Chapter 7 - THE FATHER MIA NEVER KNEW
Grace did not run to him.
That told me everything about the six years Daniel Cross had lost.
Romance novels imagined reunions differently.
Real betrayal did not disappear because someone stood in the rain looking sorry.
Grace raised my gun before I realized she had taken it from my hand.
Every man outside the mausoleum froze.
Daniel did too.
“Grace.”
“Don’t.”
Her hands shook.
“Do not say my name like you have the right.”
Daniel slowly raised his hands.
“I deserve that.”
“You deserve worse.”
“Yes.”
Anthony moved forward.
Daniel looked at him.
“You.”
Anthony’s face hardened.
“Me.”
Grace turned the gun toward my brother.
“This is becoming exhausting.”
Despite the danger, I almost smiled.
“Grace,” Daniel said, “Anthony saved my life.”
“And then convinced you to abandon me?”
“No.”
She stared.
Daniel swallowed.
“I chose to stay away.”
That hurt her more.
I saw it immediately.
“Why?”
“Because Gideon found out you were pregnant.”
“So?”
“He sent me a photograph of you asleep.”
Grace’s face changed.
The same kind of image we had received tonight.
“And a note.”
“What did it say?”
Daniel looked at me.
“Return to Boston and both Harpers die.”
Grace lowered the gun slightly.
“You could have contacted me.”
“I did.”
Anthony closed his eyes.
Grace turned.
“What?”
Daniel continued.
“I sent letters through Anthony.”
Grace stared at my brother.
“You said nothing came.”
Anthony whispered, “Because they were intercepted.”
“By whom?”
Catherine.
We all understood simultaneously.
She was not with us.
I had left her at the townhouse command center.
I grabbed my phone.
No answer.
Vincent called security.
His expression changed.
“Catherine left twenty minutes ago.”
Anthony swore.
“Where?”
“No one stopped her. She said Roman authorized it.”
“I did not.”
Grace looked at Anthony.
“Would she intercept Daniel’s letters?”
“No.”
“You sound very certain.”
“I know my wife.”
I looked at the memorial plaque bearing Anthony’s name.
“You also thought her father believed you were dead.”
He had no answer.
Daniel stepped into the mausoleum.
“Catherine didn’t take the letters.”
“Then who?”
“Gideon.”
“How do you know?”
“Because three years ago he sent them back to me.”
Grace’s face twisted.
“Why?”
“To prove he controlled every road between us.”
Daniel reached into his jacket.
Vincent aimed.
Daniel stopped.
“Letters.”
Grace nodded.
He removed a plastic envelope.
Inside were dozens.
Unopened.
All addressed to Grace.
Her knees weakened.
I caught her elbow.
She stared at them.
“You kept these?”
“Every one.”
“Why come back now?”
Daniel looked at Anthony.
“Because Anthony stopped answering my secure channel.”
Anthony frowned.
“I haven’t used it in five years.”
“Someone has.”
Silence.
“What messages?”
Daniel pulled out his phone.
“Monthly. Two words.”
He showed us.
GRACE SAFE.
January.
February.
March.
For years.
Then six weeks ago, the message changed.
CHILD ACTIVE.
Anthony went pale.
“I never sent those.”
“Who had the channel?”
“Catherine.”
The evidence kept pointing toward her.
But something did not fit.
“If Catherine works for Gideon,” I said, “why hide Anthony from him?”
Daniel looked at me.
“She doesn’t work for Gideon.”
“Then explain.”
“I think she’s being blackmailed.”
Anthony stood despite his leg.
“With what?”
Daniel’s expression changed.
“With your son.”
Nobody moved.
Anthony whispered, “We don’t have a son.”
Daniel looked almost apologetic.
“You do.”
Anthony stared at him.
“No.”
“Catherine gave birth when you were imprisoned.”
His face lost all color.
“What?”
“She told the Ducas she miscarried.”
I remembered.
Four years ago.
Catherine had disappeared to Europe for months after Anthony’s supposed death.
She returned thinner.
Quiet.
Said grief had caused a pregnancy loss no one knew about.
Anthony could barely speak.
“My son?”
“Gideon took him.”
Catherine’s strange behavior suddenly made terrible sense.
The feeding.
The secrecy.
The obedience mixed with rebellion.
“How old?” Anthony whispered.
“Four.”
“Where?”
“Nobody knows.”
Grace lowered the gun.
“Gideon has been holding everyone’s family hostage.”
Daniel nodded.
“That’s how he operates.”
My phone rang.
Catherine.
Anthony grabbed it.
“Catherine?”
Her breathing came fast.
“Anthony.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Where is our son?”
Silence.
Anthony collapsed against the wall.
“It’s true.”
Catherine sobbed.
“I wanted to tell you.”
“Where is he?”
“His name is Luca.”
Anthony covered his face.
“Where?”
“I can get him back.”
“How?”
