Z

The dead bought property surprisingly often.

At least, that was what Dominic explained at 1:30 in the morning while standing in Harper’s kitchen with three laptops open and Rosa insisting everyone eat cannoli.

“Identity theft,” Dominic said.

Harper stared at the deed.

“So someone used Gabriel’s mother’s name.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Dominic glanced toward Gabriel.

“To get his attention.”

“It worked.”

Gabriel stood near the windows.

He had barely spoken since they discovered the property filing.

Harper knew his silences by now.

This was not ordinary anger.

It was memory.

Memory could be more dangerous.

“Who filed the deed?” Harper asked.

Dominic rotated the laptop.

“Attorney named Jonathan Pike.”

Gabriel turned.

“Pike?”

“You know him?”

“He worked for Victor.”

Dominic frowned.

“He’s alive?”

“He was forty when I was a teenager.”

“So he’d be early sixties.”

Marco checked his phone.

“Jonathan Elias Pike. Sixty-three. Illinois bar license inactive.”

“Address?”

Marco’s expression changed.

“Naples.”

“Florida?”

“Italian Naples.”

Gabriel laughed without humor.

“Of course.”

Harper leaned against the counter.

“Why come back now?”

Gabriel looked at the photograph again.

“Connor.”

“What about him?”

“He started talking.”

Dominic nodded slowly.

“Cooperation agreement.”

Harper understood.

“Someone is cleaning up.”

“Maybe,” Gabriel said.

“Or?”

Gabriel looked toward her.

“Maybe Connor wasn’t the top.”

The room became quiet.

They had all treated the Kane network as something Connor inherited and Mitchell helped operate.

But criminal organizations rarely disappeared because one man went to prison.

They fractured.

Reorganized.

Waited.

Harper looked at Dominic.

“Has Connor named Sorrento?”

“No.”

“Pike?”

“No.”

“Who has he named?”

“Mostly dead people and people we already know.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed.

“He’s protecting someone.”

“Or scared of someone,” Marco said.

That mattered.

Connor Kane had spent years running women across state lines, corrupting officers, bribing politicians, and ordering violence.

What frightened a man like that?

Harper looked at Gabriel.

“Can we talk to him?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s in federal custody.”

“Dominic?”

Dominic raised both hands.

“Don’t look at me.”

“You’re literally a lawyer.”

“I am also extremely fond of not being disbarred.”

Harper looked back at Gabriel.

“He might talk to you.”

“He hates me.”

“That’s why he might.”

Gabriel considered it.

“You want me to ask the man who kidnapped your sister for information?”

“I want to know who entered my apartment.”

His expression changed.

Harper continued before he could argue.

“And I want to know why they used your mother.”

“That is not your burden.”

“No.”

She stepped closer.

“It’s ours.”

The word hit him.

Ours.

Gabriel had built his life around mine.

My business.

My men.

My responsibility.

My enemies.

Harper kept introducing plurals.

It unsettled him.

He was beginning to like being unsettled.

“I’ll contact the prosecutor,” Dominic said.

Gabriel nodded.

“Do it.”

The meeting happened the following afternoon.

Federal detention facility.

No weapons.

No private men.

No exceptions.

Gabriel hated all three conditions.

Harper sat beside him behind thick glass.

Connor Kane entered wearing prison-issued clothing and handcuffs.

His hair had grown longer.

His face looked thinner.

But his smile remained.

“Rossi.”

“Connor.”

Then Connor noticed Harper.

The smile widened.

“Miss Monroe.”

Harper did not react.

Connor sat.

“You look well.”

“I am.”

“That’s good.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed.

“You don’t get to act polite.”

Connor shrugged.

“Prison encourages manners.”

Gabriel slid a photocopy beneath the slot.

Connor looked down.

The deed.

His expression flickered.

Tiny.

But Harper saw it.

“You recognize the name,” she said.

Connor looked at her.

“Elena Rossi?”

“Not her.”

Connor’s smile faded.

“Jonathan Pike.”

Silence.

Gabriel leaned forward.

“Who is he working for?”

Connor leaned back.

“You came all this way expecting free information?”

Dominic had warned them.

Connor would bargain.

Gabriel said, “You’re already bargaining with prosecutors.”

“For my freedom.”

“You’re never seeing freedom.”

“Then perhaps I’m bargaining for comfort.”

