Chapter 5 - THE DEAD MAN'S LEDGER
I did not answer Lorenzo's message.
Replying would have told him too much.
Instead, I stared at the photograph of the burning house until one fact became impossible to ignore.
Someone had known where we were.
Gabriel read my face.
“You think one of us leaked it.”
“I think possibilities are dangerous until eliminated.”
Beatrice recoiled.
“You think I told someone?”
“I think you carried a phone.”
She immediately removed it.
Marco took it.
Gabriel did the same.
Neither device showed outgoing messages, but that proved nothing.
Tracking software could be installed without leaving obvious evidence.
Marco looked at me.
“Your coat.”
I understood.
He scanned it with a handheld detector from his emergency kit.
Nothing.
Then Beatrice's purse.
Nothing.
Gabriel's shoes.
Nothing.
Finally, the brass key.
The detector chirped.
We all stared.
Marco examined the key.
A tiny black object had been pressed beneath a ridge in the metal.
A tracker.
Beatrice whispered, “I kept that key in my room.”
“At my mansion,” I said.
She looked horrified.
Someone had entered her room.
Gabriel folded his arms.
“Lorenzo?”
“Maybe.”
“Still protecting him?”
“Still requiring evidence.”
Gabriel shook his head.
“You always needed the knife in your chest before believing someone meant to stab you.”
“And you always assumed everyone carried a knife.”
“Looks like I was right.”
Beatrice interrupted.
“The notebook.”
We turned.
Patrick's notebook contained enough information to reopen a dozen old wounds.
Names.
Payments.
Addresses.
But halfway through, the handwriting changed.
The later entries were not Patrick's.
They were my mother's.
I recognized her script immediately.
Elegant.
Precise.
The same handwriting that had labeled my school lunches when I was a boy.
Elena Vale had continued Patrick's record after his murder.
JANUARY 8.
Salvatore believes Gabriel died from his injuries. Good.
JANUARY 11.
Moved Gabriel to Wisconsin under new identity.
JANUARY 22.
Roman asking questions. Carlo forbids me to tell him.
My jaw tightened.
My father had known.
Maybe not before the attack.
But afterward.
Gabriel read over my shoulder.
“Keep going.”
FEBRUARY 3.
Carlo says Roman is too young and too angry. If he learns Gabriel survived, he will start a war we cannot win.
FEBRUARY 19.
Lorenzo spending more time with Roman.
FEBRUARY 21.
I do not trust him.
I stopped.
Gabriel said nothing.
I continued.
MARCH 2.
Salvatore's men discovered the Wisconsin location. We moved Gabriel again.
MARCH 6.
Gabriel suffered another head injury during escape.
That explained the missing memories.
MARCH 15.
New location arranged through Sister Catherine in Minnesota.
Then, six months later:
GABRIEL DISAPPEARED.
My brother took the notebook.
“What?”
He read the entry himself.
SEPTEMBER 4.
Sister Catherine says Gabriel left during the night. He believed remaining near anyone would get them killed. No contact since.
My mother had not abandoned him.
She had lost him.
Gabriel sat down.
“I left.”
“You don't remember?”
“Pieces.”
“Why didn't you come home?”
“I remember seeing newspaper articles.”
“What articles?”
“You.”
He looked at me.
“You were already rising inside the organization. Father had put you beside Lorenzo.”
I suddenly understood.
Gabriel had thought I was part of it.
“I thought you chose them.”
The words hurt more than I expected.
“I was nineteen.”
“You were carrying Dad's ring.”
“I was trying to survive.”
“So was I.”
Beatrice quietly closed the notebook.
“You were both children.”
Gabriel laughed.
“In our family, childhood ended around twelve.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A distorted voice spoke.
“Mr. Vale.”
“Who is this?”
“You opened the box.”
Not a question.
I looked at the tracker.
“Yes.”
“Then you know enough to understand you are in danger.”
“Who are you?”
“Someone your mother trusted.”
My pulse changed.
“Prove it.”
“Your mother kept a blue music box beneath the loose floorboard in her bedroom.”
Nobody knew that.
Not even Gabriel.
I had found it after she died.
Inside were childhood photographs and letters.
“What do you want?”
“To meet.”
“Where?”
“You don't choose.”
“I always choose.”
“Not this time.”
The caller gave an address.
A closed funeral home on the West Side.
Midnight.
Then disconnected.
Gabriel watched me.
“Trap.”
“Obviously.”
“So we're going?”
“Obviously.”
Beatrice stared at both of us.
“You really are brothers.”
At eleven fifty-seven that night, Gabriel and I entered the funeral home through separate doors.
Marco positioned men two blocks away.
No one else knew.
The building had been closed for six years.
Rows of empty viewing rooms smelled faintly of dust and chemicals.
A single light burned in the chapel.
An elderly woman sat in the front pew.
White hair.
Black coat.
Cane resting between her knees.
She turned.
Gabriel stopped breathing.