“I give my father Mia.”
Every gun in the mausoleum seemed to rise without anyone moving.
“No,” Anthony said.
“I’m not going to.”
“Then why did you leave?”
“Because he offered a trade location.”
“Catherine.”
“I needed him to believe I agreed.”
I stepped toward the phone.
“Where?”
She heard me.
“Roman?”
“Where is the exchange?”
“The old Saint Vincent children’s hospital.”
Abandoned for fifteen years.
“When?”
“Forty minutes.”
“Do not go inside.”
“I’m already here.”
Anthony shouted her name.
Gunfire exploded through the phone.
Then silence.
“Catherine!”
Nothing.
The call remained connected.
We heard footsteps.
A child crying.
Then Catherine whispering:
“Luca?”
Anthony’s face broke apart.
The boy cried, “Mama?”
Then a man spoke.
Gideon.
“You always were sentimental.”
The line died.
We moved.
Nobody had to discuss it.
Daniel knew the hospital.
Vincent knew the approaches.
Anthony refused to stay behind.
Grace wanted to come.
I said no.
She ignored me.
At that point, our relationship had reached a useful understanding.
I ordered.
Grace ignored.
We both proceeded.
The hospital rose out of the rain like a dead ship.
Broken windows.
Boarded entrances.
Vincent’s teams surrounded it.
Daniel pointed toward a loading dock.
“Old service tunnels.”
Anthony looked at him.
“You remember?”
“I’ve been planning to kill Gideon for six years.”
“Comforting.”
We entered through the basement.
The smell of mold and bleach filled the corridor.
A child cried somewhere above.
Anthony nearly ran despite his leg.
I caught him.
“Control.”
“That’s my son.”
“And running into gunfire makes him an orphan.”
He hated me for saying it.
He listened.
We reached the second floor.
Voices.
Gideon.
Catherine.
“You should have remained obedient.”
“My son is not leverage.”
“Everyone is leverage.”
I saw the room through a cracked door.
Catherine sat on the floor.
Blood on her forehead.
A small boy clung to her.
Four years old.
Dark hair.
Anthony’s eyes.
Gideon stood ten feet away with two armed men.
And Margaret Harper sat in a wheelchair near the window.
Alive.
Grace saw her.
Every instinct in her body pulled forward.
I held her back.
Then Margaret turned her head.
She looked straight toward our hiding place.
And smiled.
Not because she saw Grace.
Because she expected us.
Her left hand moved subtly.
Three fingers.
Seven.
Nine.
Four.
Then she pointed down.
Basement.
Grace understood.
“The archive,” she whispered.
I nodded.
Whatever Margaret knew, Gideon still did not possess it.
We could save everyone.
But before I could signal Vincent, Daniel stepped into the hallway.
“Gideon!”
I turned.
“Damn it.”
Gideon smiled.
“Daniel Cross.”
His gunmen shifted.
Daniel raised his weapon.
Grace whispered, “What is he doing?”
Then I saw it.
He was drawing their attention away from us.
“Still chasing other men’s families?” Gideon asked.
Daniel smiled coldly.
“Only one family matters now.”
His eyes flicked once toward Grace.
Gideon saw it.
“So the child really is yours.”
Daniel said nothing.
Gideon laughed.
“Excellent.”
Then he raised his pistol.
But not toward Daniel.
Toward Margaret.
Grace moved before I could stop her.
“Mom!”
Gideon turned.
Everything exploded.
Vincent fired.
One gunman fell.
Anthony slammed through the doorway.
Catherine covered Luca.
Daniel tackled Gideon.
A second gunshot shattered glass.
Margaret’s wheelchair tipped.
Grace ran toward her.
I took down the remaining guard.
Then Gideon disappeared through a side door.
Daniel chased him.
“Daniel!”
Grace screamed.
Too late.
Anthony grabbed Catherine and Luca.
Grace reached Margaret.
“Mom.”
Margaret touched her face.
“My baby.”
Grace collapsed against her.
For one impossible second, twenty-eight lost years vanished.
Then Margaret whispered something.
Grace lifted her head.
“What?”
Margaret looked toward me.
“The basement.”
“We know.”
“No.”
Her voice weakened.
“The ledger isn’t money.”
I frowned.
“Samuel’s recording said you were the ledger.”
“I am.”
“What do you remember?”
“Everything.”
Names.
Dates.
Accounts.
Gideon’s empire.
Enough to destroy him.
But Margaret shook her head.
“That isn’t why he wants Mia.”
Grace froze.
“Then why?”
Margaret looked at her granddaughter across the hall.
“He needs her blood.”
Grace’s face emptied.
“What?”
Margaret grabbed her wrist.
“The trust was never unlocked by a password.”
“What unlocks it?”
“DNA.”
Then she said the words that turned the entire story upside down again.
“Not Harper DNA.”
May you like
She looked directly at me.
“Duca blood.”
