Chapter 4 - The Brother Behind the Curtain
Dante did not tell Sonia about the photograph until morning.
That was his first mistake.
She knew immediately.
“You found something.”
They stood in her kitchen while Emma made coffee and pretended not to listen.
Dante removed his coat.
“Frankie Bell is dead.”
Sonia stared.
Emma stopped moving.
“When?”
“Last night.”
“How?”
“Shot.”
Sonia closed her eyes.
“Did you do it?”
“No.”
She opened them.
He was offended.
Not because she asked.
Because part of her thought it possible.
“I told you I would not order anyone killed.”
“I know.”
“Then believe me.”
“I’m trying.”
That answer hurt more.
Dante reached into his coat and placed a photocopy of the photograph on the table.
Sonia stared at her own face.
Then the words.
SHE KNOWS TOO MUCH.
Emma whispered, “Oh my God.”
Sonia looked at Dante.
“When were you going to tell me?”
“Now.”
“When did you find out?”
“Two seventeen.”
“So eight hours ago.”
“Yes.”
“You decided to let me sleep.”
“Yes.”
Her laugh was angry.
“We talked about this.”
“I know.”
“You agreed no more deciding what I can handle.”
“I made a judgment.”
“That is deciding.”
Dante exhaled.
“You’re right.”
Emma looked between them.
“This is either terrifying or the healthiest argument I’ve ever seen.”
Sonia ignored her.
“What happens now?”
Dante’s face hardened.
“Gabriel.”
“You think he killed Frankie.”
“I think Frankie became a liability.”
“What evidence?”
“None yet.”
“So why Gabriel?”
“Because of the message.”
She waited.
Dante explained.
“Frankie was old-school. He would have threatened you directly. The photograph is theater.”
“Your brother likes theater?”
“He likes fear.”
Emma finally spoke.
“Can we call the police?”
“They already have the photo.”
“You gave it to them?”
“Yes.”
Sonia studied him.
He noticed.
“What?”
“You cooperate with police more than mafia movies prepared me for.”
“Movies are inefficient.”
Emma laughed nervously.
“Can I quote you on that?”
“No.”
Dante’s phone rang.
He answered.
“Luca.”
His expression changed.
“Where?”
Pause.
“I’m coming.”
Sonia crossed her arms.
“You’re not leaving without telling me.”
Dante closed his eyes.
“I regret ever agreeing to transparency.”
“Where?”
“Gabriel wants to meet.”
“Good.”
“No.”
“What?”
“You stay here.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Sonia.”
“If this is about the threat against me, I’m involved.”
“It’s about my family.”
“So am I now, apparently.”
The words came out before she could stop them.
Silence.
Emma slowly turned toward the refrigerator to hide her face.
Dante looked at Sonia.
She felt heat climb her neck.
“I mean in the situation.”
“I know what you meant.”
“Good.”
His mouth almost moved.
She pointed at him.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Where is the meeting?”
“A church.”
That surprised her.
“Why?”
“Because Gabriel enjoys irony.”
Ultimately, Sonia did not attend.
Not because Dante ordered her.
Because police advised against it.
That difference mattered.
She waited at Thomas’s apartment with Emma while Dante crossed Manhattan.
St. Michael’s Church stood empty at noon.
Gabriel Romano waited in the third pew.
He was thirty-three.
Handsome in a softer way than Dante.
Dark suit.
No beard.
No visible scars.
He looked like a politician.
Which, in some ways, made him more dangerous.
Dante sat two rows behind.
“You killed Frankie.”
Gabriel did not turn.
“Hello to you too.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Do you expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
Gabriel looked toward the altar.
“Frankie was sloppy.”
“He was moving counterfeit medication.”
“Yes.”
“You knew.”
“Of course.”
Dante’s hands tightened.
“And you let it continue.”
“I encouraged it.”
There.
No denial.
“Why?”
“Money.”
Dante almost laughed.
“We have enough.”
“You have enough.”
Gabriel turned.
“That is your problem. You inherited Father’s chair and decided everyone else should become respectable.”
“You were given businesses worth hundreds of millions.”
“You gave me scraps.”
“I gave you the real-estate division.”
“You kept the name.”
Dante stared.
There it was.
Not money.
Identity.
“You used my restaurants.”
Gabriel shrugged.
“Frankie did.”
“You authorized him.”
“Yes.”
“Lombardi’s?”
“Yes.”
“Vinny?”
“Useful idiot.”
“And Thomas Mitchell?”
Gabriel’s expression changed slightly.
“Who?”
Dante saw the lie.
“Sonia’s father.”
“Oh.”
Gabriel smiled.
“The waitress.”
Dante stood.
Gabriel immediately raised one hand.
“Sit down.”
“Do not say her name.”
“Interesting.”
Dante remained standing.
Gabriel studied him.
“You care about her.”
“No.”
“Liar.”
Dante sat because violence inside a church would prove Gabriel’s point.
Gabriel continued.
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Find wounded things.”
Dante’s face hardened.
“Matteo.”
There.
The dead brother.
Gabriel smiled without warmth.
“You turned Matteo into your excuse for everything.”
“You were the one who brought him to that club.”
“And you were the one who let the pills remain.”
Both men went still.
Old grief.
Shared.
Poisonous.
Dante whispered, “Did you know those pills were counterfeit?”
Gabriel looked away.
That was enough.
Dante stood again.
“You knew.”
“I knew Frankie was experimenting with supply.”
“You knew.”
“I didn’t know Matteo would take one.”
“You knew.”
Gabriel exploded.
“So did you!”
His voice echoed through the church.
