Chapter 2 - THE MAN MY HUSBAND WANTED ME TO FEAR
Alexander Moretti did not take me home.
That mattered.
He offered three options.
A hotel under another name.
A women's shelter with private security.
Or a guest suite in a residential building his sister owned downtown.
He did not include his own house.
He did not say I would be safer with him.
He did not turn rescue into a debt.
I chose the apartment.
Mostly because my brain could not survive another decision.
The place was on the fourteenth floor of a building overlooking the river. One bedroom. White kitchen. Gray couch. Nothing personal.
Safe in the way hotel rooms are safe.
Meaning nobody had memories there.
A woman named Sofia Moretti met us in the lobby.
Alexander's sister.
She was thirty-four, dark-haired, elegant, and visibly unimpressed by her brother.
She looked at my bare foot.
Then at Alexander.
“You brought her out of a restaurant without shoes?”
“I did not remove the shoes.”
“Did you retrieve the missing one?”
“No.”
“Hopeless.”
Alexander looked annoyed.
For some reason, that helped.
Sofia turned to me.
“I have clothes upstairs. Probably not your size exactly, but close.”
“You don't have to—”
“I know.”
She smiled.
“That is going to be a recurring phrase tonight.”
My throat tightened.
Upstairs, Sofia gave me privacy.
No questions.
No sympathetic head tilt.
She placed sweatpants, a T-shirt, socks, and toiletries outside the bathroom and told me she would be in the kitchen.
I locked the door.
Then checked it three times.
I stood under hot water until makeup ran down my arms.
The bruise Derek had left two days earlier reappeared beneath the concealer.
Yellow at the edges.
Purple in the center.
My wrist had darkened.
I looked at myself in the mirror.
Twenty-nine years old.
Married at twenty-six.
Smaller now than I remembered.
Not physically.
Somewhere else.
I pressed my palms against the sink.
“You left.”
The woman in the mirror did not look convinced.
“You left.”
Again.
I had.
For one night.
The bathroom door seemed impossibly thin.
I dressed.
When I came out, Alexander was gone.
Relief came first.
Then something strange.
Disappointment.
I hated that.
Sofia sat at the kitchen island with tea.
“He went back to the restaurant.”
“Why?”
“Because Victor Sloane appeared in a photograph with your husband.”
I sat slowly.
“What does that mean?”
“It means my brother has been trying to find Sloane for six years.”
“Is Alexander…”
I did not know how to finish.
A criminal?
Dangerous?
The kind of man Derek would later tell police had kidnapped me?
Sofia understood.
“Yes.”
I stared.
She sighed.
“Yes to whichever version of the question you're afraid to ask.”
“He's mafia.”
“We don't use that word at Thanksgiving.”
I almost laughed.
Sofia's expression softened.
“My family has legitimate businesses.”
“And illegitimate?”
“Yes.”
The honesty surprised me.
“Alexander has done things you might not approve of.”
“Might?”
She smiled without humor.
“Definitely.”
I wrapped my hands around tea.
“Why help me?”
“Because what your husband did to you is wrong.”
“That simple?”
“Yes.”
I wanted to believe people could be that simple.
Derek had trained me not to.
Sofia looked at my wrist.
“Do you want a doctor?”
“No.”
“Police?”
“No.”
“Attorney?”
I hesitated.
She noticed.
“Not tonight?”
“Not tonight.”
“Okay.”
No pressure.
I looked at her.
“You're all very strange.”
“Thank you.”
My phone sat on the counter between us.
Turned off.
Alexander's security man—his name was Luca—had advised removing the battery.
Apparently modern phones didn't make that easy.
So he put it in a metal signal pouch instead.
At 11:16, Sofia's phone rang.
Alexander.
She answered.
“Yes?”
A pause.
Her face changed.
“I'll tell her.”
Another pause.
“No. You tell her yourself.”
She held the phone out.
I stared.
“You don't have to,” she said.
There it was again.
Choice.
I took it.
“Hello?”
Alexander's voice came low.
“We found Derek.”
My stomach dropped.
“Where?”
“Your apartment.”
I stopped breathing.
“He went home?”
“With Sloane.”
“What were they doing?”
“Searching.”
My hand tightened.
“For Daniel's drive.”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“I don't have it.”
“I believe you.”
“Why?”
“Because you would not know how to sell it without attracting people like Sloane.”
Oddly insulting.
Probably accurate.
Alexander continued.
“They found something.”
I went cold.
“What?”
“A photograph.”
“What photograph?”
“Daniel and me.”
