Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO KNEW MY HUSBAND
Damian survived the first hour.
Then the second.
Dr. Hart called Anthony from the hospital.
They had stabilized his breathing.
Toxicology suggested a powerful sedative mixed with another cardiac medication.
Not enough to kill a healthy man by itself.
Enough to stop his heart if he already took blood-pressure medication.
Damian did.
Someone knew.
That mattered.
The estate went into full lockdown.
Not the dramatic kind Nicholas preferred.
The practical kind.
Kitchen sealed.
Staff interviewed.
Cameras copied.
Deliveries suspended.
I did not leave.
Not because Nicholas ordered me.
Because of the phone call.
Someone knew my number.
My daughter.
Ben.
The recording.
Walking out blindly no longer felt safer.
I hated that.
Ellie sat with me in a guest room while Anthony answered questions in the hall.
She drew Atlas over and over.
Same gray body.
Same yellow sun.
In every picture, the dog stood beside a stick figure with dark hair.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“Daddy.”
My throat tightened.
“You remember him with Atlas?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Then why draw them?”
“Because Atlas remembers.”
Simple.
I sat beside her.
“Do you remember Daddy humming that song?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
She kept drawing.
“Bath.”
I smiled through tears.
Ben sang terrible made-up songs during bath time.
Maybe the melody came from there.
Or maybe he brought it home from Atlas.
I had spent three years thinking I knew what I lost.
Now grief was changing shape.
A knock.
Anthony entered.
“Can we talk?”
“Does talking mean actually answering?”
“Yes.”
I looked at Ellie.
Mrs. Flores, the housekeeper who had worked for the Romanos fifteen years, was outside.
I asked Ellie:
“Want to draw with Mrs. Flores for ten minutes?”
She frowned.
“You stay?”
“I stay in this room.”
“Door open?”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
Boundaries.
Good.
Anthony sat across from me.
He looked older than that morning.
“You deserve the whole thing.”
“Yes.”
“Some of it I only know secondhand.”
“Say when you don’t know.”
He nodded.
Then began.
“Three and a half years ago, Ben was assigned to an organized-crime task force.”
I stared.
“He told me he worked property crimes.”
“He did publicly.”
“No.”
“He was loaned to a joint unit quietly.”
“Why quietly?”
“They suspected leaks.”
“Inside police?”
“Yes.”
Of course.
“What was he investigating?”
“Money moving between street crews, legitimate contractors, and public officials.”
“That sounds broad.”
“It was.”
“Romanos?”
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“So Ben was investigating Damian.”
“At first.”
“Then?”
“He came to believe someone was using Romano businesses to move money without Damian’s approval.”
I almost laughed.
“A mafia boss upset because crime happened through his company?”
Anthony did not smile.
“Damian’s world has crimes. It also has rules.”
“I don’t care about his rules.”
“Ben did, because the pattern didn’t fit.”
Fair.
“What pattern?”
“Payments connected to weapons shipments.”
My skin chilled.
“Damian avoids certain trades.”
“Why are you telling me this like it makes him respectable?”
“It doesn’t.”
Good answer.
“It explains why Ben thought the payments pointed somewhere else.”
“To whom?”
“Damian’s cousin Luca Ferraro.”
I knew Luca.
Everyone in the estate did.
He handled construction contracts.
Charities.
Public events.
The smiling face of the family.
“What did Ben find?”
“A shipping company called North Line Freight.”
I stopped.
“North Line?”
“Yes.”
I had heard Ben say that name.
Once.
Maybe twice.
At dinner.
He complained about a truck blocking an alley.
I thought it was work.
“What happened?”
“Ben followed a North Line driver to a warehouse.”
“Damian was there?”
“Damian arrived separately.”
“Why?”
“He suspected Luca too.”
“So cop and crime boss meet in warehouse.”
“Not exactly.”
Anthony rubbed his jaw.
“Someone opened fire.”
My stomach turned.
“Ben was shot?”
“No.”
“Damian?”
