Chapter 7 - THE BRASS KEY
“Hold your fire!” I screamed, throwing myself between the laser sight and the glass window.
The red dot danced wildly against my worn suit jacket. Below me, on the warehouse floor, I heard Carmine shouting at his men to stand down.
Inside the office, Arthur realized what had almost happened. He dropped the revolver. It clattered loudly onto the linoleum floor. He collapsed into the desk chair, burying his face in his hands, weeping like a broken child.
I pushed open the glass door and immediately untied the red silk scarf binding Mia’s wrists.
“Are you hurt?” I asked gently.
Mia shook her head, sobbing, and practically threw herself down the metal stairs, running straight into her brother’s waiting arms.
I turned back to Arthur. He looked pathetic. The grand bagman, the mastermind who had killed a mob boss, reduced to a shivering old man in a cheap suit.
“It’s over, Arthur,” I said, picking up the revolver and tucking it into my belt.
Arthur looked up at me, his eyes bloodshot. “Carmine is going to kill me.”
“Yes,” I said truthfully. “He probably will.”
“I didn't want to hurt the girl,” Arthur babbled, pulling at his collar. “I just needed leverage. I needed to get to the boat. The key... I need the key.”
“What key?” I asked.
Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy, antique brass key.
“The locker,” Arthur whispered. “Pier 7. Locker 42. Dominic didn't just have offshore accounts, Frank. He kept hard assets. Diamonds. Bearer bonds. I knew where they were. I was going to take them and run.”
He held the brass key out to me.
“Take it,” Arthur begged. “Give it to Carmine. Tell him he can have it all. Just ask him to let Vanessa and Leo live. They didn't know everything. I swear.”
I took the cold brass key.
Heavy footsteps echoed on the metal stairs. Carmine burst into the office, his gun raised, two massive security men right behind him.
Carmine looked at Arthur, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated hatred.
“You killed my father,” Carmine said, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper.
Arthur shrank back in his chair, raising his hands. “Carmine, please... I have money... I can give you—”
“I have enough money,” Carmine said. He raised his weapon.
“Carmine, stop,” I said, stepping in front of the gun.
Carmine’s eyes snapped to me. “Move, old man. You did your part.”
“If you pull that trigger, you’re no better than he is,” I said, holding my ground. “You’ll start a war. The police are already on their way. Let the law have him.”
“The law doesn't settle Orsini debts,” Carmine growled.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the brass key Arthur had just given me. I tossed it to Carmine. He caught it with one hand.
“That’s the key to Pier 7, Locker 42,” I said. “Dominic’s hidden assets. Millions in untraceable bonds and diamonds. Arthur was trying to steal it.”
Carmine looked at the key, genuinely surprised.
“You want to settle your father’s debt?” I asked. “Take your father’s dirty money, use it to build a legitimate future for your sister, and let this pathetic old man rot in a federal cell for the rest of his miserable life.”
Carmine stared at me. He looked at the key, then at Arthur, who was sobbing openly.
Slowly, Carmine lowered his gun.
“You’re right,” Carmine said, his voice cold. “Death is too quick for him.”
He turned to his men. “Take him to the feds. Drop him at the precinct with the ledger. Let him explain the bombing to the FBI.”
The guards hauled Arthur out of the chair. As they dragged him past me, Arthur looked at me with a strange mix of terror and gratitude.
Carmine holstered his weapon. He looked at me, a grudging respect in his eyes.
“You saved my sister, Frank,” Carmine said. “You have my word. Nobody touches you or David’s family.”
I nodded. It was finally over.
But as I turned to leave the office, my foot brushed against something on the floor.
It was a small, torn piece of a photograph that had fallen out of Arthur’s pocket during the struggle.
I picked it up. My blood ran completely cold.
It was a picture of David, taken thirty years ago in the valley. But he wasn't alone in the photo.
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Standing next to him, wearing a uniform with a name tape I recognized, was a man I hadn't seen in decades.
A man who was supposed to be dead.
