THE DEVIL’S SAFE PLACE

“My mother is dead.”

Nobody in the VIP corridor spoke.

I pointed at the photograph again.

“She died seven years ago. I watched them carry her coffin into the chapel.”

Dante Valenti looked at me with an expression I couldn’t read.

“Who identified her body?”

The question made my stomach turn.

“My aunt.”

“Did you see her?”

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

The funeral had been closed-casket. My aunt Patricia said the accident had been too terrible.

“No,” I whispered.

Dante looked at Gabriel.

“Find the funeral records.”

I stepped back.

“You can’t just investigate my mother.”

“You’re right.”

That surprised me.

He turned to me.

“May I?”

For a moment, I stared at him.

The man owned the building. Every guard obeyed him. He could have made the call without asking.

“Why?”

“Because somebody lied to you, Nora. I’d like to know who.”

I looked at the photograph.

My mother wore a red coat.

She looked older.

Tired.

But unmistakably alive.

“Okay,” I whispered.

Dante nodded once.

Gabriel left.

***

The Meridian Hotel occupied the upper floors of a historic building overlooking the Chicago River.

My room was larger than the apartment Cameron and I had shared.

There were white roses on the table, cream-colored curtains, and a bathroom with heated marble floors.

I stood in the doorway, afraid to touch anything.

Matteo carried my suitcase inside.

“Anything else?”

I looked at him.

“Do you have a vending machine?”

He blinked.

“A what?”

“Never mind.”

He grinned.

“There’s a kitchen downstairs. Ask for whatever you want.”

“Even potato chips?”

“Especially potato chips.”

When he left, I locked the door.

Then checked the windows.

Then checked the closet.

Then the bathroom.

I hated myself for doing it.

I hated Cameron more for teaching me to.

My phone was dead, but the hotel had provided a charger. I connected it and watched the screen flicker awake.

Twenty-three missed calls.

Fourteen messages.

All from Cameron.

The last read:

YOU KNOW I ONLY GET ANGRY BECAUSE I LOVE YOU.

I deleted nothing.

Instead, I took screenshots and emailed them to an old account Cameron didn’t know existed.

For once, I wanted evidence of what had happened to me.

***

At three in the morning, somebody knocked.

I froze.

“Who is it?”

“Dante.”

I approached the door but didn’t open it.

“What do you want?”

“To tell you something.”

“Can it wait?”

“Yes.”

Silence.

Then he added, “Your mother was using the name Evelyn Shaw when she entered Saint.”

My fingers tightened around the doorknob.

Evelyn.

My mother’s real name was Evelyn Bennett.

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because you deserve to know what we found.”

I leaned against the door.

“Did you find her?”

“No.”

I closed my eyes.

“Then I want to sleep.”

“All right.”

His footsteps retreated.

I waited until I couldn’t hear them anymore.

Then I slid down the door and cried.

***

The next morning, a woman named Isabella Russo arrived with breakfast.

She was the club manager I’d met the night before.

Today she wore a cream pantsuit and carried a tray of coffee and pastries.

“Dante asked me to check on you.”

I folded my arms.

“Does he send employees to check on all his hotel guests?”

“No.”

“Then why me?”

Isabella placed the tray down.

“That’s a question you should ask him.”

I studied her.

“Do you trust him?”

She considered it.

“With my life.”

“That’s a strong answer.”

“He’s earned it.”

Then she smiled faintly.

“That doesn’t mean he’s harmless.”

I appreciated the distinction.

***

At noon, Dante called.

“Have you eaten?”

“Is that how you answer every conversation?”

“Only the important ones.”

I looked at the untouched pastries.

“Some.”

“Good.”

A pause.

Then he said, “I have information about your mother.”

My heart jumped.

“What?”

“She worked for a charitable organization called the Northbridge Foundation.”

I frowned.

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“Most people haven’t.”

“What does it do?”

“Officially? Housing assistance and emergency support for vulnerable families.”

“And unofficially?”

His silence answered before his words did.

“Money disappeared. So did witnesses.”

I sat down.

“Was my mother involved?”

“That’s what I’m trying to determine.”

I stared at the wall.

“Why were you looking for her?”

Another pause.

Then Dante said, “Because she was the last person to see my younger brother alive.”

My breath caught.

“You have a brother?”

“Had.”

The word landed heavily.

“What happened?”

“Six years ago, Adrian Valenti disappeared.”

I swallowed.

“And you think my mother knows why?”

“Yes.”

I looked toward the window.

Chicago glittered beneath the afternoon sun.

A beautiful city.

A dangerous city.

A city full of people who could vanish without leaving anything behind.

“Then we need to find her.”

Dante’s voice changed.

“We?”

“Yes.”