LUCA ANTONIO VALENTE.
Elena stared.
“You opened it?”
“I’ve never been there.”
“Then Mateo opened an account in your name?”
“Or someone wanted it found by me.”
They looked toward the brass key.
At 12:24 a.m., Luca called his driver.
Elena stood.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“That was my husband’s key.”
“It may be dangerous.”
“Then perhaps you finally understand why I’m coming.”
“Elena—”
She folded her arms.
Luca studied her.
Then sighed.
“Fine.”
Mia suddenly spoke from beneath the blanket.
“I’m coming too.”
Both adults turned.
Her eyes remained closed.
Elena stared.
“You’re asleep.”
“I’m listening.”
“No.”
“But I have the suit.”
Luca actually smiled.
“No.”
Mia opened one eye.
“Important people protect little people.”
Luca’s smile disappeared.
Because the words no longer sounded adorable.
May you like
They sounded like a promise.
And for reasons he could not yet explain, Luca Valente suddenly knew he intended to keep it.
