Chapter 1 - NINO
Electronic locks clicked through Duca Manor one after another.
Hannah Brooks stood inside a small service room with Vincent Duca’s white handkerchief wrapped around her bleeding palm.
Outside, two hundred gala guests were being told there had been a security concern.
No one was allowed to leave.
Hannah was fairly certain the security concern was her.
Eleanor Shaw, the estate manager, closed the door.
“Sit.”
Hannah remained standing.
“Am I fired?”
“No.”
“Then why are the gates locked?”
Eleanor hesitated.
Bad sign.
“Mr. Duca recognized something.”
“What?”
“You.”
That was not comforting.
Hannah looked at the embroidered initials on the handkerchief.
V.D.
“I've never met him.”
“I know.”
“Then what exactly did he recognize?”
Before Eleanor answered, the door opened.
Vincent entered.
Alone.
That surprised Hannah.
Men like him were rarely alone.
He had removed his jacket.
Black vest.
White shirt.
Dark tie.
And now, without twenty feet of ballroom between them, Hannah could see a pale crescent-shaped scar disappearing behind his left ear.
Her heart stopped.
Not because she recognized Vincent.
Because she recognized the scar.
Her mother had described it once.
Years ago.
Clara Brooks had been sick by then.
Thin from treatment.
Too tired to finish most stories.
Hannah had been twenty-one, sitting beside her hospital bed.
Clara had said:
“If you ever meet a man with gray-green eyes and a little moon-shaped scar behind his left ear…”
Hannah had laughed.
“That is weirdly specific.”
Her mother had not laughed.
“Call him Nino.”
“What?”
“Just once.”
“Who is Nino?”
Clara closed her eyes.
“A boy I couldn't save completely.”
Then refused to explain.
Hannah had thought medication made her confused.
Now Vincent stood six feet away.
Gray-green eyes.
Crescent scar.
Impossible.
Her mouth moved before reason caught up.
“Nino?”
The word barely left her lips.
Vincent stopped breathing.
Outside the partly open door, Eleanor went completely still.
So did Marcus Cain, Vincent’s security chief, who had apparently been approaching.
Vincent stared at Hannah.
“What did you call me?”
Her fear returned.
“Nino.”
His face lost color.
“Who told you that name?”
“My mother.”
“Who is your mother?”
Hannah's pulse hammered.
“Was.”
Something in his expression shifted.
“Her name.”
“Clara.”
Vincent gripped the back of a chair.
Hannah finished:
“Clara Brooks.”
For several seconds, Chicago’s most feared man looked incapable of standing.
Marcus entered.
“Vincent?”
Vincent raised one hand.
His eyes never left Hannah.
“When did she die?”
“Four years ago.”
His jaw tightened.
“How?”
“Cancer.”
He looked away.
Hannah stared.
“You knew her.”
It was not a question.
Vincent walked toward the window.
“Your mother pulled me out of a burning apartment twenty-four years ago.”
Everything became quiet.
Hannah laughed once.
Pure disbelief.
“My mother cleaned hotel rooms.”
“She did later.”
“She raised me alone.”
“I know.”
Hannah stiffened.
“What?”
Vincent turned.
“I knew she had a child.”
Her skin chilled.
“How?”
“I saw you once.”
“What?”
“You were two.”
The room tilted.
Vincent continued carefully.
“Clara carried you when she came to work sometimes.”
“You worked together?”
“No.”
His voice softened.
“She worked for my mother.”
Hannah sat.
Finally.
Vincent looked at her face again.
“That’s what I recognized.”
“My mother's face.”
“Yes.”
Not exactly.
Hannah had Clara’s hazel eyes.
Same round cheeks.
Same dark curls.
Same expression when frightened but refusing to show it.
Hannah looked toward the locked hallway.
“Why did you seal the estate?”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“Because Dominic Salerno recognized you too.”
“Who?”
“The man beside the marble column.”
She remembered him.
Whiskey.
Smile.
Vincent continued:
“His father spent years searching for Clara after the fire.”
“Why?”
Vincent looked at Marcus.
Then back.
“That is what I intend to find out.”
Hannah stood.
“No.”
Vincent frowned.
“What?”
“You locked two hundred people inside a house because I look like my mother.”
“There may be an active threat.”
“Then call police.”
Silence.
That answer told Hannah more about Vincent Duca than any newspaper could.
He handled problems himself.
Of course he did.
“Mr. Duca.”
“Vincent.”
“No.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“You are not Vincent to me yet.”
Marcus looked toward the floor, hiding something dangerously close to amusement.
Hannah continued:
“If I’m in danger, I want to know why.”
“Yes.”
“And I want law enforcement involved if somebody threatened my mother.”
Vincent clearly hated the idea.
Good.
“That is not negotiable.”
He stared at her.
Then looked at Marcus.
“Call Detective Moreno.”
Marcus nodded.
Hannah relaxed slightly.
Then remembered something else.
“My mother left me an envelope.”
Vincent turned back.
“What envelope?”
“She told me never to open it unless I found Nino.”
Every trace of composure disappeared from his face.
“Where is it?”
“My apartment.”
“I'll send—”
“No.”
He stopped.
“I'll get it.”
“Hannah—”
“You've already locked me inside one building tonight.”
That landed.
She continued:
“You're not sending armed strangers into my apartment.”
Vincent’s jaw worked.
Then:
“What do you want?”
Better.
“A car.”
“Yes.”
“Eleanor comes with me.”
Eleanor looked surprised.
“And one security person.”
Marcus said:
“Two.”
Hannah looked at him.
“One.”
Vincent almost smiled despite himself.
“One.”
Then Hannah glanced toward the ballroom.
“What happens to everyone else?”
“The gates reopen after police preserve whatever they need.”
Good.
Vincent stepped aside.
Hannah reached the door.
Then stopped.
“Mr. Duca?”
“Yes?”
“My mother never told me you were mafia.”
Marcus actually coughed.
Vincent’s expression remained perfectly serious.
“She had excellent judgment.”
For the first time that night, Hannah smiled.
Dominic Salerno watched her leave.
May you like
And his smile disappeared.
---
