Chapter 3 - The Debt Her Father Never Told Her About
Thomas Mitchell had been receiving diluted medication.
Not poison.
Not exactly.
That was what Dr. Patel explained.
Several supportive injections prescribed after chemotherapy appeared to contain far less of the active drug than the manufacturer label indicated.
The result?
Fatigue.
Fainting.
Dangerously unstable blood counts.
Maybe worse.
Someone had been replacing legitimate medication with counterfeit product.
Sonia sat beside her father’s hospital bed and listened as a pharmacist explained batch numbers, chain-of-custody reports, and federal notification procedures.
She understood only one thing.
Someone had profited from sick people.
Her father was one of them.
Dante stood near the window.
Silent.
He had not spoken for fifteen minutes.
That frightened her.
“Say something,” Sonia said.
The pharmacist left.
Dante looked at her.
“I’m trying not to say the wrong thing.”
“Since when?”
“Recent development.”
She almost smiled.
Almost.
Thomas watched them.
“So you two are dating?”
“No,” Sonia and Dante said at the same time.
Thomas nodded.
“That sounded married.”
“Dad.”
“What? I’m sick. I need entertainment.”
Dante actually smiled.
Then Thomas’s expression changed.
“You found Riverside.”
Dante went still.
Sonia turned.
“What?”
Thomas looked away.
Her stomach dropped.
“Dad.”
Nothing.
“What do you know about the pharmacy?”
Thomas closed his eyes.
“I owe people money.”
Sonia stared.
“What people?”
Emma had returned from school and now stood in the doorway.
She froze.
“What money?”
Thomas sighed.
“Sit down.”
Neither daughter did.
Thomas continued.
“Two years ago, after the store closed, I borrowed money.”
“From the bank?” Sonia asked.
“No.”
Her pulse increased.
“Who?”
Thomas looked at Dante.
Recognition crossed his face.
Not personal recognition.
The kind a man had when he knew a category.
“Men connected to yours.”
Dante’s expression hardened.
“Name.”
“Frankie Bell.”
The room changed.
Sonia stared at her father.
“You borrowed from Frankie Bell?”
“I didn’t know who he was.”
“How much?”
“Twenty thousand.”
Emma whispered, “Dad.”
“The chemo started. Insurance denied one of the drugs. I thought I could repay it after selling the store inventory.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because you were already working two jobs.”
Sonia felt tears burn.
“How much do you owe now?”
Thomas looked ashamed.
“Eighty-seven.”
Dante spoke.
“Thousand?”
Thomas nodded.
Sonia sat because her legs stopped working.
“That’s impossible.”
“Interest.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“How often does Frankie contact you?”
“Not anymore.”
“When did he stop?”
“Six months ago.”
Exactly when Vinny took over Lombardi’s.
Dante asked, “Who collects?”
Thomas looked at Sonia.
“No.”
“Dad.”
“I’m not dragging you deeper.”
“We are already deep.”
Thomas closed his eyes.
“A man named Caleb.”
Dante’s face changed.
“Caleb Ross?”
“You know him?”
“Yes.”
His own security division.
Sonia laughed once.
It sounded broken.
“Of course.”
Dante looked at her.
“What?”
“Every road in this nightmare leads back to one of your employees.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
His voice was low.
“And I’m going to find out why.”
Sonia stood.
“No.”
Dante frowned.
“No?”
“You don’t get to storm out and fix this without telling me anything.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
“That may put you in more danger.”
“So does ignorance.”
He had no answer.
Thomas spoke.
“She’s right.”
Dante looked at him.
Thomas continued.
“Men like us love deciding women are safer when they know less.”
Sonia stared at her father.
“You knew Mom hated that.”
“Yes.”
“Yet you did it anyway.”
“Yes.”
Thomas looked older.
“I thought hiding the debt protected you.”
Sonia’s anger weakened beneath grief.
“It didn’t.”
“I know.”
Dante turned toward the hall.
“Five minutes.”
Sonia followed him.
“What?”
“We talk outside.”
They stepped into a family waiting room.
Dante shut the door.
“Frankie Bell has worked for the Romano organization for sixteen years.”
Sonia folded her arms.
“I’m listening.”
“He was loyal to my father.”