“Sister Catherine?”
The woman smiled.
“You got old.”
Gabriel crossed the room and dropped to his knees beside her.
She touched his face.
“So did you.”
I stayed standing.
“You called me?”
“Yes.”
“You knew my mother?”
“Very well.”
“Then tell me why she lied to me.”
Sister Catherine's expression became sad.
“She didn't.”
“She let me bury my brother.”
“She kept you alive.”
“I didn't need protection.”
“You were nineteen and surrounded by Salvatore's people.”
“I had my father.”
“Your father was the reason she was afraid.”
Gabriel looked at her.
“Carlo ordered the hit?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Sister Catherine looked toward the dark doorway.
“Carlo discovered Salvatore's betrayal too late. By then, Salvatore controlled police officers, judges, accountants, soldiers, even members of your father's security.”
“Why not kill him?”
“Because Salvatore had insurance.”
“What kind?”
“Evidence.”
“Of what?”
“Every crime Carlo had ever committed.”
That did not surprise me.
“What did he want?”
“Succession.”
My eyes narrowed.
Sister Catherine continued.
“Gabriel was meant to inherit the organization.”
Gabriel looked disgusted.
“I never wanted it.”
“Exactly.”
She pointed at me.
“You did.”
That landed harder.
At nineteen, I had wanted my father's approval more than anything.
Salvatore knew it.
“Salvatore believed Roman could be controlled,” she said. “Gabriel could not.”
Gabriel looked toward me.
“The voice.”
“What?”
“At the warehouse.”
His face changed.
“I remember.”
Sister Catherine waited.
Gabriel closed his eyes.
“The older man wasn't Dad.”
“Who?”
“My uncle.”
“Salvatore?”
“Yes.”
His eyes opened.
“He told Lorenzo, ‘Once Gabriel is gone, Roman will spend the rest of his life trying to become what Carlo wants. And while he's looking at his father, he'll never see us.’”
The room went silent.
For twelve years, Lorenzo had been beside me.
Advising me.
Protecting me.
Filtering information.
Whispering which men were loyal and which were dangerous.
How many enemies had truly been enemies?
How many friends had I buried because Lorenzo told me they had betrayed me?
The thought sickened me.
Sister Catherine reached inside her coat.
“Your mother discovered something else before she died.”
She handed me an envelope.
“What?”
“Patrick's notebook was only part of the record.”
Inside was a list of corporations.
Some I recognized.
One appeared dozens of times.
Northstar Relief Foundation.
A charity my organization had donated millions to.
Lorenzo ran it.
Gabriel looked over my shoulder.
“What is this?”
“Money.”
Sister Catherine shook her head.
“People.”
Beatrice, standing near the rear door, went pale.
“What do you mean?”
“Salvatore and Lorenzo used Vale shipping companies to move more than weapons and cash.”
My stomach turned.
I knew instantly what she meant.
“No.”
Sister Catherine's face hardened.
“Your empire funded it, Roman.”
“I never authorized—”
“Does that matter to the victims?”
I had no answer.
She leaned closer.
“Your brother discovered the accounting discrepancies because he was about to discover them.”
Gabriel whispered, “That's why they tried to kill me.”
“Yes.”
A floorboard creaked behind us.
I drew.
Gabriel turned.
The chapel lights went out.
Gunfire shattered the stained glass.
I hit the floor.
Gabriel dragged Sister Catherine behind a pew.
Beatrice screamed.
More shots.
Marco's men returned fire from outside.
A figure rushed through the side aisle.
I fired once.
He dropped.
Another man ran.
Gabriel tackled him.
I reached them first.
The attacker wore a black ski mask.
I ripped it away.
I knew him.
Anthony Rizzo.
One of Lorenzo's personal security men.
He smiled through bloody teeth.
“Boss.”
My gun pressed against his chest.
“Who sent you?”
He laughed.
“You already know.”
“Say it.”
His eyes moved toward Gabriel.
Then back to me.
“You should have left the dead buried.”
A shot cracked from outside.
The window behind us exploded.
Anthony's body jerked.
A bullet had entered the back of his head.
Someone had silenced him.
Gabriel looked toward the broken window.
“They don't want witnesses.”
Sister Catherine grabbed my sleeve.
“Roman.”
I turned.
Her coat was darkening.
Blood.
She had been hit.
Gabriel caught her.
“No.”
She pressed something into my hand.
A small flash drive.
“Your mother…”
Her breathing became shallow.
“Your mother recorded everything.”
“Where?”
Sister Catherine looked at me.
“Trust the maid.”
Then her eyes shifted toward Beatrice.
“And whatever happens…”
She struggled for breath.
“…do not let Lorenzo take her.”
The chapel door burst open.
Marco entered.
“Boss!”
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed instantly.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“It's the mansion.”
My pulse stopped.
“Lorenzo?”
Marco swallowed.
“He's gone.”
May you like
I looked at Beatrice.
“And he took every file from your private office with him.”
