Chapter 13 - The Apartment With No LocksFreedom was quieter than I expected.
My new apartment sat above a bakery in Lincoln Park. It had yellow curtains, creaking floors, and locks that I checked twelve times the first night. Victor had bought it through three shell companies and then transferred the deed to me outright. I should have refused.
I did not.
Pride is easier when you are not in pain.
Caleb called it “guilt-funded housing” and insisted we enjoy the water pressure.
He was stronger now. The private treatment Victor paid for had worked better than any miracle I believed in. He could sit up longer, eat real food, and complain with professional dedication.
“You look sad,” he said during my first visit after leaving.
“I got shot three times and married into organized crime.”
“Yes, but last week you had better lighting.”
I threw a napkin at him.
He grinned, then sobered.
“Do you miss them?”
I looked at the window.
“Yes.”
“All of them?”
I hated how well he knew me.
“Yes.”
Life tried to become normal.
Physical therapy at nine. Caleb at noon. Bakery coffee in the afternoon. Nightmares at three in the morning.
Leo sent drawings through a neutral courier.
The first was of me fighting a dragon with a mop.
The second was of him, me, Victor, and Alessia standing under a giant sun. He had labeled us: DADDY, MOMMY, MARA, ME.
The third arrived with no drawing.
Just one sentence.
DADDY DOESN’T SMILE ANYMORE.
I stared at it for a long time.
Then I put it in the drawer with the ring I had not meant to keep.
Victor did not call.
Not once.
That made me respect him.
That made me hate him.
Adriana called on the tenth day.
“You’re annoying when absent,” she said.
“I missed you too.”
“I did not say that.”
“You implied it with hostility.”
She was quiet for a moment.
“Alessia is filing to restore her legal identity.”
“That’s good.”
“Victor is helping.”
“That’s also good.”
“Is it?”
I closed my eyes.
“Adriana.”
“He looks like someone removed his organs and left the suit.”
“That is graphic.”
“This is Chicago.”
I almost smiled.
Then she said, “The ledger is worse than we thought.”
I straightened.
“What does that mean?”
“It means Victor’s father didn’t just buy officials. He sold children.”
My blood went cold.
“Children?”
“Records of illegal adoptions, forged deaths, private transfers between families with money and families with no power. Names. Dates. Hospitals.”
The room tilted.
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because your brother’s name appears in it.”
For a moment, I heard nothing.
Then everything became too loud.
The bakery below. A car horn. My own breathing.
“No,” I said.
“I sent a copy through the secure drop.”
“My parents died when I was sixteen. Caleb was already sick.”
“According to the ledger,” Adriana said carefully, “Caleb Delaney was not born Caleb Delaney.”
I gripped the table.
“What was his name?”
Silence.
“Adriana.”
She exhaled.
“Leonardo Bellanti.”
The name struck like a fourth bullet.
Bellanti.
Matteo. Serafina.
Victor’s enemies.
“My brother is a Bellanti?”
“He may be Matteo’s younger brother. Stolen as an infant. Sold through a hospital network connected to Victor’s father.”
I sat down hard.
Everything shifted.
Caleb was not just my brother.
He was leverage.
Bloodline.
A claim.
A target.
“Does Victor know?”
“No,” Adriana said. “Not yet.”
“Why tell me first?”
“Because it is your brother. And because once Victor knows, his protection becomes a political act whether he wants it or not.”
I laughed once, shaking.
“My life was almost normal for ten days.”
“I know. Very rude of the universe.”
A knock sounded at my apartment door.
I froze.
No one visited without calling.
“Mara?” Adriana asked.
The knock came again.
Three soft taps.
Then a voice.
“Mara Delaney?”
Male. Calm.
“I have a message from your brother’s real family.”
My blood turned to ice.
Adriana’s voice sharpened through the phone.
“Do not open that door.”
May you like
The lock clicked.
From the outside.
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