Chapter 5 - BLOOD IN THE SNOW
I pulled Beatrice under the table as bullets tore through the diner windows.
People screamed.
Coffee cups shattered.
A waitress dropped behind the counter.
Another burst punched holes through the wall above us.
“Stay down!”
“I am down!”
I drew my pistol.
The shooter paused.
I rose just enough to fire three times through the broken glass.
The sedan accelerated.
Tires screamed.
Gone.
My ears rang.
Beatrice grabbed my sleeve.
“You're bleeding.”
A piece of glass had cut my cheek.
“Not mine.”
“It is absolutely yours.”
“Then I'm fine.”
The owner yelled for someone to call police.
I grabbed Beatrice.
“We're leaving.”
“What about everyone here?”
“My people will take care of it.”
“That sentence is exactly why I don't trust your people.”
Fair.
We exited through the kitchen.
My SUV was around back.
I drove three blocks before making a call.
Not Lorenzo.
Not Vincent.
My sister.
Isabella Vale answered immediately.
“Adrian?”
“Where are you?”
“Home.”
“Lock your doors.”
She went silent.
“What happened?”
“I need you to listen carefully.”
“Adrian—”
“Do you remember the night Luca died?”
She began crying before answering.
“Of course.”
“Did Dad ever say anything strange afterward?”
A long pause.
“Yes.”
I gripped the steering wheel.
“What?”
“He told Mom that the wrong son had been targeted.”
Every hair on my arms lifted.
“What?”
“I heard them arguing. I was sixteen.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because Dad saw me listening.”
Her voice shook.
“He made me swear.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“He said somebody inside the family was trying to destroy us.”
Beatrice watched me.
I whispered, “Who?”
“He didn't know.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
Isabella hesitated.
“Two weeks before Dad died, he gave Mom something.”
“What?”
“A red notebook.”
I almost stopped the car.
Our father had always kept handwritten records.
Names.
Payments.
Promises.
Betrayals.
But after his death, no master ledger was found.
“Where is it?”
“I don't know.”
“When Mom died, did you see it?”
“No.”
I looked at Beatrice.
She knew.
I could see it.
I ended the call.
“You know about the red ledger.”
Beatrice looked out the window.
“Answer me.”
“Luca had it.”
“When?”
“The night of the explosion.”
That changed everything.
“Why?”
“Your father gave it to him.”
“What?”
“Luca told me years later, after his memory started returning. Your father asked him to move the ledger somewhere safe.”
“Warehouse Seventeen.”
“Yes.”
“But why send Luca?”
“Because your father no longer trusted you.”
That landed harder than I expected.
“Why?”
“Because he believed somebody was forging orders under your name.”
I stared through the windshield.
For twelve years, I thought my father died disappointed in me.
He had become cold during his final months.
Distant.
Suspicious.
Maybe he wasn't suspicious of me.
Maybe he was protecting me.
“Where is the ledger now?”
“Luca doesn't know.”
“Then why does Vincent want him dead?”
Beatrice looked at me.
“Because Luca remembers where he hid it.”
I turned.
“You just said he doesn't know.”
“He doesn't consciously.”
“What does that mean?”
“His memory comes in pieces.”
I understood.
“And if the ledger names Vincent—”
“He'll kill Luca before he remembers.”
My phone rang.
Lorenzo.
I let it ring.
Again.
Again.
Then Beatrice’s phone vibrated.
She opened a message.
All color drained from her face.
“What?”
She turned the screen toward me.
A photograph.
Luca.
Bound to a chair.
Blood on his shirt.
Behind him stood Lorenzo.
May you like
The message contained six words.
BRING ADRIAN OR LUCA DIES AGAIN.