Silence.
I stood.
“What?”
“Your brother met me three days before he died.”
The room disappeared.
“You knew him.”
“Yes.”
“You said he worked for one of your companies.”
“He did.”
“That is not the same as knowing him.”
“No.”
Anger cut through fear.
“You lied.”
“I withheld.”
“That is a rich man's synonym for lying.”
Sofia murmured, “Correct.”
Alexander apparently heard.
“I am on speaker?”
“No.”
“You should be.”
I almost laughed.
Instead, my eyes filled.
“Why did Daniel meet you?”
“He found payments moving through Lakefront projects.”
“What kind of payments?”
“Cash routed to building inspectors, alderman intermediaries, security contractors.”
“Bribes.”
“Yes.”
“And you were involved?”
“No.”
“How convenient.”
A pause.
“You should not believe me because I say it.”
That stopped me.
Alexander continued.
“Daniel didn't.”
“What?”
“He came to accuse me.”
That sounded like my brother.
Daniel had once argued with a tow truck driver for forty minutes because the man charged our mother twelve dollars too much.
Alexander said, “He thought Moretti money was funding Sloane.”
“Was it?”
“Yes.”
My stomach dropped.
“But not through me.”
“Who?”
“I didn't know then.”
“And now?”
“Maybe.”
I stared at the dark windows.
Chicago glittered below.
“Derek?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“Someone inside my organization.”
That was worse.
“Daniel discovered the leak.”
“Yes.”
“Then died.”
“Yes.”
I sat again.
Sofia touched my shoulder.
Lightly.
“Did Daniel give you anything?” Alexander asked.
“His personal box.”
“What's in it?”
“Photos. Watch. Old notebooks. A baseball from Wrigley. Our dad's pocketknife.”
“No drive?”
“Not that I know.”
“Where is the box?”
My pulse jumped.
“At my house.”
Silence.
“With Derek.”
“Yes.”
Alexander swore softly.
“I'll recover it.”
“No.”
A pause.
“No?”
I surprised myself too.
“That is my brother's box.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don't. Everyone keeps moving pieces of my life because they think they know better.”
Sofia looked at me.
I continued.
“Derek moved my money. My friends. My clothes. My phone. You are not taking Daniel's things without me.”
Alexander did not answer immediately.
Then, “All right.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tonight.”
“No.”
My anger flared.
“You said I decide.”
“You decide whether we recover the box. You do not decide whether your concussion-free head enters a house where Sloane's men may still be waiting at midnight.”
“I don't have a concussion.”
“Your husband hit you.”
“Not in the head.”
Sofia stared.
I regretted saying it so casually.
Alexander's voice changed.
“When?”
I closed my eyes.
“This week.”
“How many times?”
“That is none of your business.”
“Correct.”
His answer was controlled.
“But it changes the security assessment.”
I hated that he made sense.
“Tomorrow morning,” I said.
“Yes.”
“I go inside.”
“If the house is clear.”
“I open the box.”
“Yes.”
“You don't touch anything unless I say.”
A pause.
“Within reason.”
“Alexander.”
“Fine.”
Something about saying his name felt intimate.
I put distance back into my voice.
“Mr. Moretti.”
He disliked that more.
I could hear it.
“I'll see you at eight.”
The call ended.
Sofia looked at me.
“You made him compromise.”
“So?”
“He doesn't.”
“Maybe people should ask.”
She smiled.
“You may be dangerous.”
I slept for forty-seven minutes.
At 4:03 a.m., I woke because I heard keys.
Not real keys.
Memory.
Derek returning after nights when he'd been drinking.
I sat upright.
My heart slammed.
The apartment was dark.
Safe.
I knew that.
My body did not.
I went into the kitchen.
Sofia was asleep on the couch.
She had stayed.
A blanket covered her legs.
I stared.
No one had stayed awake for me before.
Not without making me owe them.
I made coffee.
At 6:30, Alexander arrived.
He wore yesterday's suit without the tie.
His eyes looked tired.
Sofia woke and immediately insulted him.
“You look terrible.”
“Good morning.”
“Did you sleep?”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“See? Hopeless.”
Alexander placed a paper bag on the counter.
Inside were shoes.
Flat black sneakers.
My size.
I looked at him.
“How did you know?”
“You left one heel.”
“That told you shoe size?”
“The restaurant manager checked.”
I stared.
“You sent someone to retrieve my shoe?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You need shoes.”
Simple.
No speech.
I put them on.
They fit.
We drove to the house I had shared with Derek.
