Chapter 4 - A Lie Big Enough to Keep Her Alive
Glass sprayed across the bakery.
Roman knocked me to the floor before I understood what had happened.
His body covered mine.
For one insane second, my brain supplied the completely useless observation that his suit jacket smelled faintly of cedar.
Then someone shouted.
“Clear!”
Another voice answered from outside.
“No shooter!”
Roman lifted his head.
“Stay down.”
“I own the floor,” I muttered. “I’m familiar with it.”
He glared.
I glared back.
Daniel appeared at the kitchen doorway.
“Brick.”
Roman frowned.
“What?”
Daniel held up a broken red brick.
“It came through the window.”
Wrapped around it with black tape was a photograph.
Roman took it.
I sat up.
The picture showed Elena Duca climbing into a car.
According to the date printed in the corner, it had been taken the night before she died.
On the back, someone had written:
SHE SHOULD HAVE MINDED HER BUSINESS TOO.
Roman read it without moving.
I watched his face lose every trace of warmth.
“Roman.”
He folded the photo once.
Very carefully.
“Daniel.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get Lily to the house. Nobody outside the six-person rotation knows the route.”
Daniel nodded.
Roman continued.
“Call Marco.”
Daniel hesitated.
That was tiny.
Barely a second.
But Roman saw it.
“So did I.
“Why Marco?” I asked.
“My uncle manages internal security.”
“Your uncle.”
“Yes.”
“Does he have a black-stone ring?”
Roman looked at me.
My stomach tightened.
“He does, doesn’t he?”
“So do approximately twelve members of the Duca family.”
“That seems excessive.”
“It belonged to my grandfather. He had copies made for the men in the family.”
“Nothing says emotionally healthy relatives like matching ominous jewelry.”
Under different circumstances, Daniel might have smiled.
Nobody smiled now.
Roman stepped toward the broken window.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
“You called police?” I asked.
“Daniel did.”
That surprised me.
“You work with police?”
“I pay taxes too, Clare.”
“I’m trying to imagine the accountant.”
His mouth almost moved.
Almost.
Then he turned serious again.
“You cannot stay here.”
“I can’t just close.”
“Your front window no longer exists.”
“I noticed.”
“I’ll pay for everything.”
“No.”
He stared at me.
“No?”
“No.”
“This happened because of me.”
“Then you can help clean up.”
Daniel made a noise somewhere between a cough and a prayer.
Roman slowly removed his coat.
“What are you doing?”
“You told me to help.”
Ten minutes later, the most feared man in Chicago was holding a broom.
I would have laughed if my hands had stopped shaking.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
Roman noticed everything.
He put the broom aside.
“You’re coming with me.”
“No.”
“You’re frightened.”
“I’m furious.”
“You can be both.”
“I’m also behind on dinner rolls.”
He stepped closer.
“You are not baking four hundred dinner rolls while someone threatens your life.”
“Three hundred and eighty.”
“That improves nothing.”
“The customer already paid.”
“I’ll refund them.”
I pointed at him.
“You see? This. This is your problem.”
“My problem is that somebody may try to kill you.”
“Your problem is you think every inconvenience is a financial transaction.”
Roman went still.
“That isn’t what you are.”
The words came out so quietly that I almost missed them.
Something shifted between us.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Roman reached for it.
I pulled it away.
“My phone.”
“Do not answer.”
“It could be a customer.”
“At nine in the morning after somebody threw a brick through your window?”
“Yes. Chicagoans still need carbs during emergencies.”
It rang again.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Roman held out his hand.
I ignored him.
Then Lily whispered, “Clare?”
My heart jumped.
“Lily?”
Roman’s head snapped toward me.
“Where are you?”
“I’m okay.”
I put the call on speaker.
Roman said immediately, “Lily.”
She inhaled sharply.
Then hung up.
Roman stared at my phone.
“Why did she hang up?”
“Because you spoke.”
Pain crossed his face.
I softened.
“She called me for a reason.”
The phone buzzed with a text.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
DON’T LET HIM COME.
Then another:
I KNOW WHO WAS WITH MOM.
I looked at Roman.
He looked at me.
For once, neither of us argued.
Twenty minutes later, we were sitting in the back of his sedan.
Roman had agreed to remain two rooms away when I spoke to Lily.
It took nine minutes of yelling to achieve that compromise.
Sophia’s house was not what I expected.
No marble lions.
No gold gates.
It was a narrow brick home in Lincoln Park with flower boxes under the windows and a ceramic goose on the porch wearing a yellow raincoat.
I stared.
Roman said, “Don’t.”
“Your terrifying Mafia aunt dresses a goose?”
“She changes it seasonally.”
I loved Sophia.
Inside, Lily sat at the kitchen table wearing the same gray sweatshirt.
When she saw Roman, she immediately stiffened.
He stopped.
Then, with visible effort, he backed out of the kitchen.
“I’ll be in the study.”
Lily watched him leave.
I sat across from her.
“You scared me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize. But you do need to tell me the truth.”
She stared at the table.
“Is Uncle Roman mad?”
“He’s terrified.”
Her eyes lifted.
“He doesn’t get terrified.”
“Yes, he does. He’s just obnoxiously quiet about it.”
That earned the faintest smile.
Then I said, “Tell me about your mom.”
Her face fell.
For a long time, she said nothing.
Finally:
“She found something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Files. Money. Names.”
“From Roman’s business?”
“She said somebody was stealing from the family.”
I tried not to react to the phrase the family.
“She confronted them?”
“I think so.”
“When?”
“The night before she died.”
“Did you see who?”
Lily’s breathing changed.
I reached across the table but stopped before touching her.
“You don’t have to rush.”
She closed her eyes.
“I was in the back seat.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“Mom thought I was asleep.”
The room disappeared around her words.
“She drove to a parking garage. A man got into the passenger seat. They argued.”
“Could you see him?”
“Not his face.”
“But?”
She rubbed her hands together.
“He kept hitting the dashboard with his hand.”
Her eyes filled.
“And I saw the ring.”
Black stone.
My chest tightened.
“There are several men with that ring.”
“I know.”
“So how do you know who it was?”
She looked toward the kitchen door.
“He called Mom by her childhood nickname.”
“What nickname?”
“Lena.”
“Maybe several relatives knew it.”
Lily shook her head.
“Mom hated it. She only let three people call her that.”
Roman.
Sophia.
And—
Lily whispered, “Uncle Marco.”
The study door opened.
Roman stood there.
His face was white.
Lily stared at him in horror.
“You said he wouldn’t hear.”
“I didn’t,” Roman said.
His eyes stayed fixed on her.
“But Marco is here.”
From the hallway came a familiar male voice.
“Roman?”
Footsteps approached the kitchen.
Slowly.
A man appeared in the doorway.
Late fifties.
Expensive coat.
Calm eyes.
May you like
And on his right hand—
a silver ring with a black stone.
