Chapter 7 - The Mafia Boss Who Gave Up His Empire|
The federal building in Lower Manhattan was nothing like Dominic's penthouse.
There were no expensive paintings.
No marble fireplaces.
No armed men standing silently near the doors.
Just gray walls, bright lights, and people who didn't care how powerful the Russo name had once been.
I sat beside Rebecca Shaw while Assistant U.S. Attorney Whitmore placed several documents on the table.
"Miss Harrison, do you recognize this signature?"
I looked down.
My name.
Mia Harrison.
Written beneath a wire authorization.
"No."
Whitmore slid another page forward.
"And this?"
"No."
She studied me.
"The funds were transferred through accounts established under your identity."
"I didn't open them."
"Someone did."
Rebecca leaned forward.
"My client is willing to cooperate, but we need to establish whether these documents were forged."
Whitmore nodded.
"That's what we're investigating."
She placed a photograph on the table.
It showed a younger Michael Harrison entering a bank.
The timestamp was from twelve years earlier.
The day he supposedly died.
My stomach tightened.
"That's my father."
Whitmore watched me carefully.
"We believe he may have opened the original account."
I stared.
"Why?"
"We don't know."
The room went silent.
Then Whitmore spoke again.
"Dominic Russo has requested that you receive something."
My heart jumped.
"What?"
"A statement."
Rebecca frowned.
"Has he been advised by counsel?"
"Yes."
Whitmore opened a folder.
Inside was a handwritten letter.
I recognized Dominic's handwriting immediately.
Strong.
Precise.
Almost painfully controlled.
Mi amore,
If you're reading this, it means I failed to protect you from the one thing I should never have brought into your life: my family's secrets.
I knew the painting was connected to my father's business. I knew someone had been watching you. I told myself keeping you close was the safest choice.
But I confused protection with possession.
I watched you become quieter. I watched you stop arguing because you were tired of being questioned. And I let myself believe that meant you were happy.
You weren't.
I know that now.
Tears blurred the words.
I kept reading.
The money in your name wasn't placed there by you. I have given investigators records that may help prove it.
Whatever happens to me, I want you to leave this life behind.
Not because I don't love you.
Because I finally do.
Dominic.
I pressed the letter against my chest.
For eight months, I'd wanted Dominic to understand that love without freedom could become another kind of prison.
Now he seemed to understand.
But the timing felt unbearable.
Rebecca touched my arm.
"You don't have to decide anything today."
I nodded.
Outside the building, reporters crowded the sidewalk.
Questions flew toward me.
"Miss Harrison, are you involved with the Russo organization?"
"Is it true Dominic Russo transferred millions into your accounts?"
"Did you know Vincent Russo was alive?"
I kept walking.
Gabriel waited beside a dark sedan.
He opened the door.
"Get in."
I hesitated.
For months, I'd been told what to do by men who claimed they were protecting me.
Gabriel noticed.
"Or we can walk. Your choice."
I looked at him.
Then, despite everything, I smiled faintly.
"Car."
He nodded.
"Car it is."
As we drove north, Gabriel handed me a folder.
"What's this?"
"Your father's old employment records."
I opened it.
Michael Harrison had worked as an accountant for a private investment firm.
Before that, he'd been employed by Anthony Russo.
Then I saw something strange.
His employment ended the same month Dominic's brother supposedly died.
I looked up.
"Gabriel?"
"Yes?"
"Why did Vincent disappear after the warehouse fire?"
Gabriel's expression darkened.
"Because he knew who started it."
"Who?"
Gabriel hesitated.
"Anthony Russo ordered the building destroyed."
My stomach dropped.
"Why?"
"To eliminate evidence."
I stared at him.
"Then why did Vincent survive?"
"Someone helped him escape."
"Who?"
Gabriel looked at me.
"Michael Harrison."
My breath caught.
My father.
The man who had supposedly died a year earlier.
The man who had returned with secrets about Dominic.
He had saved Vincent.
But why?
Before I could ask, Gabriel's phone rang.
He answered.
Then his expression hardened.
"What do you mean?"
A pause.
"Check the cameras."
He ended the call.
"There's been a break-in at your apartment."
I froze.
"The one in Chelsea?"
"Yes."
I had kept it after moving into Dominic's penthouse.
A small place filled with books, old sweaters, and photographs of my childhood.
"Was anything taken?"
Gabriel looked grim.
"Only one thing."
"What?"
"The painting your father gave you."
I stared.
The painting was a small landscape.
A lake.
A wooden dock.
A woman standing beneath a tree.
It had hung above my childhood bed for as long as I could remember.
"Why would anyone steal that?"
Gabriel looked at me.
"Because it might be the only surviving piece of the original collection."
My heart pounded.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
Mia, the painting doesn't belong to you.
A second message appeared.
Neither does the name Harrison.
Then a third.
If you want to know who you really are, come to the place where Dominic's brother supposedly died.
I stared at the screen.
The Brooklyn waterfront warehouse.
May you like
The place that had burned eleven years ago.
The place where the Russo family's secrets began.
