Z

Peter Vale smiled when Dominic mentioned Grace.

That was how Dominic knew he was terrified.

Men like Peter smiled for two reasons.

When they controlled the room.

Or when they were trying to convince everyone they did.

This was the second.

Dominic sat behind the glass.

Mara beside him.

Klein remained standing near the wall.

“Grace Vale,” Dominic said.

Peter’s smile remained.

“I don’t know that name.”

Dominic leaned back.

“Wrong answer.”

“You think every Vale is related to me?”

“No.”

Mara placed the photograph against the glass.

Peter’s eyes moved.

Only once.

Enough.

“She’s five,” Mara said.

He looked away.

“She’s missing.”

Silence.

Dominic watched Peter’s jaw tighten.

“Who is she?”

Peter said nothing.

Mara’s voice softened.

“Your daughter?”

His eyes closed.

There.

Truth.

Dominic did not celebrate.

Nothing about frightened fathers deserved celebration.

Peter looked at Mara.

“Her mother died two years ago.”

“Who has custody?”

“My mother’s sister.”

“Where?”

“New Jersey.”

Klein spoke.

“The aunt said Grace has been in foster placement for eleven months.”

Peter’s face changed.

“What?”

“You didn’t know.”

“No.”

His voice broke.

For the first time, Peter Vale looked less like a criminal strategist and more like a man realizing prison walls had hidden something from him.

Klein continued.

“Your aunt suffered a stroke. Grace entered temporary care.”

Peter stared.

“And nobody told me?”

“You were a fugitive.”

“She has my name.”

“She has her mother’s surname legally.”

Peter covered his mouth.

Dominic understood something then.

Grace Vale was not Grace Vale.

The label on the photograph had been written for Peter.

Not the government.

Not the courts.

For him.

Mara leaned forward.

“Who would know she is yours?”

Peter looked up.

“Nobody.”

“Someone does.”

“Nobody.”

“Peter.”

He slammed his hand against the counter.

“I kept her out of everything!”

Guards shifted.

Dominic remained still.

Peter’s breathing came fast.

“I never saw her after she was two.”

“Why?”

“Because Gabriel found out.”

Dominic stared.

“Marchesi.”

“Yes.”

“He threatened her.”

Peter laughed bitterly.

“What do you think?”

Mara’s voice softened.

“So you disappeared from her life.”

“I paid for everything.”

“That isn’t the same.”

Peter flinched.

Mara knew the sentence would hurt.

Dominic knew because it had once hurt him.

Peter looked at Dominic.

“You understand.”

Dominic stared through the glass.

“Yes.”

Peter’s face shifted.

For the first time, something passed between them that neither man wanted.

Recognition.

Bad fathers trying to become less bad.

Dominic leaned forward.

“Who knew?”

Peter whispered, “Gabriel.”

“He’s dead.”

“Valentina.”

“In prison.”

“Adrian.”

“Free, but monitored.”

Peter shook his head.

“Then Helena.”

Celeste’s mother.

Dominic frowned.

“She’s dead.”

Peter laughed.

“You people need to stop saying that.”

Mara almost groaned.

Dominic closed his eyes.

“When did Helena Cross die?”

Peter looked at him.

“She didn’t.”

Klein stepped forward.

“We have a death certificate.”

“You had one for Antonio too.”

No one answered.

Peter continued.

“Helena vanished after Marchesi died.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

Dominic’s jaw tightened.

“You worked with her.”

“Yes.”

“Until when?”

“Six months ago.”

Klein stared.

“That’s impossible.”

“No.”

Peter smiled faintly.

“She was the one person who knew all seven children.”

“Why?”

“Because she kept Gabriel’s contingency records.”

Mara frowned.

“The accounts.”

“Yes.”

“Did she create them?”

“No.”

“Then why track the children?”

Peter’s face changed.

“Because she believed the accounts could protect them.”

Dominic laughed without humor.

“Thirty-eight million dollars of criminal evidence protects my son?”

“Not the money.”

“What then?”

“The immunity clauses.”

Klein’s face hardened.

“There are no immunity clauses attached to private accounts.”

“Not legal immunity.”

