Chapter 3 - The Man Who Knew My Father
Rain struck the shipping containers like handfuls of gravel.
Salvatore Russo stood beneath a dock light smiling at me as if we were being introduced at a wedding instead of meeting in the middle of an abandoned pier.
Derek remained six feet behind him.
I stared at the man Elias had spent six years suspecting.
He was sixty-three.
Silver-haired.
Elegant.
Calm.
The kind of man people trusted because he looked like someone who donated library wings to universities.
He had, in fact.
Twice.
“You knew my father,” I said.
Salvatore’s smile softened.
“Very well.”
Beside me, Elias spoke.
“Where’s the box?”
His uncle looked amused.
“Always business first.”
“You brought her abuser into this.”
Salvatore glanced at Derek.
“I brought a useful man.”
Derek flinched.
Useful.
Even he seemed to understand what that meant.
I looked at him.
“Did you know who I was when you met me?”
He didn’t answer.
“Derek.”
His jaw tightened.
“Not at first.”
Something inside me cracked.
“What does that mean?”
He shoved his hands into his jacket.
“I met you normally.”
“Normally?”
“At the coffee shop.”
I remembered.
A rainy morning.
He had offered me his umbrella.
We had laughed because both of us ordered the same terrible pumpkin drink.
For years, I had considered that memory proof there had once been something good between us.
“When did you find out?”
“A few months later.”
“How?”
Derek looked toward Salvatore.
That was enough.
I felt physically ill.
“You stayed with me because of him.”
“I stayed because I loved you.”
My laugh came out broken.
“You broke my wrist.”
“I lost control.”
“You threw me into a bathtub.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“No, you didn’t.”
His face hardened.
“You make everything impossible.”
There it was.
The familiar sentence.
The familiar logic.
But something had changed.
Maybe because Elias was beside me.
Maybe because Derek could no longer drag me home.
Or maybe because once you finally see a monster clearly, he becomes smaller.
“You chose every bruise,” I said.
Derek stared at me.
I had never spoken to him that way.
Salvatore sighed impatiently.
“Domestic theater is exhausting.”
Elias took one step forward.
“Give me the box.”
Salvatore’s smile disappeared.
“Your father failed because he was sentimental.”
“My father failed because he trusted you.”
“That too.”
My pulse hammered.
“So you killed him?”
Salvatore tilted his head.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Careful, girl.”
Elias’s body changed instantly.
Not visibly to most people.
I felt it.
The slight shift.
The readiness.
Salvatore noticed.
His smile returned.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“You care about her.”
Elias said nothing.
“That’s dangerous.”
“Only for you.”
Thunder rolled across the river.
Salvatore looked toward me.
“Your father made the same mistake. He believed protecting frightened women made him noble.”
I stepped forward despite Elias’s warning.
“My father tried to help Elias’s mother.”
“Yes.”
“So you killed him.”
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
I stopped.
Salvatore’s expression changed.
“For all Thomas’s faults, I liked him.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect nothing from you.”
“Then who killed him?”
Salvatore looked at Elias.
“Ask your father.”
“Vincent is dead,” Elias said.
“Yes.”
Something in Salvatore’s voice made Elias go still.
I saw it.
“You’re lying,” Elias said.
“About which part?”
“You told me Thomas died because he discovered your accounts.”
“I told you nothing of the sort.”
“You burned the warehouse.”
Salvatore laughed.
“Is that what Vincent told you?”
Elias didn’t answer.
His uncle stepped closer.
“You still don’t understand your father.”
“I understand enough.”
“No, you understand the version he gave you when death made him sentimental.”
Salvatore looked at me.
“Thomas Bennett was not murdered because he stole evidence from the Russo family.”
“Then why?”
“Because he planned to give it to the FBI.”
My stomach dropped.
Elias looked at him sharply.
“What?”
“Thomas was cooperating.”
“No,” I whispered.
Salvatore shrugged.
“Secret meetings. Recorded conversations. Shipping manifests.”
“My father wasn’t an informant.”
“He became one.”
“Why?”
His eyes turned cold.
“Because he discovered children inside a container.”
Everything stopped.
“What children?”
Elias’s voice had changed.
Salvatore studied him.
“You truly don’t know.”
“Know what?”
His uncle smiled without humor.
“That Vincent moved people.”
The rain seemed louder.
Human trafficking.
