Chapter 1 - THE KEY IN HER APRON
The gunshot came from the diner’s back door.
Matteo Romano pushed Harper lower before the second round hit the brick wall behind the SUV.
“Drive.”
The driver did not need to be told twice.
Harper’s shoulder slammed against leather as the vehicle launched into traffic.
The man who had told her to call him Dad kept one hand braced against the seat and the other around the pistol.
His face had changed again.
The patient customer from booth four had vanished completely.
“What the hell is happening?”
“Stay down.”
“That is not an answer.”
“No.”
Harper stared at him.
Rain streaked the dark windows.
The key in her apron dug into her thigh.
Matteo looked toward the rear windshield, now cracked but intact.
A second SUV followed.
His.
Not theirs.
The scarred man from the diner had not made it out in time.
Good.
Maybe.
Harper’s heart still pounded hard enough to hurt.
“Who are you?”
He looked at her.
“You know.”
“I know newspapers call you Matteo Romano.”
“That is my name.”
“They also call you—”
“Newspapers say many things.”
“Mafia boss?”
The driver glanced in mirror.
Matteo did not.
“Among other things.”
Harper laughed once.
Too sharp.
“Great.”
She pressed both hands to her face.
“I have an exam Thursday.”
That finally made him look confused.
“What?”
“Pharmacology.”
His mouth almost moved.
“Noted.”
“Do not make jokes.”
“I wasn’t.”
“That somehow makes it worse.”
The SUV turned under the elevated tracks.
Harper lifted herself slightly.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere secure.”
“No.”
Matteo’s eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“You don’t get to decide where I disappear to.”
There.
He looked at her differently.
Not annoyed.
Interested.
“I just had a gun fired at you.”
“I noticed.”
“You were handed something by a man those two were chasing.”
Her stomach tightened.
“I don’t know what.”
“Then why did one of them ask whether he gave you anything?”
Harper said nothing.
Matteo looked at her apron.
Too late.
She covered pocket with her hand.
His gaze sharpened.
“What did he give you?”
“Nothing.”
“You are a terrible liar.”
“You lied about being my father.”
“That was tactical.”
“That was weird.”
“It worked.”
Fair.
Harper looked toward driver.
“Take me to police station.”
The driver glanced at Matteo.
Harper caught it.
“See? That. I hate that.”
Matteo sighed.
“Dominic, nearest station.”
The driver blinked.
“Boss.”
“She asked.”
That surprised Harper.
Dominic changed route.
Matteo holstered his weapon beneath jacket.
“Before we arrive, understand something.”
“Here comes threat.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“The men in that diner did not recognize you. They recognized me. That is why they backed off at first.”
“And then shot at us.”
“Yes.”
“Strong social skills.”
“They shot after someone saw you leave with me.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
That chilled her.
Matteo continued:
“If you walk into a station and hand over whatever that man gave you, that may be safest.”
“May?”
“Yes.”
“Helpful.”
“I don’t lie when uncertainty matters.”
Harper looked.
That sentence did not match the man newspapers described.
Then the key shifted again.
Heavy brass.
She pulled it out.
Matteo stopped breathing.
Not metaphorically.
His face lost color.
The driver looked in mirror.
“Boss?”
Matteo did not answer.
Harper held key between two fingers.
“What?”
He reached.
Stopped before touching.
Good.
“Turn it over.”
She did.
One side was plain.
The other had a tiny stamped symbol.
A bird.
No.
A swallow.
Wings angled upward.
Beneath it:
19.
Matteo’s right hand closed slowly.
“Where did you get that?”
“I told you.”
“From booth seven?”
“Yes.”
“Did he say his name?”
“No.”
Matteo looked at Dominic.
“Call Rafe.”
“You know who he is?”
“I might.”
The SUV changed lanes.
Matteo kept staring at the key.
Harper’s pulse increased.
“What does it open?”
He did not answer.
“Mr. Romano.”
His eyes lifted.
“What was your mother’s name?”
The question came from nowhere.
Harper stiffened.
“No.”
“Harper.”
She had never told him her name tonight.
Then remembered.
He had probably heard Greg.
Still.
“How do you know my mother has anything to do with this?”
“Because that key disappeared twenty-three years ago.”
Silence.
Harper looked at it.
Twenty-three years.
One year before she was born.
“Whose was it?”
Matteo swallowed.
“My brother’s.”
The SUV became too small.
“Your brother.”
“Yes.”
“Is he alive?”
“No.”
“How did he die?”
Matteo’s expression hardened.
“Officially?”
Harper’s stomach dropped.
“Seriously?”
“He was shot.”
There.
No elegant version.
“His name?”
“Nicholas Romano.”
“Nico.”
“Yes.”
Harper stared at key.
She knew that name.
Not from newspapers.
From a box under her mother’s bed.
A Christmas card.
Old.
No signature.
Just:
For Mara and the little one. — N.
Harper had found it after her mother died.
She assumed N was a friend.
She looked at Matteo.
“My mother’s name was Mara Hayes.”
He closed his eyes.
The hand that had held the gun steadily now trembled.
Dominic slowed slightly.
“Boss?”
Matteo whispered:
“Mara.”
He knew it.
Harper’s throat tightened.
“You knew her.”
Matteo did not answer quickly enough.
“You knew my mother.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
The police station came into view.
Matteo looked at building.
Then at Harper.
“Your mother worked for my family.”
Harper laughed in disbelief.
“She was a respiratory therapist.”
