Chapter 11 - THE RED LEDGER
Saint Michael Shipping had been abandoned for fifteen years.
My father once owned it through a legitimate freight company.
Or what counted as legitimate in our family.
We arrived five minutes after Isabella’s tracker stopped moving.
The building was dark.
Luca pointed toward an office.
“Basement.”
I looked at Daniel.
“Circle around.”
Then Luca and I entered.
He knew the halls.
Even after twelve years.
Muscle memory.
Trauma has its own map.
We found Isabella tied to a chair in the old dispatch room.
Alive.
Alone.
I rushed toward her.
She shook her head violently.
“Don't!”
Too late.
A red laser appeared on my chest.
Luca grabbed me.
Gunfire punched through the wall.
We dropped behind a steel desk.
Isabella screamed.
“Lorenzo's upstairs!”
I fired toward the catwalk.
Luca crawled to Isabella and cut her hands free.
“Where’s Vincent?”
“He left.”
“With the ledger?”
“No.”
Luca stopped.
“Then why?”
Isabella pointed toward the floor.
“He couldn't find it.”
Luca looked around.
His eyes settled on an old clock mounted crookedly above the door.
12:18.
Frozen.
The same time as the warehouse explosion.
His expression changed.
“Dad.”
He climbed onto the desk.
Pulled the clock from the wall.
Behind it was a key.
Luca began laughing.
“I remember.”
We ran downstairs.
The basement held old lockers.
Number 1218.
The key opened it.
Inside sat a red leather notebook wrapped in plastic.
Twelve years of death for something small enough to fit under my arm.
Luca touched it.
Then footsteps echoed behind us.
Lorenzo.
Gun raised.
Blood had soaked through the bandage over his shoulder.
“You've made this unnecessarily difficult.”
I stepped in front of Isabella.
“Drop it.”
“No.”
Lorenzo looked at the ledger.
“Hand it over.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
His face twisted.
“You got everything.”
“What?”
“The name. The house. The chair.”
“You were family.”
“I was furniture!”
His voice cracked.
“Always there. Always useful. Never chosen.”
I finally understood.
Vincent had found Lorenzo's weakness and fed it for years.
“You killed Luca because you felt ignored?”
“I tried to kill you.”
Isabella whispered, “You're pathetic.”
Lorenzo aimed at her.
I stepped closer.
“Don't.”
He smiled.
“You still think you're in charge.”
“No.”
I looked past him.
“You think Vincent is.”
Lorenzo hesitated.
I continued.
“Why isn't he here?”
His face shifted.
“Because he knew you'd lose.”
“Shut up.”
“He sent you to die.”
“Shut up!”
“Just like he sent you twelve years ago.”
I saw doubt.
Tiny.
But there.
Then Luca opened the ledger.
“Lorenzo.”
He read one page.
Then another.
His eyes widened.
“What?”
Luca looked at him.
“Vincent never planned to make you boss.”
Lorenzo laughed.
“You're lying.”
Luca turned the notebook around.
A handwritten line.
Lorenzo Vale useful until succession is secure. Remove afterward.
My father's handwriting.
Below it was a copied note in Vincent’s handwriting.
Lorenzo stared.
“No.”
I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
His phone rang.
Vincent.
Lorenzo answered.
“Vincent?”
A pause.
Then his face went white.
“What do you mean ‘clean it up’?”
Another pause.
Lorenzo looked at us.
Then whispered, “I'm still inside.”
His eyes widened.
May you like
He turned toward the window.
I heard the first explosion half a second later.
