PART 2 — The Woman Who Knew Where the Bodies Were Buried
PART 2 — The Woman Who Knew Where the Bodies Were Buried
Mara arrived at the coffee shop at 9:47 the next morning.
She chose the table closest to the front window.
Not because she was afraid.
Because she wanted to see anyone approaching before they saw her.
At 9:58, Sylvio Corvy walked through the door.
He came alone.
No bodyguards.
No expensive camel coat.
Just a dark wool overcoat, gray gloves, and the expression of a man who had spent the entire night realizing that the woman he had dismissed as a maid had quietly placed a knife against the throat of his entire empire.
He sat across from her.
“You surprised me.”
Mara wrapped both hands around her coffee.
“I imagine I do that sometimes.”
For the first time, Sylvio smiled.
“You have no idea what you’ve become involved in.”
“I know exactly what I’ve become involved in.”
“No,” he said softly. “You know numbers. You know accounts. You know how to find money that doesn’t belong where it claims to belong.”
He leaned closer.
“You don’t know men.”
Mara looked him directly in the eyes.
“My grandmother raised me around men.”
“Your grandmother?”
“She cleaned houses for forty-three years.”
Mara took a slow sip.
“She learned more about men from the things they left behind than most men ever learn about themselves.”
Sylvio’s smile disappeared.
That answer had landed somewhere he hadn’t expected.
“You want Daario out.”
“I want both of you to stop using people like currency.”
Sylvio stared at her.
“And you think that’s possible?”
“I think you’re both tired.”
Silence.
Then Mara continued.
“Mr. Corvy, you’ve spent years fighting Daario because your sister wanted territory. Daario spent years fighting you because Elena was killed. Somewhere along the way, nobody remembered what the fight was supposed to accomplish.”
Sylvio’s jaw tightened at Elena’s name.
“You know nothing about Elena.”
“No.”
Mara lowered her eyes.
“But I know what her daughter looks like when she’s frightened.”
That silenced him.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Finally Sylvio removed his gloves.
“Three conditions.”
Mara nodded.
“First, the accounts stop.”
“All of them?”
“Every payment between our organizations.”
“Second?”
“No retaliation.”
Mara nodded.
“And third?”
Sylvio looked toward the window.
“Daario gives up the port.”
Mara frowned.
“No.”
His eyes snapped back to hers.
“No?”
“That’s not a condition.”
“It’s my condition.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly.”
She opened her handbag.
Then she placed a folded sheet of paper on the table.
Sylvio didn’t touch it.
“What is that?”
“The reason you are losing.”
He slowly unfolded it.
His expression changed.
Mara watched him read.
Five minutes.
Ten.
His face became increasingly pale.
“Where did you get this?”
“The same place I got everything else.”
“You’ve been auditing my organization too.”
“I’ve been auditing everyone.”
Sylvio looked up.
For the first time, Mara saw genuine fear in his eyes.
Not fear of her.
Fear of what she knew.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“Enough for what?”
“Enough to know that your own attorney has been stealing from you for three years.”
Sylvio’s fingers tightened around the paper.
Mara continued.
“Enough to know that six of your supposedly loyal captains have been moving money without your knowledge.”
She leaned forward.
“And enough to know that the man who arranged the attack that killed Elena wasn’t Daario.”
Sylvio stopped breathing.
“What did you say?”
Mara’s voice remained calm.
“You blamed Daario for Elena’s death.”
“He ordered it.”
“No.”
She slid another document toward him.
“The order came from inside your organization.”
Sylvio stared at the page.
Then at Mara.
“Who?”
She didn’t answer.
“Who?”
“I won’t tell you here.”
“Why?”
“Because if I tell you here, you might kill him.”
“And why shouldn’t I?”
“Because he’s not the person you need to be afraid of.”
Sylvio slowly sat back.
“Then who?”
Mara looked through the window.
A black sedan had stopped across the street.
She recognized it.
Daario.
“He is.”
Sylvio turned toward the window.
The sedan was already moving.
Mara stood.
“Our meeting is over.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“I just did.”
She picked up her handbag.
“You asked where Daario found me.”
Sylvio said nothing.
Mara smiled faintly.
“He didn’t.”
She walked toward the door.
“I found him.”
THE FOLLOWING NIGHT
Mara returned to the Balante Brownstone.
For the first time in eighteen months, she didn’t wear her gray maid’s uniform.
She wore a simple black dress.
Nothing expensive.
Nothing dramatic.
Just something that made her feel like herself again.
The moment she entered the library, Daario was standing beside the fireplace.
He looked exhausted.
There was still a cut on his cheek.
But his eyes changed when he saw her.
“You shouldn’t have gone alone.”
“I wasn’t alone.”
His expression hardened.
“Who was with you?”
“My courage.”
He stared at her.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.
It was quiet.
Almost disbelieving.
“You’ve changed.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“I just stopped pretending.”
Daario walked toward her.
“Corvy wanted the port.”
“I know.”
“He’ll get nothing.”
“I know.”
Daario stopped several feet away.
“How?”
“Because he doesn’t actually want the port.”
Daario frowned.