Harper spoke.

“Someone entered my apartment.”

Connor’s expression changed.

“Did they?”

“They left a photo.”

“What did it say?”

Gabriel’s eyes went cold.

Connor looked delighted.

Harper answered anyway.

“He couldn’t save his mother either.”

Connor stopped smiling.

That reaction was different.

Not performance.

Fear.

Harper saw it immediately.

“Who wrote it?”

Connor looked toward the security camera.

Then back at Harper.

“You should leave Chicago.”

Gabriel leaned forward.

“Who?”

Connor ignored him.

He looked only at Harper.

“Take your sister. Go somewhere warm. Change your name.”

Harper’s pulse quickened.

“You kidnapped my sister.”

“Yes.”

“And now you’re warning me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Connor gave a bitter laugh.

“Because I was stupid enough to think being useful made me valuable.”

Gabriel’s face hardened.

“To who?”

Connor looked at him.

“You spent twenty years trying to destroy your mother’s killer.”

Gabriel went still.

Harper felt something shift beside her.

Connor continued.

“You never asked the right question.”

“What question?”

“Why would Victor Sorrento kill the woman he spent years controlling?”

Gabriel’s jaw tightened.

“She was leaving.”

“No.”

Connor shook his head.

“She already left.”

Gabriel’s breathing slowed.

Dangerously.

“Explain.”

Connor looked at Harper.

“Elena Rossi found something.”

“What?”

“Records.”

Harper felt Gabriel’s hand close around the edge of the table.

“What records?” she asked.

Connor swallowed.

“Victor wasn’t just moving stolen goods.”

Gabriel said nothing.

Connor continued.

“Women. Children. Illegal labor. Politicians. Judges. Cops. Everyone got paid.”

Harper’s stomach turned.

“Elena found the books?”

“Yes.”

“And she was going to expose him.”

“Yes.”

Gabriel stared at Connor.

“Victor killed her.”

Connor shook his head.

“No.”

Silence.

Gabriel’s voice became nearly inaudible.

“What?”

“Victor was violent. He was a bastard.”

Connor leaned forward.

“But he didn’t order that car off the road.”

Gabriel’s eyes changed.

“Who did?”

Connor looked toward the door.

Fear returned.

“They’ll kill me.”

“You’re already in federal custody.”

Connor laughed bitterly.

“You think walls matter to these people?”

Harper thought about the looped cameras in her apartment.

Apparently not.

Connor leaned closer to the glass.

“The man who ordered Elena Rossi killed was the man whose money she found.”

Gabriel’s voice turned cold.

“Name.”

Connor hesitated.

Then whispered it.

“Arthur Vale.”

Dominic’s pen stopped moving.

Marco, watching from the observation room, cursed.

Harper knew the name.

Everyone in Chicago did.

Arthur Vale was eighty-one years old.

A philanthropist.

Real-estate billionaire.

Former chairman of one of the largest private foundations in Illinois.

He had hospitals named after him.

Schools.

A library.

His photograph had appeared beside three presidents.

Gabriel stared at Connor.

“You expect me to believe Arthur Vale ran Sorrento?”

Connor shook his head.

“No.”

“Then what?”

“Sorrento ran the streets.”

Connor swallowed.

“Vale owned the streets.”

Harper felt cold.

Gabriel stood.

The guard immediately shifted.

Harper touched Gabriel’s arm.

He stopped.

Connor smiled weakly.

“You wanted the truth.”

Gabriel looked down at him.

“Why now?”

“Because Vale knows I talked.”

“So he sends Pike?”

Connor nodded.

“And the photo?”

“I don’t know.”

Harper watched him.

He was lying.

Not about Vale.

About the photograph.

“What aren’t you telling us?”

Connor looked at her.

For several seconds, neither moved.

Then Connor whispered, “The message wasn’t for Gabriel.”

Harper’s chest tightened.

“What?”

Connor leaned closer.

“It was for you.”

Gabriel turned.

“Why?”

Connor looked at Harper with something that almost resembled pity.

“Because Elena Rossi wasn’t the only woman who found Arthur Vale’s records.”

Harper stopped breathing.

Connor continued.

“Twenty-nine years ago, another woman copied them.”

Harper’s mouth went dry.

“What woman?”

Connor looked directly at her.

“Your mother.”