I understood before anyone said it.
Elias’s face went white with rage.
“My father never—”
“Your father did many things you cleaned up after he died.”
Salvatore’s voice hardened.
“Drugs. weapons. girls. Migrants who paid to enter the country and discovered their debt had no end.”
Elias looked sick.
“My mother would have known.”
“Your mother did know.”
That hit him harder.
I saw it.
Salvatore continued.
“She was leaving because of what Vincent had become. Thomas discovered the same operation and decided his conscience mattered more than loyalty.”
“Where were you?” Elias demanded.
“Trying to stop Vincent.”
“You expect me to believe you were the hero?”
“No.”
Salvatore smiled bitterly.
“There were no heroes.”
A metallic sound came from somewhere behind us.
Elias’s men reacted.
Weapons appeared.
Salvatore lifted both hands.
“Not mine.”
Then gunfire erupted.
The dock exploded into chaos.
Elias grabbed me and dragged me behind a container.
Bullets struck metal.
Sparks flew.
Someone screamed.
“Who the hell is shooting?” Elias shouted.
His men returned fire.
Salvatore and Derek disappeared behind another container.
I crouched beside Elias, ears ringing.
“This wasn’t your uncle?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because they’re shooting at him too.”
Footsteps approached.
Elias pushed me lower.
A man rounded the container.
Elias fired once.
The man fell.
I stared.
The reality of who Elias was crashed into me.
He looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
For what?
For shooting someone?
For me seeing it?
There was no time to ask.
His phone buzzed.
One of his men shouted through the earpiece.
“They’ve got Bennett’s sister.”
My heart stopped.
“Sophie?”
Elias grabbed his radio.
“Where?”
“Van on South Street.”
I stood.
“We have to go.”
“Khloe—”
“We have to go!”
We ran.
The next ten minutes became fragments.
Rain.
Sirens.
A black SUV.
Elias driving like the city belonged to him.
My hands shaking so hard I couldn’t buckle my seat belt.
His men tracking the van through traffic cameras.
South Street.
FDR Drive.
Queensboro Bridge.
The van stopped inside an abandoned garage in Long Island City.
Elias grabbed my face before we got out.
“Listen to me.”
“Sophie is in there.”
“I know.”
“I’m going inside.”
“No.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“Yes, I can.”
I glared at him.
He released me.
“Fine.”
That surprised me.
“But you stay with Marco.”
A dark-haired man nodded.
I hated it.
I accepted it.
We entered through the rear.
The garage smelled of oil and damp concrete.
Voices echoed.
I heard Sophie crying.
Every rational thought disappeared.
“Sophie!”
I ran.
“Khloe!” Elias shouted.
Too late.
I rounded a corner.
Derek stood beside a chair.
Sophie was tied to it.
Blood ran from her lip.
A gun pressed against her temple.
I stopped.
Derek looked wild.
Not controlled anymore.
Not charming.
His face was bleeding.
“Tell Russo to back off.”
Elias appeared behind me.
He raised his gun.
Derek pressed the weapon harder against Sophie.
“I said back off!”
Elias lowered his weapon slightly.
“Let her go.”
“You ruined everything.”
Derek looked at me.
“This is your fault.”
For years, those words had worked.
They had entered my body like commands.
This is your fault.
You made me angry.
You made me hit you.
You made me chase you.
Something was different now.
I looked at Sophie.
Then Derek.
“No.”
His expression twisted.
“What?”
“This isn’t my fault.”
“Khloe—”
“You chose this.”
“Shut up.”
“You chose every lie.”
“Stop.”
“Every bruise.”
His gun shifted toward me.
Exactly what Elias had been waiting for.
A shot cracked.
Derek screamed.
The gun flew from his hand.
Marco tackled him.
I ran to Sophie.
She collapsed into my arms.
I held her so tightly she complained she couldn’t breathe.
I didn’t care.
Elias stood over Derek.
His gun remained pointed downward.
Derek clutched his bleeding shoulder.
“You think you won?” he spat.
Elias looked at him.
“Yes.”
Derek laughed.
“You don’t even know who hired me.”
I froze.
Elias crouched.
“Salvatore?”
“No.”
“Who?”
Derek smiled through the pain.
“Your mother.”
Silence.
Elias stared at him.
“My mother is dead.”
May you like
Derek’s smile widened.
“Then somebody forgot to tell her.”