“What does he want?”
“His daughter.”
Silence.
“Beatrice?”
Mara nodded.
“She isn’t loyal to him.”
Daario’s face changed.
“How do you know?”
“I read her financial records.”
He stared at her.
“You audited Beatrice?”
“I audit everyone.”
A strange expression crossed his face.
Admiration.
Concern.
And something warmer.
“You are going to get yourself killed.”
Mara smiled.
“You said that three months ago.”
“I meant it.”
“So did I.”
He moved closer.
“Why didn’t you leave?”
Mara looked at him.
“You gave me a way out.”
“I gave you several.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you still here?”
She swallowed.
This was the question she had been avoiding.
“I don’t know.”
Daario’s voice softened.
“That’s a lie.”
Mara looked away.
He waited.
Finally she whispered:
“Because somewhere along the way, this stopped being about money.”
The room went silent.
Daario didn’t move.
Neither did Mara.
Then he said the one thing she had never expected.
“I know.”
Her eyes lifted.
“You do?”
“I’ve known for weeks.”
He stepped closer.
“You think I noticed you because you were useful.”
“I was.”
“You were.”
A tiny smile touched his mouth.
“But that stopped being the reason a long time ago.”
Mara’s heart began beating faster.
“Dario…”
He stopped himself.
For once, the most feared man in Chicago looked uncertain.
“I don’t know how to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Be careful with someone.”
Mara’s expression softened.
“Then start.”
He looked at her.
“Start?”
“Start by not making decisions for me.”
He nodded.
“And by telling me the truth.”
“I will.”
“And no more money appearing in my apartment.”
A faint smile.
“That one may be difficult.”
“Daario.”
“Fine.”
She laughed.
It was the first time he had heard her laugh.
He looked at her as though it were something precious.
Then the phone rang.
Both of them froze.
Daario answered.
His expression changed almost immediately.
“What?”
A pause.
“Where?”
Another pause.
His jaw tightened.
“Don’t touch anything.”
He hung up.
Mara knew immediately.
“What happened?”
He looked at her.
“The bookkeeper is dead.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Rocco?”
Daario nodded.
“Someone killed him.”
Mara’s face went pale.
“Where?”
“Maple Ridge.”
She stopped breathing.
“My grandmother.”
“I’m sending people.”
“No.”
“Mara—”
“No.”
She grabbed her coat.
“You’re not going alone.”
“I’m not asking.”
She headed for the door.
Daario caught up with her.
“Mara.”
She turned.
His voice was quiet.
“This is exactly what I was afraid of.”
“What?”
“The moment someone realizes what you know.”
Her eyes filled with fear.
For the first time since she had entered his world, she didn’t hide it.
“Is Nona safe?”
Daario didn’t answer.
That was enough.
They ran.
MAPLE RIDGE
The hallway smelled like disinfectant.
Too clean.
Too quiet.
Mara ran toward Room 214.
The door was open.
The bed was empty.
The prayer book was gone.
Her mother’s photograph lay broken on the floor.
Mara froze.
“No.”
Daario grabbed her shoulders.
“Look at me.”
“My grandmother.”
“Look at me.”
“Where is she?”
“We’ll find her.”
“Where is she?”
His hands tightened.
“Mara.”
Then they heard something.
A sound from the stairwell.
A soft tapping.
Mara turned.
“Nona?”
She ran.
Daario followed.
At the bottom of the stairs, they found an orderly unconscious against the wall.
And beside him—
Rosalba.
Alive.
Terrified.
Holding the hollowed prayer book against her chest.
Mara dropped to her knees.
“Nona!”
The old woman’s eyes searched her face.
For several seconds, there was no recognition.
Then suddenly—
“Oh, my darling.”
Mara burst into tears.
She wrapped her arms around her grandmother.
Daario stood several feet away, completely still.
Rosalba looked over Mara’s shoulder.
She studied him.
Then she whispered:
“You.”
Daario frowned.
“Me?”
Rosalba’s eyes narrowed.
“I know your family.”
Mara pulled back.
“Nona?”
Rosalba pointed at Daario.
“Your mother.”
The color drained from his face.
“What about my mother?”
Rosalba shook her head.
“She didn’t die in that fire.”
Silence.
Daario stopped moving.
Mara stared at her grandmother.
“What did you say?”
Rosalba’s trembling hand tightened around the prayer book.
“She survived.”
Daario whispered:
“That’s impossible.”
Rosalba looked directly into his eyes.
“No, son.”
She opened the prayer book.
A photograph slipped from inside.
An old photograph.
A young woman.
Dark hair.
Dark eyes.
Standing beside a little boy.
Daario.
His face.
His mother’s face.
And written on the back in faded ink were six words:
I didn’t start the fire. They did.
Daario stared at it.
Then he looked at Mara.
For the first time, the feared mafia boss looked completely lost.
Mara took his hand.
And he let her.
Outside, snow began falling again.
But neither of them noticed.
Because somewhere in Chicago, a woman who had supposedly been dead for twenty-eight years had just become the most dangerous secret in the city.
And Mara Delaney was the only person who knew where to find her.
To be continued…