“When you knew her.”
“What was she before?”
“An accountant.”
Harper stopped.
Her mother hated numbers.
Or claimed to.
She refused to balance checkbook without calculator.
“You’re lying.”
“No.”
“She never worked for a mafia family.”
“She worked for Romano Imports.”
“That is not same thing.”
“No.”
He did not pretend.
Harper pressed key into palm.
“What did she do?”
“Books.”
“Illegal books?”
“Some.”
“Did she know?”
Matteo looked out window.
“Eventually.”
The SUV stopped across from station.
Dominic asked:
“Pull in?”
Matteo looked at Harper.
Her choice.
She looked at the key.
The swallow.
Nineteen.
Her mother’s hidden card.
The men with guns.
The stranger bleeding into rain outside diner.
She said:
“Yes.”
They pulled in.
Matteo did not stop her.
Inside the station, Harper made statement.
A detective named Lena Ortiz took the key into evidence temporarily, photographed it, bagged it, and documented chain.
Harper described booth-seven man.
Older.
Fifties.
Gray raincoat.
Nervous.
Cash.
Key.
“They’re coming.”
The shooting.
The two men.
Matteo’s intervention.
Detective Ortiz looked at Matteo.
“You drew a firearm?”
“Yes.”
“Licensed?”
His attorney? Not there. He said yes, carry permit? In Chicago carrying laws complex. Fiction. Keep vague.
“Yes.”
“Discharged?”
“No.”
“Your security?”
“Returned fire?”
Dominic said:
“No. Driver accelerated.”
Good.
Detective checked diner footage already being requested.
Outside impact reported.
Booth-seven man?
Ambulance found him near intersection.
Alive.
Hit by car.
Critical but stable.
No wallet.
No phone.
Fingerprint identified him:
Martin Keller.
Harper did not know.
Matteo did.
His expression changed again.
“Who?” she demanded.
Matteo looked at Detective Ortiz.
“Keller was comptroller for Romano Imports twenty-three years ago.”
Harper’s skin went cold.
The same period as her mother.
Detective Ortiz sat straighter.
“And now?”
“He disappeared in 2004.”
“Disappeared?”
“Left.”
“You’re not sure.”
“No.”
Harper held breath.
Ortiz asked:
“What does key open?”
Matteo looked at evidence bag.
“A private records compartment.”
“Where?”
He hesitated.
Ortiz’s face hardened.
“Mr. Romano.”
“Former Union Continental Bank on LaSalle.”
“That bank closed.”
“The vault service was acquired by Caledonia Trust.”
“Box nineteen?”
“Not exactly.”
“What exactly?”
Matteo looked at Harper.
Then said:
“Room nineteen.”
The detective wrote.
“What is in Room Nineteen?”
Matteo’s voice lowered.
“I don’t know.”
Harper almost laughed.
“You recognized key instantly.”
“Yes.”
“And don’t know?”
“My brother created it.”
“For what?”
“Insurance.”
Against whom?
Harper already knew answer before asking.
“Your family?”
Matteo met her eyes.
“Yes.”
That was when Detective Ortiz said nobody was opening anything tonight.
Good.
Warrant questions.
Ownership.
Chain.
Potential evidence.
Lawyers.
Boring.
Harper liked her.
Matteo hated waiting.
Also good.
At four-thirty in morning, Detective Ortiz released Harper with instructions and security warning.
Her apartment?
Maybe unsafe.
Her address could be in diner employment record.
The men might know.
Ortiz recommended temporary location.
Not Matteo’s.
Harper called her friend Tessa.
No answer.
Called nursing-school classmate Jade.
Answered half asleep.
Harper explained only:
“I need somewhere safe.”
Jade said:
“Come.”
Good.
Matteo offered car.
Harper accepted only after Dominic’s name and plate documented with Ortiz.
He almost smiled.
At Jade’s building, Harper reached for door.
Matteo said:
“Harper.”
She turned.
“What?”
“Do you have anything of your mother’s from before you were born?”
Her fingers tightened on handle.
“Maybe.”
“Do not bring it to me.”
That surprised.
“Then why ask?”
“Because if Keller found you, somebody else may know Mara had records.”
Harper stared.
“What records?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop saying that.”
His face softened barely.
“I know what I suspected. That is different.”
“What did you suspect?”
“That Nico trusted your mother with something before he died.”
The Christmas card flashed in her mind.
For Mara and the little one.
She looked at Matteo.
“The little one.”
His expression changed.
“What?”
Harper wished she could pull words back.
Too late.
“What little one?”
She shook head.
“Nothing.”
He stared.
Then something terrible and impossible crossed his face.
Hope.
“No.”
Harper stepped out.
“Good night.”
“Harper.”
She slammed door.
The SUV stayed until she entered Jade’s building.
Only then did it leave.
Upstairs, Jade stared at her drenched uniform.
“Do I want to know?”
“No.”
“Do you need pajamas?”
“Yes.”
“Tea?”
“Yes.”
“Police?”
“Already.”
Jade nodded.
Good friend.
Harper showered.
Then opened cloud storage from phone.
She had photographed the old Christmas card after her mother died.
She zoomed.
Front:
A hand-painted swallow.
Exactly the same as the key.
Back:
For Mara and the little one.
If anything happens, remember what I promised.
— N.
Harper’s hands began shaking.
Below the signature, something she had never noticed before.
Faint pencil.
May you like
Two words.
Ask Matteo.
