Chapter 8 - What Survives the Fire
Fire climbed faster than fear.
Smoke filled the executive floor.
Sprinklers activated, but the west corridor was already burning.
Roman grabbed my hand.
"Stairs."
Michael was on his feet, bruised beneath the vest but alive.
Federal agents moved the board members toward the emergency exit.
Then a scream came from the conference room.
An older woman had fallen.
Smoke rolled over her.
I turned back.
Roman caught me.
"Norah."
"She can't get up."
He looked once.
Then released my hand.
"Stay behind me."
We went back together.
The woman was seventy, maybe older.
Roman lifted her.
I covered her face with my jacket.
We made it to the stairwell seconds before glass shattered behind us.
By the time we reached the lobby, fire crews were entering.
Salvatore was gone.
Again.
But the evidence wasn't.
Michael had copied the memory card to federal servers before coming to headquarters.
Salvatore had burned a building for nothing.
Roman stood across the street watching flames consume his father's office.
His expression was unreadable.
"Thirty years," Luca said beside him.
Roman shook his head.
"No."
"What?"
"Thirty years of people thinking that building was power."
He looked toward me.
"It's just a building."
That night, federal raids began across Chicago.
Judge Price's daughter was arrested before midnight.
Three detectives were suspended.
Two businessmen fled.
Vincent Bellucci turned himself in with a lawyer and offered cooperation.
Salvatore remained missing.
Roman did something no one expected.
He called a press conference.
I watched from the back of a ballroom at one of his hotels.
Cameras filled the room.
Roman stepped to the podium.
"My name is Roman Bellucci."
Every microphone moved closer.
"For years, businesses associated with my family participated in illegal activity."
Reporters shouted.
Roman raised a hand.
"I am not here to deny what can be proven."
Silence.
"I am here to say that Bellucci Development will cooperate fully with federal authorities. Effective immediately, every company under my control will submit to independent forensic review."
A reporter yelled, "Are you admitting criminal conduct?"
Roman looked directly at the cameras.
"I'm admitting responsibility for what happened under my name."
Another voice.
"Are you stepping down?"
"Yes."
The room exploded.
I stared.
He had not told me.
Roman continued.
"I will remain only long enough to transfer legitimate operations to an independent board."
"What about the allegations against your father?"
Roman's expression tightened.
"They will be answered by evidence."
"Is your brother alive?"
The question silenced the room.
Roman paused.
"That is a private matter."
"Was Gabriel Bellucci kidnapped?"
Roman looked toward Michael standing at the side wall.
Then toward me.
"Yes."
Gasps.
"By Salvatore Bellucci?"
"The investigation will determine criminal responsibility."
He stepped away from the podium.
Reporters screamed questions.
Roman ignored them.
When he reached me, I folded my arms.
"You resigned."
"Yes."
"You didn't tell me."
"I decided ten minutes before."
"Why?"
He looked toward the podium.
"Because I heard my father's voice in my head telling me the name mattered more than the truth."
"And?"
"I realized I was tired of obeying dead men."
I smiled.
Then his phone rang.
We both looked at it.
Neither of us liked phones anymore.
Roman answered.
His expression changed.
"What?"
He listened.
Then handed the phone to me.
Clarence's voice came through.
"Kid."
I nearly cried.
"Clarence."
"Don't get dramatic. Nurse says my blood pressure goes up."
"You're impossible."
"Always have been."
"How are you?"
"Still ugly."
I laughed.
Then he went quiet.
"Norah, someone came to see me."
My smile disappeared.
"Who?"
"Salvatore."
Roman took the phone.
"Where is he?"
"Gone."
"Are you hurt?"
"No. He wanted a message delivered."
Roman's jaw tightened.
"What message?"
Clarence said, "He wants Norah at the diner at midnight."
Roman looked at me.
"No."
I held out my hand for the phone.
He ignored me.
"What does he want?"
"Thomas's original evidence."
"We have it."
"He doesn't believe the card is all of it."
"Is it?"
Silence.
Roman closed his eyes.
"Clarence."
"There is one more piece."
Of course there was.
"What?"
"A recording Thomas made the night before he died."
I took the phone.
"Where?"
Clarence sighed.
"In the diner."
I stared.
"Where in the diner?"
"Under the counter."
I thought of every shift I had worked.
Every coffee I had poured.
Every time I had leaned against that counter.
"There is a false bottom beneath the third drawer," Clarence said. "Thomas hid a microcassette there."
"What is on it?"
"Carlo Bellucci confessing."
Roman went still.
"To what?" I asked.
"Ordering the poisoning of Roman's mother."
The room seemed to shrink.
