Chapter 7
She had believed protection was another word for love.
She would not make the same mistake twice.
“Mara.”
Her friend closed her eyes.
“Your mother asked me to keep one thing from you.”
“What?”
“She said that if you ever left Nico, I was to give you the key.”
Norah stared at her.
“You knew I would leave him?”
“No.”
“Then why did she mention him?”
Mara looked toward the window, where the pale morning light had begun to fill the kitchen.
“Because she knew he was already part of your life.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“You do know something.”
“I know she was afraid.”
The words settled heavily between them.
Norah’s mother had been many things.
Tired, stubborn, affectionate, and fiercely practical.
Fearful was not a word Norah would have used for her.
“What was she afraid of?”
Mara shook her head.
“She didn’t say.”
“Did she know what Nico did?”
“She knew his family had influence.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Mara picked up the phone again and read the anonymous message.
“She told me never to let anyone from the Moretti family open that storage room.”
Norah’s heart began to beat faster.
“Why?”
“Because whatever was inside belonged to you.”
The apartment seemed suddenly too small.
The brass key lay between them on the table.
A tiny object.
A door waiting somewhere across the city.
A secret her mother had carried into the grave.
Norah sat down.
“What if Nico already found it?”
“He hasn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because if he had, your mother’s letter would never have reached you.”
Norah looked at the envelope.
The thought brought no comfort.
“If he knows about the ledger, he may know I have the key.”
Mara’s old phone began ringing again.
This time, Norah answered before Mara could stop her.
“Hello?”
There was only breathing on the line.
Norah stood perfectly still.
“Who is this?”
A man spoke at last.
His voice was older than Nico’s, roughened by years but controlled.
“Your mother wanted you to have a choice.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Elias Varga.”
Norah recognized it.
She had seen the name once in a document on Nico’s desk, printed beneath a list of companies and properties.
Nico had noticed her looking and closed the folder.
“What do you want?”
“Nothing from you.”
“Then why call?”
“Because you are going to Bell Street.”