Chapter 7 - The House With No PhotographsDominic Russo’s house did not look like the home of a criminal kingpin.
Maya had expected iron gates shaped like weapons.
Marble lions.
Men with rifles standing beneath security lights.
Instead, twenty-five minutes outside Manhattan, the sedan turned through a narrow private road lined by bare autumn trees and stopped before a large stone house overlooking the Hudson.
It was beautiful.
Quiet.
Almost severe.
Warm light glowed through tall windows.
The property had no visible address.
No neighboring houses.
No decorative gates.
But Maya counted six cameras before the car reached the front steps.
She noticed another guard in the tree line.
Then another beside the garage.
“Subtle,” she muttered.
Dominic looked up from his phone.
“It is supposed to be.”
“I saw eight security cameras.”
“You saw four.”
Maya stared at him.
Dominic almost smiled.
Sophie shifted weakly beside her.
That erased the humor.
Moving her from St. Jude’s had required Dominic to mobilize an entire medical team.
Maya had refused to let strangers simply carry Sophie away, so Dr. Aris personally supervised the transfer.
A private ambulance had followed them.
Two nurses were already waiting at the house.
Dominic had apparently converted an unused guest suite into a medical room in less than three hours.
Maya did not ask how.
She was beginning to understand that asking Dominic how he accomplished impossible things rarely produced satisfying answers.
The car stopped.
Dominic got out first.
Maya helped Sophie.
Her sister looked toward the house.
“So.”
Her voice was tired.
“This is definitely normal.”
Maya gave her a warning glance.
Sophie continued.
“Random billionaire crime lord pays my hospital bill, buys our building, then moves me into Batman’s vacation home.”
Dominic looked at her.
Sophie blinked.
“I’m assuming crime lord was the part I wasn’t supposed to say?”
Dominic opened the front door.
“I’ve been called worse.”
Sophie glanced toward Maya.
“I like him.”
“You’ve known him for thirty seconds.”
“He has heated floors.”
Maya looked down.
The stone beneath their feet was warm.
“Traitor.”
Sophie smiled faintly.
That smile was enough to loosen something in Maya’s chest.
For months, Sophie had smiled less.
Illness had reduced her world to machines, appointments, needles, nausea, and exhausted apologies.
Here, for one second, she sounded nineteen again.
Dominic noticed too.
His expression softened.
Only briefly.
Then the medical staff arrived with a wheelchair.
Sophie allowed herself to be taken upstairs.
Maya followed until Dr. Aris stopped her.
“We need approximately forty minutes to settle her.”
“I’m staying.”
“Maya.”
Sophie’s voice came from the wheelchair.
“Go.”
Maya looked at her.
“I’m fine.”
“You are not fine.”
“I have three doctors.”
“Two.”
Sophie glanced at Dominic.
“And whatever he is.”
Dominic raised an eyebrow.
Maya sighed.
“I’ll be downstairs.”
Sophie was wheeled away.
Silence settled through the entrance hall.
Maya finally looked around.
The house was immaculate.
Dark wood.
Stone fireplaces.
Tall windows overlooking black water.
Paintings that probably belonged in museums.
But something felt strange.
There were no family photographs.
No framed childhood images.
No casual snapshots.
Nothing personal.
The house looked inhabited.
But not lived in.
Maya turned.
Dominic had removed his jacket.
Without it, the shoulder holster beneath his shirt was visible.
She pointed.
“Do you sleep with that?”
“Yes.”
“That was not sarcasm?”
“No.”
Maya rubbed her forehead.
“This entire week feels like a fever dream.”
“It has been two days.”
“That makes it worse.”
Dominic entered a library.
Maya followed.
Rows of books climbed to the ceiling.
A fire burned low.
On a table waited food.
Soup.
Bread.
Roasted vegetables.
Coffee.
Maya looked at him.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You haven’t eaten since this morning.”
“How do you know?”
“I asked Carlo.”
“Of course.”
“Sit.”
Her eyes narrowed.
Dominic corrected himself.
“Please.”
Maya stared another second.
Then sat.
Progress.
She tasted the soup.
It was simple.
Chicken.
Rice.
Lemon.
It reminded her unexpectedly of something her mother used to make before everything became complicated.
Dominic sat opposite her but did not eat.
“You knew someone would come after me.”
“No.”
“You protect Sophie too quickly.”
“I protect everything quickly.”
“Not an answer.”
Dominic leaned back.
“I knew bringing you into the casino created exposure.”
“And you did it anyway.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought the risk was manageable.”
“You were wrong.”
“Yes.”
Maya stopped eating.
That answer surprised her.
Dominic did not appear to enjoy admitting mistakes.
He looked toward the fire.
“There is a group moving against me.”
“Who?”
“The Bellandi family.”
The name stirred something old in Maya’s memory.
She had heard it in Naples.
Quietly.
Adults lowering their voices.
Her mother’s boyfriend once using the name before locking every door in their apartment.
Dominic noticed.
“You know it.”
“I heard it when I was young.”
His expression sharpened.
“From your mother’s boyfriend?”
“Yes.”
“What was his name?”
Maya hesitated.
She had not spoken the name in years.
“Matteo Vieri.”
Dominic became completely still.
Maya noticed immediately.
“What?”
He did not answer.
“Dominic.”
“How long were you with him?”
“I wasn’t with him. My mother was.”
“How long?”
“Five years.”
“And you never told me his full name.”
“You never asked.”
Dominic stood.
He walked toward a desk.
Opened a drawer.
Removed an old folder.
Maya’s stomach tightened.
“What is that?”
He placed a photograph on the table.
The picture was old.
Grainy.
Taken outside a restaurant in Naples.
Three men stood near a black car.
Maya recognized one instantly.
Matteo.
Older than she remembered.