“Was?”
“I believed he was loyal to me.”
“But?”
“Two years ago, I shut down several revenue streams.”
“What kind?”
“Pills. Counterfeit pharmaceuticals. Some loan operations.”
Sonia went still.
“Loan operations like my father’s?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“My younger brother died from fentanyl.”
That stopped her.
Dante looked at the floor.
“Matteo was twenty-four.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He wasn’t an addict.”
Dante’s voice remained controlled.
“He took a pill at a party. It was counterfeit.”
Sonia sat.
For the first time, the mafia boss disappeared.
A brother remained.
“I found out some of our own distributors had started moving counterfeit medication because the margins were enormous.”
“And you stopped it.”
“I tried.”
“Frankie didn’t.”
“No.”
Dante leaned against the wall.
“I shut down the network publicly enough that people knew the order came from me. But old systems don’t vanish because one man gives a command.”
“Especially when everyone makes money.”
“Yes.”
“Your father’s organization built those systems.”
Dante looked at her.
“Yes.”
Again, no excuse.
That made it harder to hate him.
“You think Frankie kept operating.”
“I know he did now.”
“And Vinny?”
“Middleman.”
“The restaurant?”
“Storage and laundering.”
“My father?”
“Victim and leverage.”
Sonia rubbed her arms.
“Why me?”
“You worked at a restaurant Frankie needed.”
“So Vinny researched the staff.”
“Probably.”
“He threatened my father because it was convenient.”
“Yes.”
She looked at him.
“And the flowers?”
“Possibly because you exposed Vinny.”
“Possibly?”
“There is another possibility.”
“What?”
“Someone wanted you frightened enough to stop cooperating with me.”
“Who?”
Dante hesitated.
“Vinny told me to ask my brother.”
“I remember.”
“Only one brother is alive.”
“Who?”
“Gabriel.”
She waited.
Dante did not continue.
“Your brother is involved?”
“I don’t know.”
“You suspect him.”
“Yes.”
“How close are you?”
Dante laughed without humor.
“We were once.”
“What happened?”
“Our father.”
Of course.
Dante continued.
“Gabriel believes I stole leadership from him.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Would he agree?”
“No.”
Sonia thought about families splitting over smaller things.
“Why would Frankie work with him?”
“Because Gabriel thinks I made the Romano name weak.”
“By stopping counterfeit drugs?”
“By cooperating with legitimate institutions. By moving businesses into regulated markets. By refusing certain kinds of violence.”
Sonia stared.
“This is the strangest family argument I’ve ever heard.”
“You should attend Thanksgiving.”
“I’ll pass.”
Dante almost smiled.
Then the door opened.
Emma stood there.
“There are two detectives asking for Dad.”
Dante straightened.
“Names?”
Emma told him.
He relaxed slightly.
“Real detectives.”
“You can tell?”
“I checked before they arrived.”
Sonia glared.
“You’re monitoring the hospital again.”
“Yes.”
“We had rules.”
“I have one man downstairs.”
She hated that he was technically complying.
The detectives interviewed Thomas for over an hour.
Then a federal agent arrived.
Counterfeit pharmaceuticals moved across state lines.
The case widened.
Frankie disappeared.
Caleb Ross failed to report to work.
Riverside Pharmacy’s owner claimed ignorance.
By evening, the FBI had seized records.
Sonia finally left the hospital at nine.
Dante waited in the lobby.
“You don’t have to stay.”
“I know.”
“You have an organization.”
“Yes.”
“A criminal one.”
“Partially.”
She sighed.
“Why are you still here?”
He looked at her.
“Because someone threatened you after you protected me.”
“You would do that for anyone?”
“No.”
The answer arrived too quickly.
Sonia’s heart changed rhythm.
She ignored it.
“That’s not comforting.”
“It wasn’t meant to be romantic.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“No.”
They looked at each other too long.
Dante looked away first.
“Come on.”
“Where?”
“I’m taking you home.”
“I can take the train.”
“No.”
She crossed her arms.
“Is that an order?”
He closed his eyes.
“May I take you home?”
She smiled despite herself.
“Better.”
In the car, Sonia asked questions.
“What was your mother like?”
Dante looked surprised.
