Z

There were not seven children in Dominic’s family.

That was the first thing Mara said after they left the detention center.

They sat in the back of Klein’s government sedan while rain struck the windows.

“Matteo,” Mara counted. “Elias. Nathan, technically, if Peter considers him connected.”

Dominic stared outside.

“Three.”

“Who are the other four?”

Klein turned from the front seat.

“We’re finding out.”

Dominic looked at her.

“Fast.”

She raised one eyebrow.

“You’re becoming nostalgic.”

“For what?”

“Ordering federal prosecutors around.”

“I never stopped.”

Mara almost smiled.

Almost.

Then Dominic’s phone buzzed.

Sofia.

He answered.

“Mom.”

“You need to come home.”

His body tightened.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

That word no longer reassured anyone in the Vascari family.

“What?”

“There’s a package.”

Dominic closed his eyes.

“Don’t touch it.”

“I already did.”

“Mother.”

“I am fifty-nine, not five.”

“You behave five.”

Mara covered her mouth to hide a laugh.

Sofia continued.

“It has photographs.”

Dominic’s amusement vanished.

“Of what?”

“Children.”

They reached Brooklyn twenty-three minutes later.

Sofia had placed the package in the center of the dining table.

Luca DeLuca stood beside it.

Seven photographs.

Matteo.

Elias.

Nathan.

Then four faces Dominic did not recognize.

Two girls.

Two boys.

Ages ranging from perhaps five to sixteen.

Mara picked up one photograph.

“Who are they?”

Sofia sat down.

“I know one.”

Dominic looked at her.

“Which?”

She pointed toward a teenage girl with dark curls and a defiant expression.

“Lucia Serra.”

“Valentina?”

“Her granddaughter.”

Mara frowned.

“I thought Valentina’s daughter was dead.”

“She was.”

“Lucia’s father?”

“Unknown to me.”

Dominic picked up another photograph.

A boy around nine, standing outside what looked like a Catholic school.

On the back was a handwritten name.

JULIAN CROSS.

Celeste.

Dominic closed his eyes.

“Adrian?”

“Could be,” Mara said.

Luca held another photograph.

“Grace Vale.”

Dominic looked up.

Peter.

The girl appeared about five.

Blond hair.

Missing front tooth.

Smiling at whoever held the camera.

Mara’s face tightened.

“He has a daughter.”

“Apparently.”

Dominic picked up the seventh photograph.

No name.

A boy about sixteen.

Tall.

Thin.

Dark hair.

Something familiar in the eyes.

“Who is he?”

Nobody answered.

Then Sofia whispered, “Turn it over.”

Dominic did.

One word.

ANTONIO.

His chest tightened.

Mara stared.

“That can’t be his name by accident.”

“No.”

“Another Vascari?”

Sofia looked frightened.

“I don’t know.”

Dominic stared at the seven pictures.

Dead men loved creating puzzles.

Living people paid for solving them.

Klein arrived with two agents.

She photographed everything, bagged the envelope, then placed copies on the table.

“The courier?”

Luca answered.

“Bike messenger.”

“Real company?”

“Yes.”

“Who paid?”

“Cash.”

Klein looked at Dominic.

“Peter arranged this before extradition.”

“Obviously.”

“No.”

She shook her head.

“He has been in Italian custody for six months.”

Mara stared.

“So someone here sent it.”

“Yes.”

Dominic looked at the children again.

“Find them.”

Klein sighed.

“We are not the FBI in a television show.”

“No. Television FBI works faster.”

“Dominic.”

“Children have criminal accounts in their names.”

“We don’t know that yet.”

“We know enough.”

The first confirmation came before dinner.

Lucia Serra had an account.

Twelve million dollars.

Opened when she was three.

The second came at 8:17.

Julian Cross.

Nine million.

Then Grace Vale.

Twenty-one million.

Nathan had nothing.

Elias did.

Fourteen million.

Matteo’s account remained the largest.

Thirty-eight.

The unnamed boy had forty-two million.

Dominic stared at the number on Klein’s tablet.

“Why him?”

“No idea.”

“Account name?”

“Antonio Holdings.”

Mara sat beside him.

“Beneficial owner?”

Klein hesitated.

“Antonio Bellini Vascari.”

Sofia stood.

“That person does not exist.”

Klein looked at her.

“Legally, he does.”

