Chapter 2 - The Man I Trusted Had Been Lying to Me
By midnight, Café Nate had been emptied.
No civilians.
No witnesses.
No unnecessary bodies.
I sat in the private office upstairs with Elena asleep on the couch, Bruno curled at her feet, and a single photograph lying on my desk.
Adrian.
My little brother.
Twenty-six years old.
Smiling.
Alive.
The photograph had been taken three days before his supposed death.
I had seen the official evidence.
The burned vehicle.
The body recovered from the wreckage.
The dental records.
The DNA.
The funeral.
I had stood beside his coffin.
I remembered the weight in my chest.
I remembered my mother screaming.
I remembered swearing that every man responsible would die.
Yet Elena had said something impossible.
My brother was alive when they buried him.
Someone had lied.
Someone had controlled the evidence.
Someone had controlled me.
And now Claire O’Shea was missing because she apparently knew the truth.
My office door opened.
Enzo walked in.
“Vittorio?”
“Locked downstairs.”
“Did he confess?”
“No.”
“Did he deny it?”
“Over and over.”
I looked at the photograph.
“What do we know about Claire?”
Enzo placed a file on my desk.
“Claire O’Shea. Thirty-two years old. Bookkeeper at a private logistics company. No criminal history. No known ties to any family.”
“Any family?”
“None.”
“Then why would my people know her?”
“They shouldn’t.”
I opened the file.
Her photograph stared back at me.
Tired eyes.
Brown hair.
The face of a woman who looked ordinary.
Ordinary people didn’t usually become the center of wars.
“What did she do?”
Enzo hesitated.
“Two weeks ago, she accessed a restricted financial archive.”
“What archive?”
“One of the shell companies connected to your eastern warehouses.”
I looked up.
“My warehouses?”
“Yes.”
“Who gave her access?”
“The authorization code belonged to Vittorio.”
Silence.
I leaned back.
“How much money?”
“Sixteen million dollars moved over eight months.”
“Where?”
“Accounts in three states. Then offshore.”
“Whose money?”
“We don't know yet.”
I closed the file.
“That’s why she disappeared.”
Enzo nodded.
“She found something.”
“No.”
I looked toward the couch.
Elena was sleeping with one arm around Bruno.
“She found something someone was willing to kill over.”
A noise came from the stairwell.
Two guards entered.
One nodded.
“Boss. Vittorio wants to speak.”
“Bring him.”
He came in without handcuffs.
That irritated me.
Vittorio noticed.
“I told them not to chain me.”
“Why?”
“Because if you decide I’m guilty, restraints won’t save me.”
He took the chair opposite me.
“You kidnapped a woman.”
“No.”
“You threatened her daughter.”
“No.”
“You were seen at her apartment.”
“No.”
“You had access to her records.”
“Yes.”
“Sixteen million dollars moved through accounts you controlled.”
His jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“Then give me one good reason I shouldn’t shoot you.”
He looked at me for several seconds.
“Because I didn’t steal the money.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know.”
I laughed once.
There was nothing funny about it.
“You expect me to believe you?”
“No.”
“Then what do you expect?”
“That you investigate before you execute me.”
I stared at him.
Vittorio leaned forward.
“The reason I was at Claire’s apartment was because I was trying to protect her.”
“From whom?”
He said nothing.
“Vittorio.”
“From people inside your organization.”
My hand froze on the desk.
“Names.”
“I don’t have proof.”
“Names.”
He looked toward the closed door.
“Not here.”
I stood.
“Enzo, leave us.”
Enzo hesitated.
“Now.”
The door closed.
Vittorio lowered his voice.
“Six months ago, Adrian contacted me.”
Everything stopped.
I could barely hear him.
“My brother?”
“Yes.”
“That’s impossible.”
“He was alive.”
I walked around the desk.
“When?”
“Six months before his funeral.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because he made me promise.”
“Why?”
“Because he said you were being watched.”