But unmistakable.
“That’s him.”
Dominic’s face was unreadable.
“The man beside him is Salvatore Bellandi.”
Maya looked at the second man.
Tall.
Silver-haired.
Sharp features.
“And?”
“Salvatore runs the Bellandi organization.”
Cold moved through Maya.
“He knew Matteo?”
“Matteo worked for him.”
She stared at Dominic.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“He was a drunk.”
“He was also an accountant.”
Maya laughed once.
It contained no humor.
“Matteo could barely remember birthdays.”
“He remembered numbers.”
Dominic sat again.
“He managed offshore accounts for Bellandi operations throughout southern Italy.”
Maya’s hands went cold.
“Why does this matter?”
“Because he disappeared twelve years ago.”
Maya’s breathing slowed.
“He didn’t disappear.”
“What happened?”
“He left.”
“When?”
Maya looked toward the fire.
She remembered that night.
Her mother packing one suitcase.
Blood on her lip.
Maya holding Sophie’s hand.
Sophie had been too young to understand.
“After he hit my mother badly enough to send her to the hospital.”
Dominic said nothing.
“He came home drunk.”
Maya continued slowly.
“He started shouting about money.”
“About something he had hidden.”
“He kept saying they would kill him if they discovered it was missing.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“What was missing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think.”
Maya’s anger flared.
“I was twelve.”
His expression softened slightly.
“Think anyway.”
Maya closed her eyes.
Rain.
A broken lamp.
Her mother crying.
Matteo tearing drawers apart.
Words shouted in Neapolitan.
Ledger.
Numbers.
Names.
Then something else.
A phrase.
“The black book.”
Dominic’s face changed.
Maya opened her eyes.
“He kept asking my mother where the black book was.”
Dominic stood so abruptly the chair moved backward.
“What?”
“He accused her of taking it.”
“Maya.”
“What?”
“What happened after?”
“My mother told him she had no idea what he was talking about.”
“Then?”
“He hit her.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“She went down.”
“I grabbed a kitchen knife.”
His gaze moved to her.
“You were twelve.”
“I was angry.”
“What did you do?”
“I told him if he touched her again, I would stab him.”
A dark smile appeared briefly.
“I believe you.”
“He laughed.”
Maya continued.
“Then Sophie started crying.”
“Matteo looked at her.”
“And something changed.”
Dominic’s smile disappeared.
“He walked toward Sophie.”
Maya’s voice became quiet.
“I thought he was going to hurt her.”
“So I attacked him.”
“With the knife?”
“No.”
Maya looked almost embarrassed.
“A frying pan.”
Dominic stared.
“I hit him in the temple.”
A pause.
Then Dominic covered his mouth.
“Are you laughing?”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I am imagining Matteo Vieri, one of Bellandi’s most feared financial handlers, being defeated by a twelve-year-old with cookware.”
“Glad my childhood trauma is entertaining.”
His expression sobered immediately.
“What happened afterward?”
“We left Naples.”
“Where was the book?”
“I told you, I don’t know.”
“Maya.”
“I don’t.”
Dominic walked toward the window.
His reflection appeared against black glass.
“If Bellandi believes Matteo gave your family something…”
“He didn’t.”
“That does not matter.”
Dominic turned.
“Belief matters.”
Maya remembered the message at the docks.
YOU TOOK SOMETHING THAT DOESN’T BELONG TO YOU.
She looked toward the stairs.
“Sophie.”
“They may believe one of you has it.”
“She was seven.”
“They will not care.”
Maya stood.
Her appetite disappeared.
“Then we tell them we don’t.”
Dominic looked at her almost sadly.
“This is not a misunderstanding between neighbors.”
“What do you suggest?”
“We find the book before they do.”
“I don’t have it.”
“Maybe not knowingly.”
Maya shook her head.
“We left Naples with one suitcase.”
“What happened to your mother’s belongings?”
“Most were shipped later.”
“Where?”
“Storage.”
Dominic’s eyes sharpened.
“Where?”
“Queens.”
Maya frowned.
“My mother rented a storage unit when we came back to New York.”
“After she died, I kept paying for it because I couldn’t bring myself to throw everything away.”
“How long ago did she die?”
“Six years.”
“And the unit still exists?”
“Yes.”
Dominic reached for his jacket.
“We leave now.”
Maya looked toward the staircase.
“I’m not leaving Sophie.”
“She stays here.”
“No.”
“Maya—”
The lights went out.
Complete darkness swallowed the house.
For one second, neither moved.
Then Dominic had a gun in his hand.
“Stay behind me.”
Emergency lights flashed red.
Somewhere upstairs, an alarm began screaming.
Maya’s blood froze.
“Sophie.”
She ran.
Dominic caught her waist.
“No.”
“Let me go.”
“Carlo!”
Gunfire exploded outside.
Three shots.
Then five.
The windows shook.
Maya struggled.
“Sophie is upstairs!”
Dominic dragged her behind the stone wall beside the library entrance.
Footsteps thundered above them.
Security voices.
Then Maya’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
Dominic looked at it.
“Don’t answer.”
It rang again.
Maya answered.
“Maya.”
The male voice spoke Neapolitan.
Old.
Calm.
“You grew up beautifully.”
Her blood went cold.
“Who is this?”
The man chuckled.
“You don’t remember Uncle Salvatore?”
Dominic’s expression changed.
Maya stared at him.
The voice continued.
“Ask Dominic what he knows about your mother.”
Then the call ended.
Maya slowly lowered the phone.
Outside, gunfire continued.
But she barely heard it.
She looked at Dominic.
“What does he mean?”
Dominic did not answer.
Maya’s stomach dropped.
May you like
“What do you know about my mother?”
And for the first time since they met, Dominic Russo looked away.
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