Chapter 7 - THE MAN WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD
Clara stared at the photograph until the screen blurred.
Daniel’s face was thinner than she remembered.
A scar ran from his temple toward his left ear.
His wrists were bound to the arms of the chair.
A newspaper lay across his knees.
The date was that morning.
Emma reached toward the phone.
“Daddy?”
Clara turned the screen away.
Her heart struck wildly against her ribs.
For two years, she had spoken to Daniel beside a grave.
She had brought flowers on his birthday.
She had told Emma that her father lived among the stars because she had not known how else to explain death.
Now he sat beneath a railway station less than five miles away.
Alive.
“Why didn’t he come home?”
The question escaped before she could stop it.
Alessandro closed the trapdoor above them.
Gunfire became distant.
“I do not know.”
“He had two years.”
“Vivian may have held him.”
“He had a face.”
Clara’s voice broke.
“He had hands.”
“He could have written one sentence.”
“He may not have been free.”
“He looked at a camera.”
“He may have been forced.”
Clara wanted to believe him.
Belief had become dangerous.
Emma touched her cheek.
“Is Daddy coming?”
Clara could not answer.
Alessandro crouched beside the child.
“We are going to find him.”
Emma looked into his eyes.
“Promise?”
Alessandro glanced at Clara.
Then he looked back at Emma.
“I promise I will try.”
Emma considered the wording.
“You have to try big.”
“I will.”
The lake tunnel was narrow and damp.
Lights came on as Alessandro entered a code.
The stone passage sloped beneath the villa grounds.
At the far end, an old boathouse opened onto Lake Como.
A black vehicle waited behind stacked fishing equipment.
Two trusted guards stood beside it.
Alessandro stopped.
“Who ordered the car prepared?”
One guard frowned.
“Marco.”
Both men realized their mistake at the same moment.
The second guard reached for his weapon.
Don Ricci fired first.
The bullet struck the man’s hand.
His pistol fell.
The first guard lunged toward Clara.
Alessandro drove him into the wall.
The wounded man ran toward the lake.
Don Ricci shot the ground near his feet.
“Stop.”
The man froze.
Alessandro forced the other guard to his knees.
“How many people know we are here?”
The guard spat blood.
“Enough.”
Alessandro struck him once.
“Try again.”
“Vivian has men at every road.”
“How?”
“Marco gave her the routes.”
Don Ricci searched both guards.
He found a tracker beneath the wounded man’s collar.
Alessandro crushed it under his shoe.
Then he took the vehicle keys.
“We go by boat.”
Clara looked toward the dark water.
“With Emma?”
“The roads are compromised.”
“She is three.”
“And the men waiting on the roads do not care.”
Clara hated the truth in his answer.
They crossed the lake in a narrow motorboat.
The night wind pulled at Clara’s hair.
Emma sat beneath Alessandro’s coat, holding the damaged rabbit.
Don Ricci steered.
Alessandro watched the shoreline through binoculars.
Clara looked at the photograph again.
Daniel’s eyes seemed fixed on something beyond the camera.
Not the person holding it.
Something higher.
A clock.
She enlarged the image.
An old station clock hung behind him.
Its hands showed 11:20.
The newspaper date was current.
But the clock had stopped years ago.
“This photograph may not show where he is now.”
Alessandro lowered the binoculars.
“Why?”
“The dead-letter office clock is frozen at 11:20.”
“How do you know?”
“Daniel told me.”
“When?”
“Before Emma was born.”
She studied the image.
“He liked abandoned places.”
“Did he take you there?”
“No.”
“He said he went there as a teenager.”
Don Ricci glanced back.
“The room in the photograph may be a copy.”
Clara shook her head.
“The clock has a crack across the number eight.”
She pointed.
“Daniel described it exactly.”
“Then Vivian knows the location.”
“Or Daniel chose it.”
Alessandro watched her.
“What are you thinking?”
“The newspaper is placed across his knees.”
“Yes.”
“He used to fold newspapers into quarters.”
“This one is open.”
She enlarged the photograph further.
Daniel’s right index finger pointed toward a small article near the bottom of the page.
The headline mentioned renovation work at the northern station tunnel.
“He is giving us an entrance.”
Alessandro nodded.
“Or a warning.”
The boat reached a quiet pier.
A gray van waited beside a closed restaurant.
Don Ricci made one call.
Six Ricci guards arrived within minutes.
Unlike Marco’s men, they belonged directly to the old patriarch.
They drove toward Milan without headlights for the first mile.
Emma fell asleep against Clara’s chest.
Alessandro sat across from them.
The darkness hid most of his expression.
“Why did Daniel visit abandoned stations?” he asked.
“He photographed them.”
“For work?”
“He said it was a hobby.”
“What did he photograph?”
“Clocks.”
“Only clocks?”
“Mostly.”
Alessandro looked toward the rabbit.
“Clocks record time.”
Clara understood.
“And insurance records depend on time.”
“Accident reports do too.”
Daniel had not photographed abandoned clocks because they were beautiful.
He had used them as markers.
Every stopped time might correspond to a staged death.
Clara felt cold despite Alessandro’s coat around Emma.
“How many photographs were in your home?”
“Dozens.”
“Where are they now?”
“In storage.”
“Who packed your apartment after Daniel died?”
Clara’s stomach tightened.
“Vivian.”
Alessandro leaned forward.
“What?”
“She came with a charitable foundation.”
Clara remembered the polished woman in a cream coat.
Vivian’s hair had been tied back.
She had introduced herself as a volunteer helping widows with relocation expenses.
Clara had been half-conscious with grief.
“She paid the moving company.”
“And you did not recognize her tonight?”
“She was dressed differently.”
Her shame rose.
“I saw her for less than ten minutes.”
Emma stirred.
“Red shoes.”
Clara closed her eyes.
Vivian had worn red shoes beneath the cream coat.
She had entered the apartment after Daniel’s death.
She had supervised the removal of every box.
“She was searching for the rabbit.”
Alessandro’s voice was cold.
“She didn’t find it because Emma was holding it.”
The van stopped beneath the northern railway overpass.
Rain had begun falling.
The entrance Daniel indicated was blocked by a chain fence.
Alessandro cut the lock.
They descended a wet concrete staircase.
Two Ricci guards stayed with Emma in a secure utility room.
Clara kissed her forehead.
“I’ll be back.”
Emma clung to her.
“Bring Daddy.”
Clara swallowed.
“I will try big.”
She joined Alessandro and Don Ricci in the tunnel.
The old postal railway smelled of rust and stagnant water.
Faded numbers marked the walls.
They followed the seven-number code from Daniel’s note.
Each pair corresponded to a track, a corridor, and a storage row.
At the end, they found a metal door.
The brass key fit.
Clara turned it.
The lock clicked.
Inside stood hundreds of wooden cabinets filled with undelivered letters.
The center of the room matched the photograph.
The stopped clock hung above the wall.
A chair stood beneath it.
The ropes had been cut.
Daniel was gone.
A fresh drop of blood marked the floor.
Clara moved toward it.
“Daniel?”
No answer came.
Alessandro searched the shadows.
Don Ricci approached the cabinets.
One drawer stood open.
Inside was a black document case marked with three crooked thorns.
Clara touched the latch.
“Wait,” Alessandro said.
She opened it anyway.
The case contained photographs.
Vehicle reports.
Bank transfers.
Marriage contracts.
And a list of planned deaths.
Don Ricci lifted the first page.
His face hardened.
At the bottom of the list, beneath Alessandro Moretti’s name, was another entry.
EMMA BENNETT.
May you like
Scheduled removal date.
Tomorrow.
