Chapter 2 - The Name My Grandmother Buried
Damian woke up three hours later in a private townhouse somewhere in Brooklyn.
I knew that because I was sitting in the next room when a doctor walked out carrying bloody gauze.
“He’ll live,” the doctor said.
One of Damian’s men, Marco, nodded.
“And the bullet?”
“Out.”
I stood.
“Can I leave now?”
Marco looked at me.
“No.”
“That wasn’t really a question.”
“It sounded like one.”
“I saved your boss.”
“Yes.”
“So maybe don’t kidnap me.”
Marco sighed.
“You weren’t kidnapped.”
I looked at the locked front door.
“What do you call this?”
“Protective inconvenience.”
“That is not a thing.”
“It is tonight.”
A voice came from behind us.
“Let her in.”
Damian.
I turned.
He stood in the doorway wearing black pants and an open white shirt, bandages wrapped around his side.
Even injured, he looked dangerous.
And now the tattoos were fully visible.
Black ink covered part of his chest, one shoulder, and both forearms.
The crown and wolves stood out above the bandage.
“Everyone out,” he said.
Marco hesitated.
“Boss—”
“Out.”
The room emptied.
I folded my arms.
“You owe me answers.”
Damian poured water.
“You also owe me a clean suit.”
“I cut it because you were bleeding to death.”
“It was custom.”
“Cry about it.”
His eyes narrowed.
Then he almost smiled.
“You really are Teresa’s granddaughter.”
“You never met her.”
“No.”
“Then stop saying things like that.”
He sat carefully.
“My father did.”
I remained standing.
“Start talking.”
Damian studied me.
“Your grandmother was born Teresa Valenti.”
“No.”
“She was my father’s younger sister.”
“No.”
“Nora—”
“My grandmother’s last name was Morello.”
“Because she changed it.”
“Why?”
“Because she disappeared.”
“Why?”
Damian’s expression hardened.
“Thirty-one years ago, my grandfather had a business partner named Salvatore Rizzo.”
“I don’t care about mafia history.”
“You should.”
He leaned forward.
“Rizzo tried to take control of the family. He failed. Then he discovered Teresa had evidence proving he was stealing from both sides.”
“What evidence?”
“A ledger.”
I laughed.
“A ledger?”
“Bank transfers. Judges. police officers. politicians. union bosses. Everyone Rizzo paid.”
“And Teresa stole it?”
“She disappeared with it.”
“Why?”
Damian looked at me.
“Because she believed my grandfather would start a war to get it back.”
“And did he?”
“Yes.”
The room became quiet.
I touched the ring.
“Why give me this?”
“He probably didn’t.”
“What?”
“Your grandfather gave it to Teresa.”
“Your grandfather.”
“Our grandfather.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
Damian continued anyway.
“Family tradition. The oldest Valenti ring was passed to the daughter trusted with the household accounts.”
“Very dramatic.”
“It was Italy.”
“That explains nothing.”
A door opened.
An elderly priest entered.
He had silver hair, thick glasses, and the expression of someone who had been awake too long.
He saw me.
Then stopped.
His face went pale.
“Teresa.”
My stomach twisted.
“I’m Nora.”
The priest crossed the room slowly.
“You have her eyes.”
I looked at Damian.
“Who is this?”
“Father Matteo.”
The priest stared at my necklace.
“May I?”
I hesitated.
Then held up the ring.
He touched it with trembling fingers.
“My God.”
“Everybody keeps reacting like that. I’d appreciate an explanation.”
Father Matteo looked at Damian.
“She never told her?”
“Apparently not.”
“Told me what?”
The priest sat.
“Your grandmother came to my church thirty years ago. She had already changed her name.”
“You knew her?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you find me?”
“She made me promise.”
My anger rose instantly.
“Promise what?”
“That if anything happened to her, I would never contact you.”
I stared at him.
“My parents died when I was seven. She raised me alone. Then she died when I was thirteen.”
“I know.”
“You knew?”
His eyes lowered.
“She wrote to me every year.”
I stepped back.
“So everyone knew more about my family than I did.”
Damian said, “Not everyone.”
“Enough.”
I walked toward the door.
Marco blocked it from outside.
I turned.
“Move.”
Damian said quietly, “You can’t leave.”
“There it is.”
“Nora.”
“You say I’m not kidnapped, then you lock me inside.”
“If you walk outside, Rizzo’s people will find you before sunrise.”
“Salvatore Rizzo is still alive?”
“No.”
“Then who sent the message?”
“His son.”
“Name?”
“Vincent Rizzo.”
I knew that name too.
Real estate billionaire.
Charity donor.
Always photographed shaking hands with mayors.
“He’s mafia?”
Damian gave me a look.
“So are half the men on magazine covers.”
Father Matteo leaned forward.
“Vincent believes Teresa hid the ledger.”
“With me?”
“He believes blood leads to secrets.”
I laughed bitterly.
“My grandmother left me twenty-three dollars, a sewing box, and that ring.”
Damian’s eyes sharpened.
“Sewing box?”
“What?”
“What kind?”
I frowned.
“Wood. Dark red. Why?”
Father Matteo and Damian looked at each other.
I immediately hated that look.
“What?”
Damian stood.
“Where is it?”
“In storage.”
“Where?”
“Queens.”
He picked up his coat.
Marco entered.
“Boss, absolutely not.”
Damian ignored him.
I stared.
“You were shot three hours ago.”
“Yes.”
“You can barely stand.”
“I’m standing.”
“You’re insane.”
“Probably.”
Marco stepped closer.
“Damian.”
Damian looked at him.
“If Vincent Rizzo knows Nora exists, he will already be looking for anything Teresa left behind.”
He turned to me.
“Is the storage unit under your name?”
“Yes.”
“Then we have maybe an hour.”
I grabbed my jacket.
Marco stared at me.
“You’re going too?”
“It’s my box.”
Damian looked at me.
“Stay between my men.”
“I don’t take orders.”
“You will tonight.”
I stepped close enough to look directly into his eyes.
“I dragged you half-dead through a laundry tunnel. Don’t confuse that with obedience.”
For one second, the room was silent.
Then Damian nodded.
“Fair.”
Marco muttered, “This is going to be a nightmare.”
I looked at him.
“It already is.”
We left through the garage.
Three black SUVs waited outside.
As I climbed into the middle one, Damian sat beside me.
“You really think there’s something in that box?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“What?”
May you like
He looked out at the rain.
“Something your grandmother was willing to disappear for.”
