CHAPTER 2 — THE FIRE THEY TRIED TO BURY
CHAPTER 2 — THE FIRE THEY TRIED TO BURY
The rain hadn't stopped by morning.
Gray clouds hung over Chicago like a funeral veil, casting shadows across the city.
Inside the Corsetti estate, Vincent hadn't slept for a single minute.
The broken whiskey glass still lay on the floor of his study.
Nobody had dared clean it.
Nobody had dared enter.
For twelve straight hours, Vincent sat behind his desk staring at the same file.
Serena Hayes.
Twenty-seven years old.
Hospital cleaner.
No family.
No future.
No protection.
And somehow connected to a fire that should have remained buried forever.
The grandfather clock struck six.
Vincent finally stood.
"Get me everything."
Frank looked up from the chair across the room.
"Everything?"
"Every police report."
"Every witness statement."
"Every photograph."
"Every sealed document."
His jaw tightened.
"I want every detail from that fire."
Frank hesitated.
Even after decades beside Vincent, there were moments when the old man still recognized danger.
This was one of them.
"Some graves stay buried for a reason."
Vincent's eyes hardened.
"Dig."
The old accountant nodded.
He knew the conversation was over.
...
Across the city.
Serena awoke to the sound of coughing.
Violent coughing.
The kind that felt like broken glass scraping through lungs.
She sat up immediately.
Her elderly neighbor, Mrs. Palmer.
The sound was coming through the paper-thin apartment wall.
Again.
Another cough.
Another.
Another.
Serena threw on a sweater and rushed next door.
The old woman was struggling to breathe.
Her oxygen machine had stopped.
Power outage.
The cheap building's electrical system had failed again.
"Damn it."
Serena moved quickly.
Checking the machine.
Checking the cords.
Checking the breaker.
Nothing.
The machine was dead.
Mrs. Palmer's face was turning pale.
Without thinking, Serena grabbed her phone.
Called emergency services.
Then stayed beside the elderly woman until help arrived.
By the time paramedics finally wheeled Mrs. Palmer away, Serena had already missed the first hour of her shift.
She looked at her watch.
Then sighed.
Another deduction from her paycheck.
Another bill she couldn't afford.
Just another normal day.
Or so she thought.
When she stepped outside the apartment building, a black luxury SUV sat parked across the street.
Its windows were tinted.
Its engine running.
She frowned.
The vehicle looked wildly out of place in the neighborhood.
Then the passenger door opened.
A man stepped out.
Tailored suit.
Expensive watch.
Gray hair.
Sharp eyes.
Frank Moretti.
Though Serena didn't know his name.
The old man approached calmly.
"Miss Hayes."
Her shoulders stiffened.
"Do I know you?"
"No."
"Then how do you know me?"
Frank smiled.
"Mr. Corsetti would like to speak with you."
Instantly she understood.
The baby.
Of course.
The crime lord.
The father.
She shook her head.
"I have work."
"It won't take long."
"No."
Frank blinked.
Most people practically sprinted when Vincent Corsetti requested a meeting.
Serena simply started walking.
Frank followed.
"Miss Hayes."
"No."
"Mr. Corsetti is offering compensation."
"No."
"A significant amount."
She stopped.
Turned.
Looked him directly in the eyes.
For a brief second Frank thought she might finally agree.
Instead she said:
"Tell Mr. Corsetti his son doesn't owe me anything."
Then she walked away.
Frank stood frozen.
Completely stunned.
Twenty minutes later he reported back.
Vincent listened silently.
Then asked one question.
"She refused?"
"Twice."
A strange expression crossed Vincent's face.
Almost amusement.
Almost admiration.
Most people feared him.
This woman dismissed him like a telemarketer.
...
Three days later.
Frank finally arrived with the documents.
Boxes.
Actual boxes.
Decades of records.
Vincent spent hours reading.
Then six.
Then ten.
Eventually one photograph slipped free.
The image was grainy.
Damaged.
Old.
A burned house.
Police tape.
Firefighters.
Crowds.
And near the edge of the frame...
A little girl.
Covered in soot.
Dark curls.
Terrified eyes.
Vincent froze.
The breath left his lungs.
Because despite the years...
Despite adulthood...
Despite everything...
He recognized her immediately.
Serena.
Age twelve.
Alive.
Standing beside the ruins.
His stomach tightened.
He flipped through more records.
More reports.
More witness statements.
Then found the page that changed everything.
The official cause of the fire had been electrical failure.
Case closed.
Accidental.
No further investigation.
But attached behind it was something unusual.
A handwritten note.
Never filed.
Never submitted.
Never explained.
The words were brief.
Only one sentence.
"Someone paid to make this disappear."
Vincent stared at the paper.
A cold feeling crawled up his spine.
Someone had buried the truth.
Someone powerful.
Someone connected.
And suddenly he knew exactly where to look.
...
That evening.
The Corsetti family gathered for dinner.
An event that rarely happened.
Especially after Elena's death.
The enormous dining room felt like a cathedral.
Long table.
Crystal chandeliers.
Silver cutlery.
Perfect silence.
Vincent sat at the head.
His younger brother, Marco, occupied the opposite side.
Marco Corsetti smiled constantly.
People mistook that smile for kindness.
They were wrong.
Vincent knew better.
Marco was ambitious.
Manipulative.
Patient.
The kind of man who poisoned enemies and attended their funerals.
Halfway through dinner Vincent spoke.