“You knew what our world was! You knew what Father built! You knew every club and warehouse ran because men cut corners, lied, bribed, stole. Then Matteo dies and suddenly you decide you’re a saint?”
“I never said that.”
“You cleaned enough businesses to make yourself look legitimate and left the rest of us carrying the filth.”
Dante stared at him.
“You could have left.”
Gabriel laughed bitterly.
“You think people like us leave?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
Silence.
Because Dante did not know.
Power.
Duty.
Fear.
Identity.
All of it.
Gabriel stood.
“The waitress changed you fast.”
“She changed nothing.”
“Then prove it.”
“How?”
“Walk away from her.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed.
Gabriel continued.
“Police already think Frankie died over internal Romano business. Let them think that. Drop the pharmacy investigation. Reopen the old channels. We split them fifty-fifty.”
Dante stared.
“And Sonia?”
“Nothing happens to her.”
“You expect me to trust you?”
“No.”
Gabriel smiled.
“But I expect you to understand economics.”
Dante laughed.
“The debt. The counterfeit medicine. Threatening her family. That was economics?”
“Yes.”
“You sound like Father.”
Gabriel’s smile vanished.
Dante leaned closer.
“That is not a compliment.”
He left.
That afternoon, Sonia learned pieces.
Not everything.
Enough.
“Your brother admitted the drug operation?”
“Yes.”
“To you.”
“Yes.”
“Was it recorded?”
Dante said nothing.
Sonia stared.
“Dante.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he checked me.”
“Then go back with a wire.”
“This isn’t television.”
“Neither was garbage steak, apparently.”
He sighed.
“They need admissible evidence.”
“Then help them get it.”
“I am.”
“Good.”
She looked toward Thomas sleeping.
“Did Gabriel threaten me?”
“Indirectly.”
“That means yes.”
“He offered to leave you alone if I stopped investigating.”
Sonia went still.
“And?”
Dante’s voice cooled.
“I told him no.”
She should have felt relieved.
Instead she felt afraid.
“You didn’t consider it?”
“No.”
“Not even for a second?”
“No.”
“That scares me.”
Dante frowned.
“Why?”
“Because what if stopping would actually make us safe?”
“It wouldn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because men who need leverage never throw it away.”
She looked at him.
“You know that from experience.”
“Yes.”
“What would make us safe?”
Dante’s answer came quietly.
“Ending the network.”
“And your brother?”
“If he is part of it, he goes down with it.”
She studied him.
“You mean prison.”
“Yes.”
“Not dead.”
“No.”
“Good.”
The word mattered.
More than either admitted.
That evening, Sonia cooked dinner at Thomas’s apartment.
Pasta.
Cheap sauce.
Garlic bread.
Dante unexpectedly stayed.
He sat at the small kitchen table beside Emma.
Thomas looked amused.
“This is better than television.”
Sonia pointed a spoon at him.
“Eat.”
Dante looked at the plate.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You look suspicious.”
“I’m not used to people serving me food at home.”
Emma stared.
“You’re a billionaire.”
“Exactly.”
“Don’t billionaires have kitchens?”
“Yes.”
Sonia sat.
“Does nobody cook for you?”
“Staff.”
“That is not what she asked,” Thomas said.
Dante looked at him.
“You two are alike.”
“Unfortunately,” Sonia said.
Thomas smiled.
“My wife cooked.”
Dante’s expression changed.
Sonia noticed.
“What?”
“My mother did too.”
For a moment, the kitchen became quieter.
Thomas lifted his fork.
“What happened to her?”
“Cancer.”
Thomas nodded.
No pity.
Just recognition.
“What kind?”
“Ovarian.”
“When?”
“Eight years ago.”
“Did you take care of her?”
“As much as she allowed.”
Thomas smiled weakly.
“Women are difficult patients.”
Sonia and Emma both stared.
He raised both hands.
“Men are worse.”
Dinner softened something.
Dante laughed twice.
Emma interrogated him about whether mafia families actually had “sit-downs.”
Thomas asked whether he could get Knicks tickets.
Sonia threw a napkin at him.
For two hours, the war disappeared.
When Dante left, Sonia walked him downstairs.
“You liked them.”
“Your family?”
“Yes.”
“They’re loud.”
“That means yes.”
He looked at her.
“You were different upstairs.”
“Different how?”
“You smiled.”
“I smile.”
“Not like that.”
Sonia’s pulse changed.
“That sounds dangerously close to flirting.”
“Maybe.”
“You’re bad at it.”
“I’m rusty.”
“Because mafia bosses don’t date?”
“Because people usually know who I am before they meet me.”
“And that ruins things?”
“It changes them.”
Sonia understood.
Everyone wanted something from powerful men.
Money.
Access.
Protection.
Status.
“I thought you were homeless.”
“You did.”
“And I still hated you a little.”
“I remember.”
“That must be refreshing.”
“It is.”
They stood too close.
Then a motorcycle accelerated down the block.
Dante reacted instantly.
He pulled Sonia behind him.
The rider raised one arm.
Dante shoved Sonia to the ground.
A gunshot cracked.
The apartment window shattered above them.
Sonia screamed.
Dante covered her body with his.
Another shot.
Then tires.
Silence.
Dante lifted his head.
Blood ran down his shoulder.
Sonia froze.
“You’re hit.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“Graze.”
Upstairs, Emma screamed Sonia’s name.
Dante grabbed her face gently.
“Look at me.”
She did.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
His eyes closed for half a second.
Relief.
Then rage.
Not at her.
For her.
Police sirens began in the distance.
Dante looked toward the road.
Gabriel’s promise echoed in his mind.
Walk away from her.
May you like
The bullet had delivered a different message.
Too late.
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