Peter looked at Dominic.

“Organizational.”

Dominic understood before Mara did.

Old criminal rules.

Marchesi’s network.

Peter continued.

“Gabriel created a standing order. Any child listed as beneficiary of the contingency accounts was untouchable by affiliated crews.”

Mara stared.

“He put money in their names to mark them protected?”

“Yes.”

Dominic felt sick.

“And after his network collapsed?”

“The protection became a target list.”

Silence.

Klein whispered, “Someone found the accounts.”

Peter nodded.

“Someone who wants whatever is left.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

Dominic stood.

Peter grabbed the phone tighter.

“But Helena does.”

Dominic froze.

“Where is she?”

Peter looked at him.

“I said I don’t know.”

“Find a better answer.”

“I can tell you how she contacts me.”

Klein stepped forward.

“How?”

“Obituaries.”

Nobody spoke.

Peter almost smiled.

“She places coded messages in funeral notices.”

Dominic stared.

“That is the most insane sentence I’ve heard this year.”

Mara looked at him.

“That is saying something.”

Peter gave them the code.

Initial letters.

Dates.

Church names.

Klein’s team searched recent notices.

Three hours later, they found one.

A funeral announcement placed in a small Connecticut newspaper for a woman who never existed.

The first letter of each sentence spelled:

ST AGNES.

The date line contained four numbers.

Room.

Floor.

Time.

St. Agnes Hospital in New Haven.

Dominic, Mara, and federal agents arrived at 6:40 p.m.

Room 417 was empty.

At 7:00 exactly, an elderly woman entered wearing hospital housekeeping scrubs.

She stopped when she saw Dominic.

He knew her face from Celeste.

Older.

Thinner.

But the eyes were the same.

“Helena Cross.”

She closed the door.

“You look more like Antonio every year.”

Dominic sighed.

“Everybody needs a new opening line.”

Mara stepped forward.

“Where are Grace and Antonio?”

Helena’s expression changed.

“You know.”

“We know they’re missing.”

Helena looked frightened.

“I was trying to reach Peter.”

“He’s in federal custody.”

“I know.”

“Then tell us.”

Helena sat down.

Her hands trembled.

“I moved Grace.”

Dominic stared.

“You took her.”

“To protect her.”

“Where?”

“A family I trust.”

Klein appeared in the doorway.

“You kidnapped a foster child.”

Helena looked at her.

“I removed a child from a list used by killers.”

“That is still kidnapping.”

“I know.”

Mara stepped closer.

“What about Antonio?”

Helena’s face collapsed.

“I was too late.”

Silence.

Dominic felt his heartbeat slow.

“Who has him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who?”

“The account administrator.”

Klein frowned.

“Who is that?”

Helena looked toward Dominic.

“Someone your father trusted.”

“Antonio?”

“Yes.”

“Name.”

Helena shook her head.

“He changed it.”

“Original name.”

She looked at Mara.

Then Dominic.

“Michael DeLuca.”

Dominic froze.

Roman’s family.

Mara whispered, “DeLuca.”

Helena nodded.

“Roman’s older brother.”

Dominic stared.

“Roman never had an older brother.”

Helena’s expression said otherwise.

Of course.

Another secret.

“Michael disappeared when Roman was fourteen.”

“Dead?”

“No.”

Dominic almost laughed.

Helena continued.

“Antonio used him as financial custodian for the contingency system.”

“Why?”

“He was brilliant.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“You just said he took Antonio.”

“I said the administrator did.”

“You think it’s Michael.”

“I know.”

“How?”

Helena reached into her pocket.

Klein’s hand moved toward her weapon.

Helena placed a folded photograph on the table.

Antonio.

The sixteen-year-old.

Standing beside a man in his late fifties.

Gray hair.

Heavy shoulders.

A familiar face.

Dominic had seen it once.

In an old photograph of Roman’s parents.

Helena whispered.

“Michael DeLuca came back three months ago.”

Dominic stared.

“Why take the boy?”

Helena’s eyes filled.

“Because Antonio Bellini Vascari is not just a beneficiary.”

“What is he?”

“The only person who can unlock all seven accounts.”