I slammed both hands on the desk.
“You had six years.”
“He told me not to trust anyone.”
“You included?”
“He said especially people around you.”
My breathing grew heavier.
“What happened to him?”
“I don’t know.”
“You saw him?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Six years ago.”
“Where?”
“St. Jude’s warehouse.”
I stared at him.
Adrian had supposedly died outside the city.
“Why didn’t you bring him to me?”
“Because someone would have killed him before I reached you.”
“You decided for me.”
“I decided to keep him alive.”
“You let me bury a stranger.”
Vittorio looked down.
That was the first time I saw shame.
“You buried a man whose identity was never publicly released.”
I thought of the funeral.
The sealed coffin.
The private service.
The doctor’s report.
The papers.
Everything.
Vittorio continued.
“Adrian told me he had discovered something about the families.”
“What?”
“He found evidence that someone inside your organization was selling routes, names, and schedules.”
“To whom?”
“To someone who didn’t belong to any family.”
I went still.
“What does that mean?”
“It means the war was being manufactured.”
I looked toward Elena.
Her mother had found the same thing.
“Claire?”
“She found the financial side.”
“The blue book?”
Vittorio nodded.
“She had records.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who kidnapped her?”
He looked at me.
“I think the person who killed Adrian.”
The room seemed suddenly colder.
“Who?”
“I never learned his name.”
“Then why are you so sure?”
“Because Adrian left me a message.”
“What message?”
Vittorio reached inside his coat and pulled out an old key.
It was small.
Brass.
A number stamped into it.
“He told me if anything happened to him, I should give this to you only when Claire disappeared.”
I took the key.
“Why now?”
“Because someone already knows you have Elena.”
My eyes narrowed.
“How?”
Vittorio glanced toward the window.
“Because the first attack at the café wasn’t intended to kill you.”
“What was it intended to do?”
“To frighten you into moving Elena.”
“And then?”
“The second team would take her.”
I felt something cold move through me.
“Where?”
“Somewhere they could force Claire to reveal the ledger.”
I looked down at the key.
“Where is 417?”
“I don't know.”
Enzo burst through the door.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“Police just found a body.”
“Claire?”
“No.”
He placed his phone on the desk.
A photograph appeared.
A woman.
Red hair.
Dead.
Elena woke on the couch.
“Mommy?”
My chest tightened.
She ran toward me.
I caught her before she reached the phone.
“No.”
She stared up.
“Did they find Mommy?”
“No.”
“Then why are you sad?”
I didn’t know how to answer.
She looked around.
“Where’s Mr. Vittorio?”
He stepped forward.
“I’m here.”
Elena shrank behind me.
Vittorio looked wounded.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You took Mommy.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
He looked at me.
I realized something.
Whatever happened next, Elena would remember it for the rest of her life.
So I crouched in front of her.
“People can lie.”
She nodded.
“And people can tell the truth.”
Another nod.
“My job is to figure out which is which.”
She looked at Vittorio.
“Are you bad?”
He answered before I could.
“Yes.”
I glanced at him.
He continued.
“I’ve done bad things.”
Elena stayed silent.
“But I didn't take your mother.”
She watched him for a long moment.
Then she said something nobody expected.
“Mommy said you were trying to save us.”
Vittorio's eyes closed.
“What did she say?”
“She said, ‘If you ever meet Mr. Vittorio, tell him I’m sorry.’”
He looked away.
I saw tears in his eyes.
Vittorio Bellini was a man who had stood over bodies without blinking.
Now a seven-year-old child had reduced him to silence.
I turned toward the key.
“Enzo.”
“Yes?”
“Find every location in the city with a room numbered 417.”
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
“And Vittorio?”
I looked at the man who had been my shadow for twelve years.
“Keep him alive.”
“For how long?”
“Until I know whether he betrayed me…”
May you like
I looked at the sleeping child.
“…or whether he was the only man who didn’t.”
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