Chapter 2 - THE ENVELOPE WITH NO NAME|
Samantha waited until Tyler was asleep before she counted the money.
Three thousand dollars.
She counted it twice, then a third time, spreading the bills across the little kitchen table in her apartment. The money could cover two months of rent, Tyler's therapy appointments, groceries, and the overdue electric bill. It could keep the landlord from leaving another red notice beneath her door.
But every bill made her feel as though someone had placed a hand around her throat.
She had not asked for it.
She had not agreed to anything.
And Franco Richetti had looked at her son as though the child were a ghost who had returned from the dead.
Samantha picked up the card.
The number had no area code printed beside it, only ten digits written carefully in black ink. She nearly called the police instead, but what would she tell them? That a powerful stranger had protected her at a restaurant and someone had left money in her office?
She imagined the questions. She imagined losing Tyler to a system that would examine every late payment, every missed appointment, and every night she had brought him to work because she had nowhere else to leave him.
She dialed.
A man answered on the second ring.
“Did you receive the envelope?”
“Who is this?”
“Someone trying to keep you alive.”
Samantha gripped the phone.
“Is this a joke?”
“No.”
“Was the money from Franco Richetti?”
A pause.
“Did he tell you to call?”
“He told me to change my route home. Someone was watching my son.”
“Then you need to listen carefully. Do not spend the money. Do not take Tyler to school tomorrow. And do not return to Marello's.”
Samantha stood so quickly that her chair scraped the floor.
“Who are you?”
“Luca.”
“Luca what?”
“That doesn't matter tonight.”
“It matters to me! A man photographs my child, another man leaves me three thousand dollars, and now you're telling me to keep my son home. You don't get to give me orders without explaining anything.”
Silence followed.
When Luca spoke again, his voice had softened.
“You're right. I'm sorry. My name is Luca Bellini. I work for Mr. Richetti. Six years ago, someone tried to kill a man who was supposed to be dead. Tonight, that man's family learned he may have left behind a child.”
Samantha felt the blood drain from her face.
“Are you talking about Franco?”
“I can't answer that over the phone.”
“Then put him on.”
“He won't speak to you until he knows the apartment is secure.”
“Secure from whom?”
Luca exhaled.
“Brandon Wells is not just a property developer. He has been financing men who want to take control of Richetti's shipping operation. For months, he's been searching for something that would give him leverage over Franco. Tonight, he saw your boy.”
“Tyler has nothing to do with a shipping company.”
“That may be exactly why he's in danger.”
A soft sound came from the bedroom.
Samantha ended the call and ran to Tyler's side. He was awake, sitting against his pillow, his hands over his ears.
“Mommy?”
“I'm here.”
“Bad car outside.”
She looked toward the window.
The black SUV was gone.
Samantha knelt and took his hands gently.
“Tell me what you heard, sweetheart.”
Tyler hummed his little song instead of answering. She hummed it back, and his breathing gradually slowed.
Then someone knocked on the apartment door.
Three measured knocks.
Samantha froze.
“Ms. Cooper?” a man's voice called. “Building maintenance. We need to check a leak.”
She knew the building superintendent. He always called ahead and complained loudly about paperwork. He never knocked after ten.
She lifted Tyler into her arms, carried him into the bedroom, and locked the adjoining door.
Another knock.
“Ms. Cooper?”
Samantha grabbed her purse, slipped the three thousand dollars into it, and opened the fire-escape window.
She had spent six years surviving by making herself invisible.
Tonight, she would have to disappear entirely.
With Tyler clinging to her neck, she climbed onto the narrow metal platform. Below, the alley smelled of wet concrete and garbage. Above, somewhere on the street, a car engine started.
Her phone vibrated.
One new message from Luca.
Don't go downstairs. They're waiting there. Look across the alley.
A dark sedan sat beside the neighboring building.
The passenger door opened.
Franco Richetti stepped into the light.
He looked up directly at her.
Then he lifted his phone and called.
“Samantha,” he said when she answered, “I know you're frightened. But I need you to trust me for the next sixty seconds.”
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“Why should I?”
“Because the man at your front door just told my men he's carrying a gun.”
