Chapter 2 - The Name That Made the Mafia Boss Afraid|
Dominic Russo had never been afraid of a name.
At least, that was what I believed until I said Vincent's.
The color drained from his face so quickly that even Leo stopped smiling.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Dominic looked toward the three men standing against the wall.
"Get out."
Leo frowned. "Boss—"
"Now."
They left without another word.
The door closed behind them.
Dominic stared at the leather ledger lying between us.
"Say that name again."
"Vincent."
"Vincent who?"
I swallowed.
"Vincent Russo."
His younger brother.
The man Dominic had buried eleven years ago.
Dominic's fingers curled against the edge of his desk.
"Don't play games with me, Mia."
"I'm not."
"My brother is dead."
"Then someone should explain why he was sitting across from me at Gabriel Bianchi's estate last night."
Dominic stepped backward.
For a moment, he looked like a man who had forgotten how to breathe.
Eleven years earlier, Vincent Russo had supposedly died in a warehouse fire on the Brooklyn waterfront.
Dominic had told me the story once.
Only once.
We'd been lying in bed during a thunderstorm, and I'd asked about the small silver cross he kept inside his bedside drawer.
He'd said it belonged to his brother.
Then he'd turned away.
I never asked again.
Now I understood why.
"You're lying," Dominic whispered.
I reached into my coat pocket.
My fingers closed around a small silver object.
I placed it on the desk.
A watch.
Old.
Scratched.
Its glass cracked across the number seven.
Dominic stared.
I watched recognition strike him.
"Vincent gave me that," I said. "He told me you bought it for his eighteenth birthday."
Dominic picked it up.
His hands trembled.
He opened the back.
Inside, engraved in tiny letters, were four words.
Brothers until the end.
Dominic sank into his chair.
"No."
"He told me you'd recognize it."
"Where is he?"
"Somewhere Gabriel believes is safe."
Dominic looked up sharply.
"Gabriel Bianchi doesn't keep people safe. He keeps them useful."
"Then you should ask why your brother trusted him enough to stay there."
Dominic slammed the watch onto the desk.
"Because Vincent is dead!"
I flinched.
He saw it.
His expression shifted.
For eight months, I had watched Dominic command rooms with a raised eyebrow. He had never needed to shout to frighten people.
But this morning, he was losing control.
And I was finally understanding how dangerous that could be.
I took a breath.
"Vincent told me about the warehouse."
Dominic went silent.
"He said the fire wasn't an accident."
A muscle jumped in Dominic's jaw.
"He said someone locked the exits before it started."
Dominic stared at me.
Then he whispered, "Stop."
"He said he heard your voice outside."
Dominic stood so abruptly that his chair struck the wall.
"I SAID STOP!"
I backed away.
His eyes widened when he realized what he'd done.
"Mia—"
"No."
My voice cracked.
"You don't get to terrify me every time the truth makes you uncomfortable."
He looked down.
For once, he didn't have an answer.
I continued.
"Vincent said he waited for you. He heard someone outside the warehouse shouting his name. Then the roof collapsed."
Dominic's face twisted.
"I went back."
The words were barely audible.
"What?"
"I went back for him."
He stared at the wall as if the past had appeared there.
"The building was burning. My father ordered everyone away. I thought Vincent was already dead."
I watched his hands shake.
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I spent eleven years believing I killed my brother."
Silence filled the office.
For the first time, I saw something behind Dominic's anger.
Guilt.
Old and poisonous.
He looked at the ledger.
"Why did Vincent give you this?"
"Because someone inside your organization is stealing money and selling information to federal investigators."
Dominic frowned.
"I know there's a leak."
"No, Dominic. You don't understand."
I opened the ledger to a page marked with a red ribbon.
The entries appeared ordinary at first.
Dates.
Transfers.
Accounts.
But near the bottom was a signature.
Dominic leaned closer.
His expression changed.
"That's impossible."
I looked at him.
"Recognize it?"
He nodded slowly.
The signature belonged to Anthony Russo.
Dominic's father.
The man who had died five years ago.
Except the entry was dated three weeks earlier.
Dominic stared at the page.
Then he looked up at me.
"Who wrote this?"
"Vincent says your father did."
"My father is dead."
I swallowed.
"That's what Vincent said about himself."
Before Dominic could answer, his phone rang.
Marco, his chief of security.
Dominic answered.
"What?"
I watched his expression harden.
"Where?"
A pause.
Then he looked directly at me.
"Are you certain?"
He ended the call.
"What happened?" I asked.
Dominic walked toward the window.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he turned.
"Gabriel Bianchi's estate was attacked twenty minutes ago."
My stomach dropped.
"Vincent?"
Dominic's voice became quiet.
"Gabriel's men found three bodies."
"Was Vincent one of them?"
Dominic looked at the watch in his hand.
"They haven't identified the bodies yet."
I grabbed my bag.
"Then we need to go."
Dominic blocked the doorway.
"No."
I stared at him.
"Move."
"Mia, you're not going anywhere near that estate."
I looked directly into his eyes.
"Your brother trusted me with the truth. I'm not abandoning him because you're afraid."
Dominic's jaw tightened.
Then his phone buzzed again.
A photograph appeared on the screen.
He stared at it.
And suddenly, the man who ruled half of Manhattan looked as though the ground had vanished beneath him.
"What is it?" I whispered.
He turned the phone toward me.
The photograph showed a man standing outside Gabriel's burning estate.
Silver hair.
Dark suit.
A familiar face.
Dominic's father.
May you like
Anthony Russo.
Alive.
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