C3 The Letter

Ava read the line again. She couldn't tear her eyes away.

Ava, if you are reading this, whatever he tells you, do not trust Alessio Vitale.

"Where is the rest?" Her voice was frayed. "Where's the rest of the page?"

"That's all there is."

"It's torn!" She held it up. The edge was jagged, the paper split as if by a hasty hand. "Someone tore it!"

"Ava, I haven't read it."

"You gave it to me!"

"I took it from my uncle's safe six weeks ago. I never opened it." His voice was taut. "I didn't want to know what was in it."

"Liar."

"Look at the seal. The envelope."

She turned it over. The flap had been sealed with glue and then sliced open with a steady knife, the cut as clean as if made by someone's thumb and forefinger. She knew the truth about that, at least. He was telling the truth about that.

It didn't matter. Her whole body had begun to shiver.

Her father had written this. Her father, who had held her face in his hands and said, "I didn't do this." He had written to her from beyond the grave, and the first thing he'd said was for her to be afraid of the man standing in front of her.

"Why would he write that?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know."

"I'll find out." He took a step toward her. "Ava, listen to..."

"Don't."

"Listen..."

"Don't come near me!"

He stopped. His hands moved slowly, palms outward, the way you would to a frightened animal. It made her want to scream.

"Two minutes ago, you were holding my hand in the dark," she said. "You touched my face. You let me think..." Her voice broke. "I let you."

"I meant every..."

"Everything you said was a lie!"

She grabbed her bag, the letter still crushed in her fist, and ran for the door.

"Ava, wait! It isn't safe!"

She didn't wait.

The corridor was dark and empty. She hit the button for the elevator and heard the cable groan somewhere in the shaft, rising to meet her. Rising fast.

A chime. The doors slid open.

Two men in dark suits stood inside, one of them holding a phone. They stared at her. She stared at them.

"Miss Moore," said the taller man, pleasant as ever. "Mr. Vitale asked us to take you home."

The other reached for her arm.

She ran.

Alessio was waiting in the corridor behind her. He caught her wrist and spun her toward the stairwell door.

"Not the elevator! Go!"

"Let go of me!"

"They're not mine!"

She believed him. That was the worst part. She saw his face, white and real, and she believed him before she could stop herself.

They hurtled down the stairwell together. The steel door slammed behind them, and footsteps pounded above and below, a dozen men, maybe more, until the stairwell rang like a bell.

"Down," Alessio said. "Thirty floors. Don't stop."

"I can't."

"You can."

They ran. Her shoes smacked against the concrete. Her breath scorched her throat. At every landing, a door would bang open somewhere above, and a voice would shout, "Stairs! They're on the stairs!"

At the twelfth floor, a man emerged on the landing below them with a gun in his hand.

Alessio shoved her behind him so hard she nearly fell.

He drove his elbow into the man's throat. The gun skidded across the concrete. The two of them crashed into the wall, a jumble of limbs and growls, and Ava scrambled for the gun.

It was heavier than she expected. Cold. She held it in both hands.

"Alessio!"

"Don't shoot!" He drove his elbow into the man's face. A crack. A gasp. The man slumped down the wall, unmoving. Alessio straightened, breathing hard, blood on his knuckles.

He looked at the gun in her hand.

"You can put that down."

"Why? So you can take it?"

His mouth was a thin line. "If I wanted to hurt you, I've had six hours."

She didn't lower it. But her arms shook so hard she could barely have hit the wall.

He walked toward her, slowly, until the barrel touched his chest. His heart thudded against it, fast and wild, nothing like the cold man who had spoken to her in the dark.

"If your father was right," he said quietly, "do it. Right now."

"Stop it."

"Pull the trigger."

"Stop!"

"I'm not going to move."

His eyes didn't leave hers. They weren't grey anymore. They were something unutterably open and unutterably painful, and she realized—with a sick lurch—that he meant it. If she believed the letter, he would let her.

A door slammed open six floors above.

"Floor twelve!"

Ava lowered the gun.

She didn't know why. She never knew why. Her hands just stopped.

Alessio let out a breath. Then he grabbed her hand, the gun still in it, and pulled her down the stairs.

They came out onto the parking garage. Cold air. Concrete pillars. Rows of silent cars under the yellow light.

"The black sedan," he said. "Third row."

"I'm not getting in your car."

"Then where?"

Headlights flared at the far end of the garage. A dented grey Toyota pulled out from behind a pillar and stopped twenty feet away.

Ava knew the car.

She had ridden in it to her high school graduation. To her father's trial. To the funeral.

The driver's window was rolled down.

Uncle Ray stepped out in his old brown jacket, hands raised, his face paler than any of the lights.

"Mija!" His voice echoed off the concrete. "Mija, come here. Quick."

"Ray?" Relief flooded her so powerfully her knees went weak. "How did you...?"

"Get away from him, Ava!" He was walking toward her, fast, his eyes on Alessio. "That man is dangerous. You don't know what he's done."

Alessio was perfectly still.

"Ava," he said gently. "Ask him how he knew you'd be here."

She stopped.

"I called him," she said. "He texted me tonight. He always does."

"Did you tell him where you were working tonight?"

"No. I..."

She stopped again.

Her phone had buzzed in the office. Once. Twice. Did you eat dinner? Don't stay up too late, okay?

She'd never told Ray she worked late.

She'd never told him which building.

Not once, in four months.

Ray was ten feet away. Eight. His smile looked strange in the yellow light, too wide, too fixed, as if it had been painted on.

"Tío," she whispered. "How did you find me?"

His eyes went past her shoulder.

Behind her, a van door groaned open.

"I'm sorry, mija," said Ray. And he looked away.