Two security vehicles.
One police car.
That surprised me.
Alexander noticed.
“You said I could decide about police.”
“You did.”
“I didn't choose them.”
“The officer is here because Derek reported you missing.”
My blood went cold.
“What?”
“At 1:12 a.m.”
“What did he say?”
“That you were unstable and had been taken by me.”
Of course.
Alexander's jaw tightened.
“He requested a wellness intervention.”
My hands started shaking.
“He's going to tell them I'm crazy.”
“Then you tell them the truth.”
“They'll believe him.”
“Maybe.”
That was not comforting.
Alexander continued.
“Which is why the restaurant footage is already copied to your attorney.”
I stared.
“My attorney?”
“Sofia called one.”
“You arranged a lawyer without asking?”
“No. Sofia arranged a lawyer without asking.”
From the front seat, Luca said, “Important distinction.”
I almost laughed.
Alexander said, “You can refuse representation.”
I looked out the window.
Derek knew how to perform concern.
He had practiced on my mother.
Doctors.
Friends.
Anyone who noticed I was quieter.
An attorney suddenly sounded less like control.
“What's her name?”
“Rachel Kim.”
I knew the name.
Domestic violence cases.
High-profile divorces.
“How expensive is she?”
“Not your problem.”
“No.”
Alexander looked at me.
I forced myself not to shrink.
“If I use her, I pay her.”
“You can.”
“How much?”
“I don't know.”
“You hired her.”
“Sofia did.”
“Alexander.”
His mouth tightened.
“Your first consultation is covered.”
“By?”
“My sister's foundation.”
“That sounds invented.”
Luca coughed.
Alexander ignored him.
“After that, Rachel will discuss fees with you.”
Better.
Not perfect.
Better.
We reached the house.
A brick townhome in West Loop.
The porch light was on.
Derek's car sat outside.
So did Sloane's.
My stomach dropped.
“He's here.”
Alexander's expression hardened.
“No. Both cars are empty.”
Police stood near the front steps.
Rachel Kim waited beneath an umbrella.
Petite.
Forties.
Red coat.
She approached my door before Alexander could open it.
“Emily?”
“Yes.”
“I'm Rachel. Before anyone asks you anything, I work for you, not Mr. Moretti.”
I looked at Alexander.
He nodded.
Good.
Rachel continued.
“Do you want to enter the home?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want Alexander or his security with you?”
I looked at the house.
Then at him.
“Yes.”
“Police?”
I hesitated.
“Yes.”
Rachel smiled slightly.
“Good. Let's go get your brother's things.”
The front door had been forced.
My home looked violated.
Drawer contents everywhere.
Couch cushions sliced.
Picture frames broken.
Derek had never allowed mess.
He would destroy an entire room for a secret but scream if I left a glass beside the sink.
We reached the bedroom.
The closet stood open.
Daniel's box was gone.
I stopped.
“No.”
Alexander looked around.
“When did you last see it?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Derek moved it?”
“He must have.”
Rachel asked, “Any idea where?”
I thought.
Derek had a storage unit.
He said it held work records.
I had never been allowed inside.
“Maybe.”
Before I could explain, a police officer called from downstairs.
“Ms. Carter?”
We returned.
He held a clear evidence bag.
Inside was a small flash drive.
Black.
No label.
“Found beneath the kitchen floor vent.”
I stared.
“I've never seen that.”
Alexander went still.
Rachel immediately said, “Nobody plugs that into anything.”
The officer nodded.
“It may be relevant to Mrs. Carter's missing-person report.”
Alexander looked at me.
“Daniel.”
My mouth went dry.
The floor vent.
When we were kids, Daniel hid birthday presents in air vents because he thought burglars never checked them.
He once hid my Christmas bracelet in the return vent and forgot where it was for six months.
“It could be his.”
Rachel said, “Then we preserve chain of custody.”
Alexander's phone vibrated.
He checked the message.
His face changed.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“Derek just used your credit card.”
“Where?”
“A gas station near Midway.”
Rachel frowned.
“He's leaving the city.”
Alexander shook his head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Victor Sloane owns a hangar near Midway.”
My pulse stopped.
Alexander stared at the flash drive.
“They have the box.”
“And we have the drive,” I whispered.
He nodded.
Then my phone—returned by Luca that morning after security checked it—lit up.
Derek.
One text.
COME ALONE WITH THE DRIVE.
May you like
A second message.
OR I'LL TELL MORETTI WHAT DANIEL REALLY FOUND ABOUT HIS FATHER.
