Chapter 13 - The Deal at the Waterfront
“Absolutely not.”
Rico said it before I finished reading the message.
I looked up.
“Marco could die.”
“That's exactly why we're going to the police.”
I stared at him.
“You're Rico Moretti.”
His expression hardened.
“Yes.”
“The man everyone in Brooklyn is afraid of.”
“Yes.”
“And you're calling the police?”
He held my gaze.
“Someone is threatening a man's life. What do you want me to do?”
I didn't answer.
Because I realized I'd made an assumption about him.
A dangerous one.
I'd expected a man like Rico Moretti to solve every problem with violence.
But for the first time, he was trying to choose something different.
Something his son could one day understand.
Dante stepped forward.
“Boss, if the police get involved, Vincent might panic.”
“Then let him.”
Rico looked at the photograph again.
“Marco doesn't deserve this.”
I swallowed.
“What if he's involved?”
“Then he still deserves to make it out alive.”
I looked at him differently.
He noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
His expression softened slightly.
“You're doing that again.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking surprised when I act like a human being.”
I almost smiled.
“Maybe stop surprising me.”
For half a second, we both forgot how frightened we were.
Then Dante's phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
And turned pale.
“Boss.”
Rico looked at him.
“What?”
“The man who sent the message knows we're at the clinic.”
Rico took the phone.
A distorted voice came through the speaker.
“Good morning, nephew.”
Vincent.
The room went still.
Rico's expression hardened.
“Where's Marco?”
“Safe for the moment.”
“Let him go.”
“Not yet.”
Vincent sounded almost amused.
“I need you to understand something, Rico. Your wife made a terrible mistake. Don't let this waitress make the same one.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
Rico's voice was low.
“What did you do to Elena?”
Vincent chuckled.
“Always so emotional about that girl.”
Rico gripped the phone.
“Answer me.”
“Elena knew too much.”
“Where is she?”
A pause.
Then Vincent said, “Closer than you think.”
My heart began pounding.
Rico looked at Dante.
“Tell me where she is.”
“Bring Clara to the old shipyard at noon.”
“No.”
“Then Marco dies.”
Rico's eyes narrowed.
“And my son?”
Vincent's voice changed.
“Leo belongs with his family.”
Rico spoke so quietly I barely heard him.
“He is with his family.”
“Not the part that understands his importance.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone.
“His importance?”
Rico didn't answer.
He turned to Dante.
“Get every document from Leo's trust. Every signature. Every amendment.”
Dante nodded.
I looked between them.
“What aren't you telling me?”
Rico rubbed his forehead.
“When Leo was born, Elena's father left him a substantial inheritance.”
“How substantial?”
Rico hesitated.
“More than two hundred million dollars.”
I stopped breathing.
“Two hundred million?”
“In trusts and ownership interests. The money was supposed to support him when he got older.”
“And Vincent was stealing from it?”
“Yes.”
“Then why does he need Leo?”
Rico looked exhausted.
“Because some of the assets are locked until Leo turns twenty-five. Vincent can control them only through a properly appointed trustee.”
I frowned.
“Then he can't just take Leo.”
“No.”
“Unless you disappear.”
Rico looked directly at me.
“Or somebody convinces a court that I'm an unfit father.”
I thought about the mansion.
The armed guards.
The constant threats.
The name.
The fear.
Then I understood.
Vincent hadn't simply planned to kill Rico.
He'd been building a case that Leo needed to be removed from his father's care.
And Rico's own reputation could make that argument easier.
I looked at him.
“What are you going to do?”
He was silent for a moment.
Then he said, “Something I should have done years ago.”
He called his attorney.
Not Vincent's attorney.
His own.
A woman named Margaret Chen, who arrived less than an hour later carrying a briefcase and the expression of someone who didn't frighten easily.
She listened to everything.
The trust.
The missing records.
The clinic.
The photograph.
The threats.
Then she looked at Rico.
“You need to cooperate with investigators.”
He nodded.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Fully.”
“I understand.”
“That means your own business records, Rico.”
“I understand.”
“And if you've committed crimes, those may come to light too.”
He looked toward the window.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then he spoke.
“My son deserves a father who stops hiding.”
Margaret nodded.
“Good.”
She turned to me.
“Clara, we'll need a detailed statement.”
I agreed.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
No photograph this time.
Just a short video.
I pressed play.
The camera shook.
A woman stood inside a dim room.
Dark hair.
Pale face.
A thin scar near her temple.
She looked directly into the lens.
My heart stopped.
“Elena,” I whispered.
Rico turned.
I held up the phone.
The woman spoke.
“Clara Vance, my name is Elena Moretti.”
Rico made a broken sound.
The woman continued.
“If you're watching this, Vincent has probably found us.”
She glanced toward someone outside the frame.
Then looked back at the camera.
“Please tell Rico that I never stopped loving him.”
Her voice cracked.
“And please tell Leo that Mommy tried to come home.”
The video ended.
Rico reached for the phone.
His hands were shaking.
He replayed it.
Once.
Twice.
Then a third time.
And on the fourth viewing, I noticed something behind Elena.
A window.
A painted wall.
And a distinctive red lighthouse visible through the glass.
I knew that lighthouse.
I'd passed it dozens of times on the train.
May you like
I looked at Rico.
“I know where she is.”
