Chapter 2 - THE DEAD MAN
The alarm came from the east corridor.
Marco drew his pistol before Vincent could ask.
“Tessa stays here.”
“No.”
Both men looked at her.
Tessa folded her arms.
“If somebody is inside the house, I am not sitting beside a window waiting to find out whether they remember the second floor exists.”
Marco started to argue.
Vincent interrupted.
“She stays.”
Marco hated it.
Vincent could see that.
But Marco nodded.
He called security.
No breach had been detected at the doors.
No glass had broken.
The alarm had triggered because smoke had filled the accounting room.
Not fire.
Smoke.
Someone had placed a canister beneath the desk.
By the time Marco’s men reached the room, the filing cabinet containing six years of financial ledgers had been emptied.
The thief had not entered from outside.
Which meant either the intruder had been in the mansion before the camera went down or the intruder had never been an intruder at all.
Vincent remained upstairs while Marco locked down the property.
That humiliation burned worse than the pain in his spine.
Once, Vincent would have been the first man through the hallway.
Now everyone kept telling him to stay safe.
Stay still.
Wait.
He hated the word wait almost as much as he hated the flowers.
Tessa noticed.
“Stop.”
“What?”
“Destroying yourself because you aren’t downstairs.”
Vincent looked at her.
“You read minds now?”
“No.”
She nodded toward his right hand.
His fingernails were digging into his palm.
Vincent relaxed it.
“I should be there.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s my house.”
“And because you think being physically present proves you still control it.”
Vincent’s gaze sharpened.
“You’re getting comfortable.”
“You pay me to keep you alive.”
“The agency pays you.”
“Technically.”
He looked toward the wheelchair.
“Bring me downstairs.”
Tessa blinked.
“Marco said—”
“I don’t work for Marco.”
“Neither do I.”
Vincent almost smiled.
“Tessa.”
“No.”
It was the first clean refusal she had ever given him.
Vincent stared at her.
She stared back.
“You want to fire me?”
she asked.
“No.”
“Good.”
She checked the brake on his wheelchair.
“Then we wait until Marco clears the hall.”
Vincent leaned back.
“You realize most people in this city are afraid of me.”
“Most people in this city probably don’t have to help you transfer into a shower chair.”
“That erased the mystique?”
“Immediately.”
Despite everything, he laughed.
For exactly three seconds.
Then Marco returned.
“There’s no intruder.”
Vincent’s amusement vanished.
“You’re sure?”
“We swept every floor.”
“Staff?”
“Twenty-two accounted for.”
“Twenty-three work here.”
“Lauren.”
Vincent looked toward the door.
“She isn’t staff.”
“She’s the only person missing from the property.”
Marco walked closer.
“The accounting room was targeted.”
“What’s gone?”
“Port records.”
Vincent went still.
“Which port records?”
“Harbor Development Cooperative.”
The same deal Dominic wanted signed.
Tessa looked between them.
“What is it?”
Vincent answered.
“Fifteen years ago, my father bought controlling interest in a cluster of warehouses near the river.”
“Legally?”
Tessa asked.
Vincent gave her a look.
“Mostly.”
“That means no.”
“It means complicated.”
Marco continued.
“The current harbor project would consolidate those warehouses with three shipping terminals.”
“Worth?”
Tessa asked.
Vincent answered.
“About nine hundred million if rezoning goes through.”
Her eyes widened.
“That’s a lot of twenty-five-dollar hours.”
Vincent ignored the remark.
“Why steal records that already exist digitally?”
Marco said, “Because the missing folders weren’t ordinary accounting copies.”
“What were they?”
“Original ownership transfers.”
Vincent’s chest tightened.
His father had been obsessive about originals.
Not because he distrusted computers.
Because signatures mattered.
A handwritten signature could ruin a man.
Vincent looked toward the receipt hidden in the blue binder.
“Someone wants paper destroyed.”
Marco nodded.
“And maybe wants us looking in the wrong direction.”
“Gabriel.”
Marco said nothing.
Tessa asked, “How can a dead man be in that video?”
Vincent looked at Marco.
“Tell her.”
Marco hesitated.
“If she’s involved now, she needs enough to know when to run.”
That made Tessa bristle.
“I don’t run easily.”
Marco ignored her.
“Gabriel Rizzo and Vincent’s father, Salvatore Corvino, built half the original freight operation together.”
Vincent remembered Gabriel from childhood.
Expensive suits.
Cigars.
A booming laugh.
Hands that always smelled faintly of leather.
Gabriel had called Vincent kid even after Vincent turned twenty.