“Grazed.”
“Then what?”
“Ben got him out through a loading dock.”
“Saved him.”
“Yes.”
“Where was Atlas?”
Anthony looked at me.
“In Ben’s vehicle.”
I frowned.
“He brought a traumatized dog on surveillance?”
“Atlas had been staying at the K-9 yard. Ben stopped there before going out. It wasn’t planned.”
Messy.
Human.
“During the escape, one of the shooters came through the dock.”
“Atlas attacked?”
“Yes.”
I looked toward Ellie’s drawings.
The dog had saved Damian too.
“Afterward?”
“Ben and Damian made an arrangement.”
I laughed without humor.
“My husband made an arrangement with a mafia boss.”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“Exchange information until they identified the leak.”
“Illegal.”
“Yes.”
“Dangerous.”
“Yes.”
“Did anyone else know?”
“Me.”
“Why?”
“I was Damian’s security deputy then.”
“Nicholas?”
“Eventually.”
“Luca?”
“No.”
“What about Daniel?”
No Daniel in this story. I nearly thought another name. I shook off the weird reflex.
“Who else?”
“Dr. Hart knew Damian had been injured but not why.”
I leaned forward.
“Ben’s crash.”
Anthony’s face changed.
“Two months later.”
“Tell me exactly.”
“He left a meeting with Damian at 11:10 p.m.”
I stopped breathing.
The police told me Ben left work at ten-thirty.
“He met Damian that night?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“An old diner near Cicero.”
“Why?”
“Ben said he had proof.”
“Of Luca?”
“He never showed it.”
“What happened?”
“His car went off Lower Wacker and struck a barrier.”
I knew.
Every detail.
Rain.
Speed.
Fatal head trauma.
No other vehicle found.
“What did Damian think?”
“That it wasn’t an accident.”
My eyes filled.
“And he said nothing to me.”
“Ben asked him not to.”
I stood.
“No.”
Anthony stayed seated.
“Mara—”
“No. Dead men don’t get to control widows for three years.”
Fair.
He nodded.
“What exactly did Ben ask?”
“His words to Damian were, ‘If this turns bad, keep Mara and Ellie out of it until you know who the leak is.’”
My chest tightened.
Until you know.
Three years.
“Did Damian ever know?”
“He thought he did.”
“Luca.”
“Yes.”
“What happened to Luca?”
“Left Chicago.”
“Convenient.”
“Damian forced him out.”
“Why not police?”
Anthony gave me a look.
Right.
Wrong world.
“Did Luca order Ben’s death?”
“No proof.”
“What did Damian keep?”
“A recording.”
My pulse jumped.
“You knew.”
“Only that it existed.”
“What is it?”
“Ben left Damian a voicemail after the diner meeting.”
“My caller said last night alive.”
“Yes.”
“Why haven’t I heard it?”
“Damian said it contained information that would put you at risk.”
Again.
Protection.
I stood.
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Anthony.”
“I don’t.”
“Who does?”
“Damian.”
Unconscious.
Of course.
I paced.
“Why hire me?”
Anthony looked embarrassed.
“After Ben died, Damian monitored you.”
My anger sharpened.
“Monitored.”
“Made sure nobody connected to North Line approached.”
“Without telling me.”
“Yes.”
“What did he find?”
“Nothing for almost two years.”
“Then?”
“You applied here.”
I stopped.
“So he didn’t arrange it?”
“No.”
I had applied after seeing the listing through an agency.
“Coincidence?”
“Mostly.”
Mostly.
“What does that mean?”
“The agency saw your address and employment history. Mrs. Flores liked your references. When your name reached final review, Damian recognized it.”
“And hired me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To keep you close.”
“Without telling me.”
“Yes.”
I laughed.
“All of you need therapy.”
Anthony almost smiled.
Then his phone rang.
Hospital.
He answered.
His face changed.
“What?”
He listened.
Then:
“We’re coming.”
He hung up.
“Damian is awake.”
Relief hit before anger.