Silence.

Dominic slowly turned.

“What does that mean?”

“Birth certificate issued sixteen years ago in Pennsylvania.”

“Parents?”

Klein looked at the screen.

Then at Dominic.

“Father listed as Matteo Vascari.”

Nobody moved.

Elias dropped the glass he was holding.

It shattered on the kitchen floor.

Mara turned.

“Elias.”

He stared at Klein.

“My grandfather?”

She nodded carefully.

“According to the record.”

Elias’s face went pale.

“My grandfather died before I was born.”

Sofia whispered, “We thought so.”

Dominic felt the family history rearranging itself again.

Elias had believed himself Matteo’s grandson.

If Matteo had another child...

The sixteen-year-old in the photograph would be Elias’s uncle.

Or half-uncle.

Mara reached for Elias.

He stepped backward.

“No.”

“Elias.”

“No more.”

His voice broke.

Everyone stopped.

Elias had survived gunfire.

Kidnapping.

Learning that his grandfather had lived under another name.

Watching adults argue over whether his blood made him valuable.

Now he looked twelve again.

Just twelve.

“I don’t want another family secret.”

Dominic crossed the room.

Elias shook his head.

“Don’t.”

Dominic stopped.

The boy’s eyes filled.

“Every time someone says they found family, somebody gets hurt.”

Dominic had no answer.

Because the child was right.

Mara moved more slowly.

“Then we don’t call him family yet.”

Elias looked at her.

“What?”

“We call him a boy in a photograph.”

She crouched.

“That’s all.”

Elias swallowed.

“He has my grandfather’s name.”

“Yes.”

“That means something.”

“Maybe.”

Mara took his hand.

“But you get to decide when it means something to you.”

Elias began crying.

Quietly.

Angrily.

Dominic looked away.

Across the room, Matteo stood on the stairs.

Nobody had heard him come down.

He looked from the photographs to Elias.

Then to Dominic.

“Am I in trouble?”

Dominic’s heart cracked.

“No.”

“Then why is my picture there?”

Mara closed her eyes.

Matteo came closer.

“Dad?”

Dominic knelt.

There were a hundred ways to lie.

He had been raised by men who knew all of them.

Instead he told the truth.

“Someone put money in your name when you were a baby.”

Matteo frowned.

“Why?”

“To make you responsible for something you didn’t do.”

“Can they do that?”

“They tried.”

“Did it work?”

Dominic looked at Klein.

Then back at his son.

“No.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m here.”

Matteo stared at him.

Dominic continued.

“And because your mother is here.”

Mara sat beside them.

“And because there are people whose job is to find the truth.”

Matteo looked at Klein.

“She looks mean.”

Klein sighed.

“I have prosecuted your father. It changes a person.”

Matteo considered.

“Okay.”

Then he looked at the photographs.

“Who are they?”

Dominic answered.

“Kids.”

“Like me?”

“Yes.”

“Did they do bad things?”

“No.”

“Then why does everybody look scared?”

Silence.

Dominic looked around the room.

Adults.

Secrets.

Money.

Dead men.

He had spent his entire life believing children did not understand danger until someone explained it.

He was wrong.

Children understood fear before they understood reasons.

Mara touched Matteo’s cheek.

“We’re scared because we want to keep them safe.”

Matteo frowned.

“All of them?”

Dominic looked at the seven photographs.

Not heirs.

Not claims.

Not leverage.

Children.

“Yes.”

The next morning, federal teams located Lucia Serra and Julian Cross.

Both safe.

Grace Vale was missing.

Her foster family had not seen her in six days.

And the sixteen-year-old named Antonio Bellini Vascari?

He had disappeared from his school three weeks earlier.

The same day Peter Vale fled Milan.

Klein placed two photographs in front of Dominic.

Grace.

Antonio.

Missing.

Dominic stared at them.

Mara stood beside him.

“This isn’t about the money.”

“No.”

“Someone is collecting the children.”

Dominic looked toward the photograph of his son.

For the first time in years, the old coldness returned to his face.

Not because he wanted revenge.

Because he knew exactly how men like Marchesi thought.

Children were never the target.

Children were pressure.

Dominic picked up his phone.

“Bring Peter back to the interview room.”

Klein stared.

“You just left him yesterday.”

Dominic looked at her.

“He forgot to tell me who is taking them.”