"What do you remember about August seventeenth?"
Marco's fork stopped.
Only for a second.
But Vincent noticed.
Everyone noticed.
"What year?"
"Fifteen years ago."
The room went silent.
Marco took a sip of wine.
"Nothing."
Vincent watched him.
"Nothing?"
"No."
The smile returned.
"Should I?"
Neither brother blinked.
The tension became visible.
Physical.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
Finally Marco laughed.
"You've spent too much time grieving."
The subject changed.
But Vincent wasn't fooled.
Because for the first time in years...
Marco looked nervous.
...
Meanwhile.
Serena's life was beginning to unravel.
The landlord arrived Friday afternoon.
Exactly as promised.
He stood in her doorway holding paperwork.
"You have until tonight."
She swallowed.
"I need more time."
"You've had three months."
"Please."
"No."
The man wasn't cruel.
Just tired.
He owned the building.
Bills existed.
Reality existed.
Compassion didn't pay mortgages.
After he left, Serena sat on the edge of her bed.
Staring at the room.
Everything she owned fit inside it.
One mattress.
One dresser.
One chair.
One lamp.
A few books.
A few photographs.
And one old metal box.
The box sat beneath the bed.
Dust-covered.
Forgotten.
She hadn't opened it in years.
Slowly she pulled it out.
Lifted the lid.
Inside were fragments of another life.
Photographs.
Letters.
Drawings.
Memories.
The remains of a childhood destroyed by fire.
Her hands trembled as she sorted through them.
Then she found something strange.
A photograph she didn't remember.
A photograph she had never seen before.
The image showed her parents.
Standing beside another couple.
All four smiling.
All four laughing.
The picture appeared happy.
Normal.
But Serena's attention locked onto one face.
A man.
Tall.
Dark-haired.
Wearing an expensive suit.
A familiar face.
Her pulse quickened.
No.
Impossible.
She looked again.
And again.
The man beside her father was unmistakable.
Even younger.
Even cleaner.
But unmistakable.
Vincent Corsetti.
The photograph slipped from her fingers.
For several seconds she couldn't breathe.
Why would her parents know Vincent Corsetti?
Why would they have a picture together?
Nothing made sense.
Nothing.
And for the first time since childhood...
A memory surfaced.
Not clear.
Not complete.
Just fragments.
Flames.
Screaming.
Her mother crying.
A man's voice.
A name.
Marco.
The memory vanished instantly.
Leaving only confusion.
And fear.
...
The next morning someone broke into her apartment.
Serena returned from work carrying groceries.
The moment she opened the door she knew.
Everything felt wrong.
The room had been searched.
Drawers emptied.
Clothes scattered.
Furniture overturned.
Her heart pounded.
She rushed toward the bed.
The metal box.
Gone.
Every childhood photograph.
Gone.
Every letter.
Gone.
Including the picture of Vincent.
A chill ran through her body.
Someone wanted those memories.
Someone knew they existed.
Suddenly a floorboard creaked behind her.
Serena spun.
A shadow moved near the kitchen.
Not a burglar.
A man.
Watching.
Waiting.
His face hidden beneath a hood.
For one terrifying second neither moved.
Then he stepped forward.
Serena ran.
Instinct took over.
She bolted through the doorway and into the hallway.
Footsteps exploded behind her.
Fast.
Heavy.
Getting closer.
Neighbors shouted.
Doors opened.
Someone screamed.
Serena flew down the stairs.
The man followed.
Relentless.
Predatory.
She burst through the building entrance and sprinted into the street.
Rain hammered the pavement.
Cars rushed past.
People scattered.
The footsteps remained behind her.
Closer.
Closer.
Closer.
Then suddenly—
Tires screamed.
A black SUV slid sideways between Serena and the attacker.
The rear door flew open.
A voice shouted:
"GET IN!"
Frank Moretti.
Serena didn't hesitate.
She jumped inside.
The SUV accelerated instantly.
The hooded man disappeared into the rain.
Within seconds he was gone.
The vehicle sped through downtown Chicago.
Neither passenger spoke.
Finally Serena found her voice.
"How did you know?"
Frank's expression was grim.
"We were watching your apartment."
"We?"
"Mr. Corsetti."
Fear mixed with confusion.
"Why?"
Frank looked out the window.
Because the truth sounded insane.
Because even he barely believed it.
Because every new piece of evidence pointed toward something bigger.
Something deadly.
Something connected to both Serena and the Corsetti family.
And because Vincent had reached a conclusion he couldn't ignore.
Someone was trying to kill the woman who saved his son.
The same woman connected to a fire buried fifteen years ago.
The same woman who had somehow reappeared after being forgotten for more than a decade.
Frank finally answered.
"Because someone else is looking for you."
Serena's face drained of color.
"Who?"
The old man met her eyes.
And spoke the words that changed everything.
"We don't know."
A pause.
Then:
"But whoever they are..."
"They're willing to murder for the answers."
Outside, thunder rolled across Chicago.
Far away, hidden inside a private office overlooking the city, Marco Corsetti stood beside a window.
A burned photograph rested in his hand.
The picture of Serena's parents.
The picture stolen from her apartment.
He dropped it into a fireplace.
Watched it turn to ash.
Then smiled.
A cold smile.
A dangerous smile.
May you like
Because after fifteen years, the last witness was finally becoming a problem.
And Marco had never allowed problems to live for very long.