I hated that too.
“Can he talk?”
“Briefly.”
“Then I’m going.”
“No.”
I stared.
Anthony corrected himself immediately.
“Sorry.”
Good.
“Doctor wants limited visitors.”
“I am visiting.”
“What about Ellie?”
She appeared in the doorway.
“I go.”
Of course.
Mrs. Flores looked apologetic.
“She listens.”
“I know.”
Anthony frowned.
“Hospital won’t allow Atlas in the room if he’s agitated.”
“Atlas is still there?”
“He won’t leave the private floor.”
Ellie hugged her drawing pad.
“He needs song.”
I looked at Anthony.
He sighed.
“Fine.”
At the hospital, the private floor looked like a guarded fortress.
Atlas lay outside Damian’s room.
Two hospital security officers stood thirty feet away.
Nobody wanted closer.
When he saw Ellie, he stood.
Tail did not wag.
Atlas did not seem built for wagging.
But his whole body softened.
Ellie walked to him slowly.
This time I stayed beside her.
She hummed.
Atlas pressed his head against her hip.
A nurse stared.
“That dog tried to eat an orderly.”
“He did not eat him,” Anthony said.
“Thank you for the distinction.”
Ellie sat on the floor.
Atlas sat beside her.
Dr. Hart opened Damian’s door.
“He can have one visitor for five minutes.”
I started forward.
Nicholas stepped out.
He looked at me.
“He asked for Ellie.”
My entire body tightened.
“No.”
Ellie looked up.
“Mom.”
“No.”
Damian had lied to me by omission for eight months.
He knew my husband.
Had his last voicemail.
Possibly knew more about his death.
My daughter did not go into his room alone.
Nicholas nodded.
“Then both.”
Good.
We entered.
Damian Romano looked wrong in a hospital bed.
Too pale.
Too still.
He had the kind of presence that usually made furniture seem temporary.
Now machines did the speaking around him.
His eyes found Ellie first.
Then me.
“Mara.”
His voice was weak.
I did not give him kindness yet.
“You knew.”
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Ellie walked closer.
Atlas stayed at the doorway.
Damian looked at her.
“You helped him?”
She nodded.
“Good.”
Then:
“He knows Daddy.”
Damian’s face broke.
Not dramatically.
One small change around the eyes.
“Yes.”
I sat.
“Where is Ben’s recording?”
Nicholas inhaled behind me.
Damian looked at him.
Then at Anthony.
Then back at me.
“In my study.”
“We searched.”
“No.”
He coughed.
Dr. Hart stepped closer.
Damian lifted a hand.
“One minute.”
Then he looked at Ellie.
“Do you still have the music box?”
I froze.
“What music box?”
Ellie frowned.
“Blue one?”
My heart stopped.
Ben had given Ellie a small blue music box on her third birthday, weeks before he died.
Cheap wooden thing.
A moon painted on top.
It had broken the year after his death.
I packed it into a box in our apartment closet.
Damian whispered:
“Ben hid the key inside.”
“What key?”
“To the safe.”
My stomach turned.
“You knew my daughter had a key to your safe?”
“No.”
He swallowed.
“Ben told me after.”
“After what?”
“After he hid it.”
I felt rage climb.
“Why would he put evidence in our child’s toy?”
Damian’s eyes filled.
“Because he trusted you to keep what mattered even when you didn’t know why.”
That did not feel romantic.
It felt unfair.
“Where is the safe?”
“My study. Behind the third shelf.”
“What is on the recording?”
Damian looked at me.
“Ben naming the person he thought ordered the hit.”
My chest tightened.
“Luca?”
Damian shook his head.
No.
Everything changed.
“Who?”
Dr. Hart said:
“Time.”
I ignored him.
“Who, Damian?”
Damian struggled for breath.
Then said one word.
“Nicholas.”
Silence.
Behind me, Nicholas stopped moving.
My blood ran cold.
May you like
Damian closed his eyes.
And Atlas began growling at his brother.