"And Salvatore knows?"
"He knows Thomas recorded something. Never knew where."
"Until now."
"Until he followed the pieces."
Roman ended the call.
"We are not going."
I looked at him.
"Yes, we are."
"Norah."
"He wants the tape."
"He wants you."
"Then we'll give him both."
Roman stared.
"No."
I stepped closer.
"How many people get hurt while Salvatore keeps running?"
"That's not your responsibility."
"My father died because he tried to stop him."
"Which is exactly why—"
"No."
My voice cracked.
Roman stopped.
"I have spent six years thinking Dad fell asleep behind the wheel."
Tears burned my eyes.
"I blamed him. Do you understand that? I was angry at him for leaving me because I thought he was tired and careless."
Roman's face softened.
"Norah."
"I need this finished."
He reached for me.
I let him.
For a minute, I stood against his chest.
Then he said quietly, "We do it my way."
I wiped my eyes.
"Your way usually involves twelve armed men."
"Twenty."
I laughed despite myself.
At 11:58 p.m., Hayes Diner looked exactly as it had the day before.
Except for the bullet marks.
And the shattered front window.
And the twenty armed men hidden around the block.
Roman hated that I went inside alone.
Salvatore had demanded it.
The microcassette sat in my apron pocket.
I stood behind the counter.
Midnight.
The door opened.
Salvatore Bellucci entered.
No mask.
No gun visible.
Just the wolf ring.
He sat on a stool.
"Coffee."
I stared at him.
"Seriously?"
"Your father made terrible coffee too."
I poured anyway.
My hands were steady.
He watched.
"You look like him."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It wasn't."
"I'll take it anyway."
Salvatore smiled.
"Roman likes you."
"Roman has questionable judgment."
"He always did."
"Give me one reason I shouldn't walk out."
"Because your father begged before he died."
My hand froze.
Salvatore smiled.
That was his mistake.
He wanted pain.
He wanted reaction.
Instead I leaned closer.
"You're lying."
"Am I?"
"My father knew men like you."
"Men like me?"
"Cowards who need people to know they have power."
His smile faded.
"He wouldn't have given you the satisfaction."
Salvatore stood.
"Give me the tape."
I reached into my apron.
Then the diner lights went out.
Gunfire erupted outside.
Salvatore smiled.
"You thought Roman was the only one who could bring soldiers?"
The front window shattered.
I dropped behind the counter.
Salvatore lunged over it.
I crawled backward.
He caught my ankle.
I kicked hard.
He cursed.
The microcassette slid across the floor.
Salvatore reached.
A shot exploded.
The cassette shattered.
He stared.
I stared.
Then Roman's voice came from the kitchen doorway.
"That was a copy."
Salvatore turned.
Roman held a pistol.
The real tape rested in his other hand.
Salvatore laughed.
"Still dramatic."
Roman's face was cold.
"You taught the family drama."
Salvatore pulled a gun from beneath his jacket.
He pointed it at me.
Roman froze.
"Drop yours."
Roman did.
The weapon hit the tile.
Salvatore grabbed me and pressed the barrel beneath my jaw.
"All this for a waitress."
Roman's eyes met mine.
I remembered the first robbery.
The trembling shotgun.
My own words.
Your finger is on the trigger.
Salvatore's grip was tight.
Too tight.
His wrist angled inward.
I shifted my weight.
"Norah," Roman warned.
I drove my heel down on Salvatore's foot and twisted.
The gun fired into the ceiling.
Roman moved.
He hit Salvatore before I reached the floor.
They crashed into a table.
Salvatore was older.
Roman was faster.
But Salvatore had a knife.
The blade flashed.
Roman jerked back.
Blood appeared along his side.
"No!"
I grabbed the nearest thing.
A coffee pot.
I smashed it across Salvatore's wrist.
The knife fell.
Roman struck him once.
Twice.
Then stopped.
Salvatore lay bleeding on the floor.
Roman stood over him.
He could have killed him.
Everyone in the room knew it.
Salvatore laughed through blood.
"Do it."
Roman looked at him.
"That's what my father would have done."
He stepped back.
Sirens approached.
Roman picked up the knife and kicked it away.
"I'm done becoming him."
Federal agents entered seconds later.
Michael was with them.
He handcuffed Salvatore personally.
As they lifted him, Salvatore looked at me.
"This isn't over."
Michael tightened the cuffs.
"For you, it is."
Roman leaned against the counter.
I saw the blood soaking his shirt.
My stomach dropped.
"Roman."
He looked down.
Then at me.
"That's inconvenient."
May you like
I nearly screamed.
Instead I caught him as his knees buckled.
