Chapter 4 - THE VAULT OF SECRETS
We didn’t take the armored SUV. Silvio would track it.
We took Rosa’s ten-year-old Honda Civic.
I sat in the back with my three daughters. Emily drove. Rosa sat in the passenger seat, gripping her rosary beads tight enough to snap the wire.
The girls were dead silent. Lucia stared out the window, her small jaw set tight. Mia had her thumb in her mouth, a habit she had broken two years ago. Valentina kept looking at me, her big brown eyes filled with a terror I couldn’t soothe.
“First National in Manhattan,” I told Emily.
“Dominic, it’s a Saturday evening,” Emily said, her eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror. “The bank is closed.”
“Not for me.”
Twenty minutes later, I made a phone call to the bank manager. I reminded him of a favor I had done for his gambling-addicted brother five years ago.
When we pulled up to the back entrance of the imposing stone building on Wall Street, the manager was waiting at the service door, looking sick to his stomach.
“Mr. Russo,” he stammered, unlocking the door. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”
“You’re not doing anything,” I said, ushering Emily, Rosa, and the girls inside. “We were never here.”
He led us down to the underground vault. The air was cool and smelled of old paper and polished brass.
“Box 402,” I said, handing him the brass key.
He used his master key on one side, I used Isabella’s on the other.
Click.
The heavy metal drawer slid out.
The manager excused himself, practically running back upstairs.
I carried the long metal box to one of the private viewing tables. Emily stood beside me. Rosa stayed near the door, holding the girls’ hands.
I opened the lid.
Inside was a thick manila envelope, a flash drive, and a small velvet jewelry box.
My hands shook as I opened the envelope.
It was filled with financial documents. Wire transfers. Offshore accounts. But they weren’t my accounts.
They were Silvio’s.
“Look at the dates,” Emily pointed out, leaning over my shoulder.
I traced the lines. Silvio had been funneling millions from our organization directly into the Mendoza cartel’s accounts for three years. He wasn’t at war with them. He was in business with them.
Answer one: Silvio orchestrated the war to cover up his embezzlement and eliminate me.
Open two: How did Isabella get these documents? And what was in the velvet box?
I picked up the flash drive. “This must be the proof she was taking to the authorities.”
“She was trying to buy your freedom,” Emily whispered, tears shining in her eyes. “She was going to trade Silvio to the feds in exchange for immunity for you and the girls. That’s why she was running.”
My chest caved in.
She didn’t leave me because she stopped loving me. She left to save my life.
I set the drive down and reached for the velvet box.
I opened it, expecting a piece of jewelry. Maybe a family heirloom.
Instead, sitting on the black velvet, was a silver pocket watch.
It was old, tarnished, with a cracked glass face.
I stared at it in utter confusion. “This isn’t mine. It wasn’t Isabella’s.”
I turned the watch over. Engraved on the back was a name.
Mateo Bennett.
My breath hitched.
Mateo.
Rosa’s son.
Mateo had died ten years ago in a drive-by shooting in Brooklyn. It was a tragedy that had shattered Rosa. I had paid for the funeral. I had moved her into the estate to keep her safe.
I slowly turned around.
Rosa was standing by the door.
She wasn’t holding the girls’ hands anymore.
She was holding a suppressed 9mm pistol. And it was pointed directly at my chest.
“I’m sorry, Dominic,” Rosa said, her voice completely devoid of emotion.
Reversal.
Silvio wasn’t acting alone. He had someone inside my house all along.
“Rosa?” Emily gasped, stepping in front of the girls.
“Mateo didn’t die in a random drive-by, Dominic,” Rosa said, tears finally spilling down her wrinkled cheeks. “He was killed by one of Silvio’s men. An initiation hit. A mistake. And you covered it up to protect Silvio.”
I stared at her, horrified. “I didn’t know, Rosa. I swear to God, I didn’t know.”
“Silvio told me the truth,” Rosa spat. “He showed me the proof. He told me if I helped him take you down, he would give me the man who pulled the trigger. An eye for an eye.”
“So you helped him kill my wife?” I roared.
“I didn’t want Isabella dead!” Rosa screamed back. “The hit was meant for you! Isabella took the car that day instead! Silvio’s men panicked when they realized it was her, but Silvio told them to finish it so you’d blame the Mendozas!”
She raised the gun higher.
“I loved Isabella. I love these girls. But you… you protected the man who murdered my boy.”
“Rosa, put the gun down,” Emily pleaded. “You’re terrifying the children.”
“I have to finish it,” Rosa sobbed. “Silvio is on his way here. I texted him the address.”
My stomach plummeted.
Rosa reached into her pocket with her free hand and pulled out a small, empty glass vial.
She tossed it onto the metal table.
“I didn’t want the girls to see you die,” Rosa whispered. “So I gave them something to help them sleep.”
I looked at the vial. Then I looked at my daughters.
May you like
Mia was swaying on her feet. Valentina’s eyes were rolling back. Lucia slumped against the wall, her breathing dangerously slow.
Poison.
