Secrets of the Harts

Drowned Out All my Sense with the Sound of its Beating

4 Jan 2010

Dylan had spent the day after New Year out of the hotel. I had a suspicion that he was purchasing weapons, in case things with the Cosa Nostra got ugly. I was not sure if I wanted to be part of it, because this was probably illegal.

In any case, Dylan had finally settled down yesterday to carry on the search. First, he had located all the Zetas in the phonebook because going onto the streets could potentially be dangerous. He didn’t trust any of his contacts enough to hand the job over to them. I was secretly glad for this; I didn’t want anyone else to join in.

There was a problem though. There were 100 Zetas, 10 of which were linked to some variation of Alessandra. Besides, we couldn’t be sure if the number would be under her name. So he had to call all of them until he found one who had travelled to America in the last 20 years before saying that he was acting on behalf estate of Mr. Paul Michael Hart. Apparently, Mr. Hart had left her a large sum of money that could only be activated 5 years after his death, wishing to use this money as a form of amends. Dylan made a pretty convincing legal aide, deliberately keeping vague what my father needed to repay Alessandra for.

I sort of admired Dylan because he hadn’t complained about the difficult job ahead of him. Instead, he started dialling numbers after coming up with a good story. But the process took very long. In fact, he was still continuing today, starting with Zeta no. 58.

I watched him quietly, alarmed when his expression turned dark. I hoped whoever it was on other side hadn’t just cursed Dylan in Italian.

When he ended the call, however, I found out that it wasn’t the person’s rudeness that made him look so unhappy. It wasn’t because of that, not at all. “I think I just spoke to your mother.”

I tried to ignore the sudden tightness in my chest. Crossing my legs, I asked, “What was her reaction when she got the news?”

Dylan hesitated, weighing my expression. “She said, ‘I don’t want anything to do with him. You can keep all that money.’ Then she hung up on me.”

“Oh,” I said, faintly.

***

Dylan was bringing his weapons on our meeting with Alessandra Zeta. I knew he wouldn’t try to persuade me to carry any because he didn’t want to talk to me and also because he was slightly worried about how I would react to my mother.

It was strange thinking about it. I had never seen my mother. Had she been there after I was born? I didn’t know and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, not that I intended to ask her about that. I had some other more pressing thoughts in mind.

When the time came for us to leave, Dylan had gazed at me expectantly and asked, “What are you going to talk to her about?”

“I don’t know. Any suggestions?” My nerves were tightly coiled and it showed in the harshness of my tone. But Dylan didn’t bother with that, it seemed as though it was harder for me to bait him into anger now.

“You must have some idea. You weren’t so persistent just because you wanted to meet her. There’s something you want to know.”

“And you know this because you know me as well as the back of your hand.”

Dylan smiled, his green eyes remaining hard. “I know you because I’ve read your case file. And also because you were raised by Calloway, which means you’re like her in more ways than I can count.”

“I am not like her!”

“You can say that all you want, princess, but it’s not going to make it true.”