Chapter 2 - THE MESSAGE
I read the message again.
Then again.
Mateo watched my face.
“Dom?”
I locked the phone.
“Who sent it?”
“Unknown number.”
“Trace it.”
“We're trying.”
I looked toward the operating room.
The red light above the doors remained on.
Clara had been inside for nearly three hours.
Three hours.
And every minute felt like punishment.
I sat down.
For the first time that night, memories began attacking me.
Clara waiting at the dining table.
Clara asking whether I would be home for dinner.
Clara standing in the doorway of my office.
Clara saying, “You don't look at me anymore.”
And me answering, “I'm busy.”
I had always been good at lying.
I had convinced politicians.
Business partners.
Enemies.
I had even convinced myself.
But now I couldn't escape one simple fact.
While Clara had been dying in a wrecked SUV, I had been holding Serena's hand.
I pulled out my phone.
There were eleven missed calls from Clara over the last month.
I had ignored every one.
Not because I hated her.
That would have been easier.
I ignored her because answering meant confronting what I'd done.
I had married a woman who loved me.
Then I became the kind of husband who made her feel alone inside her own house.
Serena appeared at the end of the hallway.
“Dom.”
I stood.
“You shouldn't be here.”
She walked toward me.
“I was discharged.”
“I didn't ask you to come.”
Her expression hardened.
“You promised me you weren't going anywhere.”
“That was before my wife nearly died.”
“You're angry with me?”
“No.”
“Then why are you acting like this?”
I stared at her.
Because suddenly, every beautiful thing about her looked empty.
The expensive perfume.
The perfect hair.
The designer clothes.
The constant demands.
The jealousy.
The drama.
I had mistaken obsession for love.
Serena lowered her voice.
“Do you love her?”
I didn't answer.
She laughed bitterly.
“You do.”
“I don't know.”
“That means yes.”
She walked closer.
“Dom, she was already leaving you.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“She told me.”
My stomach tightened.
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“You spoke to Clara?”
“She called me.”
“Why?”
“She wanted to know whether you were serious about me.”
I couldn't breathe.
“What did you tell her?”
Serena looked away.
“I told her the truth.”
“What truth?”
“That you were going to leave her.”
I stared.
“I never said that.”
“You told me you were going to.”
I closed my eyes.
Maybe I had.
Maybe I had said things to Serena in moments of weakness that I didn't have the courage to say to Clara.
“What else did Clara say?”
Serena hesitated.
“She asked if you ever talked about the business.”
I looked at her sharply.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“Serena.”
“I said I didn't know anything.”
I stepped closer.
“Were you telling the truth?”
She stared at me.
“Yes.”
I believed her.
Mostly.
Then Mateo's phone rang.
He listened.
His face changed.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“Say it.”
“We traced the number.”
“And?”
“It came from a burner phone.”
“Location?”
“An abandoned warehouse near the South Branch.”
“Moretti?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Mateo swallowed.
“The phone was activated using an identification number registered to Clara.”
I stared at him.
“That’s impossible.”
“We checked twice.”
I walked toward the surgical doors.
Mateo followed.
“Dom, there's more.”
“What?”
“Security footage from the intersection.”
He showed me the recording.
The armored SUV struck Clara's vehicle.
The crash was brutal.
But the strange part wasn't the impact.
It was what happened three minutes before.
Clara's car stopped.
A black sedan pulled alongside.
Someone got out.
The footage was too grainy to see the face.
But the person walked toward Clara's driver's window.
Then Clara's car suddenly accelerated.
Three minutes later, she was hit.
I stared at the screen.
“Enhance the person.”
“We're working on it.”
“No.”
I pointed.
“Look at the shoes.”
Mateo zoomed in.
Black heels.
A silver buckle.
I recognized them.
Serena wore those shoes.
She looked at the screen.
Her face went pale.
“I've never been there.”
I turned toward her.
“I didn't say you had.”
“Dom…”
I walked away.
Because suddenly, I didn't know who to trust.
Not Serena.
Not Mateo.
Not even myself.
Then the surgeon finally came through the doors.
His mask was hanging below his chin.
“Mr. Valente?”
I stood.
“Yes.”
He looked exhausted.
“We've stopped the internal bleeding.”
My knees nearly gave out.
“But?”
“She has severe injuries. The next twelve hours are critical.”
“Can I see her?”
“Not yet.”
I nodded.
The surgeon walked away.
I sat down.
Then my phone buzzed.
A new message.
If Clara survives, ask her who she met before the crash.
I stared at the screen.
Then another message arrived.
And ask her why she never told you about your brother.
I stopped breathing.
May you like
I didn't have a brother.
At least, not one I'd ever known.
