She had not slept.
Her apartment was being watched by two men Marco had assigned to protect her, but she did not know whether they were protecting her or preventing her from leaving.
She had called in sick.
Bennett had not been pleased.
He had threatened to replace her.
For the first time in eight months, she did not care.
She had the photograph.
She had the letter.
And she had a growing suspicion that the most important person in her mother's life had been Alessandro De Luca.
Her phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
She answered.
"Hello?"
A man's voice spoke.
"Miss Moretti?"
"Who is this?"
"Someone who knew your mother."
Elena sat straighter.
"What do you want?"
"To warn you."
"About what?"
"Marco Bellini."
She glanced toward the café window.
"Who are you?"
"Someone who has spent twenty years regretting his silence."
"Tell me your name."
A pause.
"Giovanni Serra."
The name meant nothing to her.
"Why should I believe you?"
"Because I can tell you where your mother's box is."
Elena stood.
"Where?"
"Old Bellagio warehouse. Pier Forty-One."
Her blood ran cold.
"Why would it be there?"
"Because that's where your mother hid the ledger."
The line crackled.
Then Giovanni spoke again.
"Listen carefully. Do not go to Alessandro. Do not go to Marco. Neither of them knows the whole truth."
"Then who does?"
"I do."
"Where can I meet you?"
"Tonight. Eleven o'clock. The old church on Mercer Street."
"Why there?"
"Because your mother chose it."
The call ended.
Elena stood motionless.
Outside, a black car was parked across the street.
One of Marco's men.
She returned to the table.
She looked at the photograph.
Then at the letter.
Her mother had warned her not to trust the De Lucas.
But she had also warned her not to trust the man who smiled when everyone else was afraid.
That description could apply to Vincent.
It could apply to Marco.
It could even apply to Alessandro.
Elena folded the letter and placed it inside her handbag.
For the first time, she decided to make a choice without asking anyone's permission.
She would find the ledger.
And she would learn what had happened to her mother.
***
That evening, Alessandro received a message.
It contained a single photograph.
Elena entering the café.
Below it was a sentence.
Your mother should have stayed dead.
Alessandro stared at the screen.
He called Marco.
No answer.
He called again.
Still nothing.
Then he opened the photograph's details.
The image had been taken less than twenty minutes earlier.
The person who sent it was close.
Very close.
He stood and reached for his jacket.
A security officer entered.
"Sir?"
"Get the car."
"Where are we going?"
"Mercer Street."
The officer hesitated.
"There's a problem."
Alessandro looked at him.
"What?"
"Mr. Bellini left an hour ago. He took two men with him."
"Where?"
"Pier Forty-One."
Alessandro's expression changed.
He understood immediately.
Marco knew about the meeting.
And if Giovanni Serra was telling the truth, Elena was walking into a trap.
"Call every man we have."
"Sir?"
"Now."
***
The old church on Mercer Street had been abandoned for almost fifteen years.
Its stained-glass windows were cracked, and the wooden doors had swollen from decades of rain. A narrow alley ran behind the building, leading toward an old storage yard.
Elena arrived at 10:54 p.m.
She carried no weapon.
Only her handbag and the photograph of her mother.
The church was dark.
She entered through a side door.
"Giovanni?"
Her voice echoed through the empty building.
A man emerged from the shadows.
He was in his sixties, with silver hair and a tired face.
"Elena Moretti."
"Who are you?"
"Giovanni Serra."
She studied him.
"You knew my mother?"
"She saved my life."
"How?"
He looked toward the altar.
"Your mother was the only person who understood what your father's friends were doing."
Elena frowned.
"My father?"
Giovanni looked at her.
"You never knew him?"
"My mother raised me alone."
"That wasn't what I asked."
Elena felt her stomach tighten.
"Why did you say my father?"
Giovanni took a small envelope from his coat.
"Because Sofia never told you the truth about your birth."
He handed her the envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
A young man stood beside Sofia.
He had dark hair and a narrow scar beneath his left eye.
Elena recognized him.
Alessandro.
But the photograph was not recent.
It had been taken when he was perhaps eighteen.
Sofia stood beside him, one hand resting on his shoulder.
On the back was written:
For the boy who deserved a family.
Elena looked at Giovanni.
"What does this mean?"
"Your mother was not Alessandro's only protector."
He hesitated.
"She was also the person who kept him from discovering what his father had done to your family."
Elena's voice became quiet.
"What family?"
Giovanni looked toward the church doors.
"Your father was a man named Matteo Moretti. He worked for Vittorio De Luca. He was killed because he refused to participate in a murder."
Elena stared at him.
"Who killed him?"
Giovanni did not answer.
He did not need to.
The church doors opened.
A figure entered.