“They were partners until Gabriel disappeared with four million dollars.”
Vincent said.
Marco corrected him.
“Until everyone believed Gabriel disappeared with four million.”
Tessa crossed her arms.
“What happened?”
“His car was found near Lake Michigan.”
“No body?”
“There was one.”
Vincent looked at Marco.
“Dental records matched.”
Marco’s expression stayed grim.
“So did blood in the vehicle.”
Tessa looked toward the prepaid phone.
“And you all believed he was dead.”
“For six years.”
Vincent turned the photograph from the shooting night over in his mind.
If Gabriel was alive, then someone had staged a death.
Someone with money.
Connections.
Access to medical records.
Someone who understood the Corvino organization.
The possibilities began to expand.
Then Tessa said something that stopped him.
“If Gabriel wanted Vincent dead, why warn him now?”
Vincent looked at her.
“He may not be warning me.”
“What else would it be?”
“A threat.”
Marco agreed.
“Or bait.”
Vincent wheeled toward the blue binder.
“Lauren.”
Marco’s gaze changed.
“You still don’t want to confront her?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“We follow her.”
Marco nodded.
“I put Ellis on her the second Rosa told us about the call.”
Vincent stared.
“You did that without asking?”
“You pay me to be paranoid.”
“For once, earn it.”
Marco checked his phone.
“Ellis says she didn’t go to the bridal salon.”
“Where did she go?”
“Lincoln Park.”
“To see who?”
“Don’t know yet.”
Vincent felt something heavy settle in his chest.
Lauren had lied about where she was going.
It was not proof of anything.
But proof was accumulating faster than excuses.
“Tell Ellis not to approach.”
Marco sent the message.
Then he froze.
“What?”
Vincent asked.
Marco looked at the screen.
“Ellis lost her.”
Vincent’s voice dropped.
“How?”
“She went into St. Catherine’s.”
“A church?”
Tessa asked.
Marco nodded.
“Back entrance exits to an alley.”
Vincent knew that church.
His mother had lit candles there every Sunday until she died.
“Send another car.”
“I already did.”
Marco’s phone rang.
He answered.
“Yes.”
He listened.
Then looked at Vincent.
“Say that again.”
Tessa watched his face.
Vincent did too.
Marco slowly lowered the phone.
“What happened?”
Vincent asked.
“They found Ellis.”
“Where?”
“In his car.”
“Dead?”
Tessa whispered.
Marco shook his head.
“Alive.”
Vincent released a breath.
“Then why do you look like that?”
Marco’s eyes hardened.
“Because someone put a photograph on his chest.”
Vincent knew before Marco said it.
“The shooting?”
“No.”
Marco turned his phone around.
The image showed another old photograph.
Vincent and Dominic were teenagers.
Their father stood between them.
Gabriel Rizzo stood behind them.
A red circle had been drawn around Dominic.
And beneath the picture were five handwritten words.
THE WRONG BROTHER WAS SHOT.
For the first time since the bullet entered his spine, Vincent felt afraid.
Not for himself.
For Dominic.
He reached for his phone.
Dominic answered immediately.
“You finally ready to sign?”
Vincent heard restaurant noise behind him.
“Where are you?”
“Lunch.”
“With Calder?”
“Yes.”
“Leave.”
Dominic laughed.
“What?”
“Get up and leave right now.”
Silence.
Then Dominic’s tone changed.
“Why?”
“Because someone may be coming for you.”
Another pause.
“Vincent, what the hell is going on?”
“Walk out of the restaurant.”
Vincent heard movement.
A chair scraping.
Dominic said, “Happy?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because now I need you to tell me why somebody claims the bullet that hit me was meant for you.”
Dominic stopped breathing.
Vincent heard it.
A tiny silence.
Almost nothing.
But enough.
“You know something.”
“No.”
“You hesitated.”
“I was surprised.”
“You were afraid.”
“Vincent—”
A loud sound exploded through the phone.
Dominic cursed.
People shouted.
Vincent gripped the device.
“Dominic!”
Another crash.
Then running.
“Dom!”
Dominic returned to the phone, breathing hard.
“Someone just shot through the restaurant window.”
Vincent looked at Marco.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
“Get down.”
“I am down.”
Marco was already issuing orders.
Vincent could hear sirens faintly through Dominic’s line.
Then Dominic whispered something.
“What?”
Vincent said.
“I saw him.”
“Who?”
“The shooter.”
“Did you recognize him?”
Dominic’s answer chilled the room.
“Yes.”
Vincent tightened his grip.
“Who was it?”
Dominic spoke very softly.
May you like
“Dad.”
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