Chapter 4 - THE LEDGER'S GHOST
Evelyn reached out and touched the edge of the photograph. The glossy paper was cracked with age.
"My father," she whispered.
"They were all friends," Lorenzo said, his voice hollow as he stared at the image. "Before the money poisoned everything."
He took the envelope from Leo, careful not to let his bloody sleeve touch the boy. Inside was a single, heavy brass key. Stamped into the metal was the number 402.
"A safety deposit box," Lorenzo muttered. "First National on Dearborn."
"What's inside it?" Evelyn asked.
"The reason Celeste wants both of us dead," Lorenzo replied. He winced, finally succumbing to the pain in his shoulder, and leaned heavily against the kitchen counter. "Leo, go to the living room. Turn on the TV, keep the volume low."
The boy nodded obediently and scurried out of the room.
Evelyn looked at Lorenzo’s bleeding arm. The expensive fabric was completely soaked. "You need a hospital."
"I need a bandage and twenty minutes," he countered, nodding toward a first-aid kit mounted on the wall. "If I walk into an ER with a gunshot wound, the police hold me. The Vanes get me in a cell. Pull the kit."
Evelyn swallowed her panic. She pulled the red metal box from the wall and opened it on the counter. She found trauma shears, gauze, and a bottle of iodine.
"Take the jacket off," she ordered, surprising herself with the steadiness of her voice.
Lorenzo grimaced, peeling the ruined suit jacket and dress shirt off his left side. The bullet had passed cleanly through the fleshy part of his upper arm, missing the bone.
"Pour it," he said, gesturing to the iodine.
Evelyn poured. Lorenzo didn't make a sound, though the muscles in his jaw corded tightly. She packed the wound with gauze and wrapped it tightly with medical tape.
"You're good at this," he noted, his breathing heavy.
"Cicero," Evelyn said simply. "You learn how to patch things up when you can't afford a doctor."
She washed her bloody hands in the sink, trying not to look at Marcus’s body on the floor. "Why is Leo here? Who is he?"
"My sister’s son," Lorenzo said quietly. "She died three years ago. I keep him hidden. Only Marcus and I knew where he lived. If Celeste’s men found this place... she knows everything."
"Except what's in that deposit box," Evelyn said, looking at the brass key on the counter.
Lorenzo nodded. "Marcus must have retrieved it. My father left it for me before he was murdered. I never knew what it opened."
Evelyn dried her hands. "If my father is in that photo... he’s connected to whatever is in that box. That's why she killed him. And that's why she tried to kill you tonight. To bury the past completely."
From the living room, Leo let out a small gasp.
Lorenzo and Evelyn rushed in.
The television was on a local news channel. The volume was muted, but the chyron crawling across the bottom of the screen was blaring in bright red letters.
EXPLOSION AT DOWNTOWN RESTAURANT. MOB BOSS LORENZO MORETTI PRESUMED DEAD.
Above the text was footage of the Obsidian. The entire glass front was blown out. Fire trucks surrounded the building.
Then, the camera cut to a live press conference.
Standing at the podium, looking perfectly disheveled, with fake tear streaks ruining her perfect makeup, was Celeste Vane.
"Lorenzo was the love of my life," the closed captioning read across the screen. "This cowardly attack was orchestrated by rival factions. But I will not let his empire fall to criminals. The Vane family will step in to maintain order."
"She’s taking over," Evelyn realized aloud. "She killed you, and now she’s using your death as an excuse to seize your territory."
"Not just mine," Lorenzo said, his eyes darkening with rage. "She’s going to slaughter every captain loyal to me by morning. We have to get to that bank. We need whatever my father left."
"It's the middle of the night," Evelyn argued. "The bank doesn't open until nine."
"I own the bank manager," Lorenzo said flatly. "He’ll open the vault for me right now."
He grabbed a clean black sweater from a duffel bag in the corner and pulled it over his injured arm. "Let's go. Leo, grab your shoes."
Ten minutes later, they were back in the sedan. The city felt hostile now, every shadow hiding a potential shooter.
They parked in the alley behind First National. Lorenzo made a call. Five minutes later, a terrified, balding man in pajamas opened the reinforced steel back door.
"Mr. Moretti," the manager stammered. "The news said—"
"I'm a ghost, Arthur. Take me to the vault."
The massive steel door was already timed open for a late-night audit. The manager led them to box 402 and practically sprinted away.
Lorenzo inserted the brass key. He turned it.
He pulled out a heavy metal lockbox and set it on a viewing table. He popped the latch.
Inside lay a thick, leather-bound ledger.
Evelyn recognized it instantly. It was her father’s handwriting on the spine.
Lorenzo flipped it open. His eyes scanned the pages, tracking columns of numbers and dates.
Suddenly, he stopped. He traced a line of ink with his thumb, his face draining of color.
"What is it?" Evelyn asked.
May you like
Lorenzo looked up at her, the betrayal burning in his eyes.
"This isn't just proof that Celeste stole money," he said softly. "This ledger proves that Celeste didn't order the hit on my sister." He swallowed hard. "Your father did."