“Why?”
“You said I sounded like her.”
He stared out the window.
“Her name was Elena.”
“Was?”
“She died when I was twenty-eight.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She hated what my father did.”
“Did she hate him?”
“No.”
Dante’s face softened.
“That was the problem.”
Sonia understood more than she wanted to.
“She wanted you out?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you leave?”
“Matteo.”
“Your brother?”
“He was fourteen when our father died. Gabriel was already involved.”
“You stayed for him.”
“I told myself that.”
“And the real reason?”
Dante looked at her.
“Power is easier to inherit than to surrender.”
Sonia appreciated the honesty.
At her building in Queens, Dante stepped out first.
She rolled her eyes.
“I’m not royalty.”
“No.”
“Then stop opening doors.”
“I was raised correctly in at least three areas.”
“Only three?”
“Possibly two.”
They reached the front steps.
A piece of paper was taped to the door.
Sonia saw her name.
Dante moved faster.
He stopped her before she touched it.
“Wait.”
He removed gloves from his coat.
“What?”
“Prints.”
He peeled the page away.
It was a photocopy.
A loan contract.
Thomas Mitchell.
Principal: $20,000.
Current balance handwritten in red:
$87,420.
Beneath it:
THE DEBT BELONGS TO THE FAMILY NOW.
Sonia stared.
“What does that mean?”
Dante’s eyes moved toward the dark street.
“It means Frankie knows your father talked.”
She swallowed.
“Can you make this disappear?”
The question surprised both of them.
Not the debt.
The danger.
Dante looked at her.
“Yes.”
“How?”
He did not answer.
Sonia understood.
“No bodies.”
His face became unreadable.
“I wasn’t going to—”
“No.”
She stepped closer.
“If you help us, I need to know nobody dies because I asked.”
“That may not be entirely within my control.”
“Then don’t promise me safety.”
“I can promise you I won’t order anyone killed.”
“Good.”
The words felt absurd in any ordinary relationship.
Nothing about this was ordinary.
Dante handed the contract to one of his men.
“I’ll deal with the debt.”
Sonia immediately shook her head.
“No.”
“It was issued through an illegal operation connected to my organization.”
“That doesn’t mean you pay it.”
“I’m not paying it.”
“What are you doing?”
“Voiding it.”
“Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
“Legally?”
He paused.
She stared.
“Dante.”
“My attorneys can establish the lending structure violated state law.”
“Better.”
“You’re exhausting.”
“So I’ve been told.”
He looked at her.
“I doubt that.”
Sonia should have gone inside.
Instead she remained on the steps.
“Why were you at Lombardi’s yourself?”
“I told you.”
“No. You could have sent investigators.”
Dante was silent.
She continued.
“You wanted to see it yourself.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His answer came quietly.
“Because the last time I trusted reports instead of people, Matteo died.”
The street became still.
Sonia no longer saw the mafia boss.
Only guilt.
“What happened?”
“I was told counterfeit pills were no longer moving through our clubs.”
“But they were.”
“Yes.”
“And Matteo took one.”
“Yes.”
“You blame yourself.”
He looked at her.
“I was responsible.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“To a dead brother, it is.”
She recognized that kind of guilt.
She carried her own.
The night her mother died, Sonia had been working.
Her mother called twice.
Sonia ignored the calls because she was angry over an argument.
The third call came from the hospital.
Years had passed.
It still lived inside her.
“You can regret something without making it your whole identity,” she said.
Dante’s expression changed.
“You should go upstairs.”
“You hate when people say useful things, don’t you?”
“Frequently.”
“Goodnight, Dante.”
“Sonia.”
She stopped.
“Lock the windows.”
She sighed.
“Yes, boss.”
His eyes narrowed.
She smiled.
“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”
For the first time, he laughed.
A real laugh.
Brief.
Unexpected.
Warm enough that she carried the sound upstairs.
At 2:17 a.m., Dante received a call.
Frankie Bell had been found.
Not by Dante’s men.
By police.
Dead in a parked car in Brooklyn.
One gunshot wound.
No weapon.
On the passenger seat lay a photograph.
Sonia leaving Mount Sinai.
May you like
Written across the bottom:
SHE KNOWS TOO MUCH.
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