Chapter 2 - LIGHTS OUT
Darkness arrived so completely that Elena heard fear before she saw it.
Children shouted from the auditorium.
Someone dropped a tray.
A woman screamed.
Then emergency lights flickered on in the hallway, weak red rectangles casting everything in the color of alarm.
Romano’s hand closed around Elena’s forearm.
“Stay behind me.”
She pulled free automatically.
“I have eighty people downstairs.”
“And my men will move them.”
“This is my building.”
“Elena.”
The use of her first name stopped her for half a second.
Not because she liked it.
Because he had stopped sounding formal.
He sounded afraid.
For her.
That was more unsettling than the darkness.
“I know the building,” she said. “You don’t.”
Romano looked at her.
Then at his guard.
“Luca, with us.”
Luchia struck her cane once.
“I am also coming.”
“No,” Romano and Elena said together.
Luchia looked offended.
“Fine. I will remain here with no electricity while my nephew investigates a forty-eight-year-old murder.”
Romano pointed toward the library.
“Lock the door.”
“You are bossy.”
“Zia.”
She went.
Elena led them toward the main hall.
The emergency system illuminated exits, but not much else.
Volunteers had already begun guiding families outside.
Good.
She had trained them for fire drills, power failures, severe weather.
Not mafia-adjacent threats.
But procedure was procedure.
“Ben,” she called.
“Here!”
“Take the east rooms. Check bathrooms and classrooms.”
“Got it.”
“Maya, count children at the front sidewalk.”
“Okay.”
Romano glanced at her.
“What?”
“You do this well.”
“Disasters?”
“Leading.”
She ignored the warmth the compliment created.
They reached the utility closet.
Breaker panel.
Elena opened it.
Everything looked normal.
“That’s not good.”
Romano frowned.
“Why?”
“If the building lost power from the grid, the emergency lights would work. If a breaker tripped, we’d see it.”
“Outside line?”
“Maybe.”
Luca touched his earpiece.
“Streetlights still on.”
Elena looked at Romano.
“Someone cut our power.”
His face went cold.
“Everyone out.”
This time she did not argue.
Within four minutes the building was empty except for Elena, Romano, Luca, and two guards checking rooms.
The children stood across the street wrapped in coats.
The choir director was counting heads.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
Elena called the utility company.
Romano called someone else.
He spoke quietly.
“No police names. Find out who touched the service line.”
She stared.
He ended the call.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I have people who can get information faster.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“It was not intended to be.”
The utility truck arrived first.
A technician inspected the exterior box and confirmed what they already suspected.
“Main disconnect was pulled manually.”
“Can you tell when?” Elena asked.
“Recently.”
“Could someone do it without a key?”
“With tools.”
Romano’s jaw tightened.
The technician restored power.
Lights returned.
People applauded from across the street.
Because ordinary people clapped when darkness ended.
Elena wanted to join them.
Instead she looked at the note again.
STOP DIGGING UP THE DEAD.
“Do we cancel the event?”
Romano answered.
“Yes.”
She looked at him.
“I was not asking you.”
The utility technician developed an intense interest in his clipboard.
Elena crossed the street.
She climbed the center steps.
“Everyone,” she called.
Conversation quieted.
“We had a power interruption. The building has been checked. There is no fire or electrical damage.”
Romano stood behind her.
She could feel his disapproval.
“We’re going to end tonight’s program early.”
Relief and disappointment moved through the crowd.
“The remaining performances will be rescheduled. Please take food home. Please take flowers. Please take your children, especially the one currently attempting to climb the lamppost.”
Three parents turned.
A small boy froze halfway up.
Laughter broke the tension.
Good.
Elena smiled.
“We’re okay.”
She hoped it was true.
Forty minutes later, the last family left.
Luchia remained.
Naturally.
They sat in Elena’s office.
Romano closed the door.
“Talk.”
Luchia leaned back.
“You inherited your grandfather’s manners.”
“You said Antonio’s brother was murdered.”
“Yes.”
“What was his name?”
“Giuseppe.”
Romano frowned.
“I know that name.”
“You should.”
“Dad said he died in Italy.”
“He lied.”
Luchia’s fingers tightened around her cane.
“Giuseppe came to Chicago first. Antonio followed two years later.”
Elena sat behind her desk.
The historian in her overcame the instinct to stay out of dangerous family business.
“What happened?”
Luchia looked at Romano.
“In 1977, Giuseppe worked on the docks.”
“Which docks?” Romano asked.
“South branch. Warehouses near Bridgeport.”
“Who controlled them?”
“Different men then.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is the answer you get until you remember I changed your diapers.”
Romano inhaled slowly.
Elena looked down to hide her smile.
Luchia continued.
“Giuseppe discovered cargo being moved under false manifests.”
Romano went still.
“What cargo?”
“Guns.”
Elena’s stomach tightened.
“Organized crime?”
Luchia gave her a look.
“Chicago. 1977. Guns. What do you think?”
Fair.
“Giuseppe wanted no part.”
“Antonio?”
“Wanted even less.”
“But the family was involved.”
Luchia nodded.
“Cousins. Friends. Men from the old neighborhood.”
Romano’s face hardened.
“My grandfather worked for them.”
“For a little while.”
“That was never in the family stories.”
“Family stories are edited before children hear them.”
Elena thought of Tape B.
Edited.
Exactly.
“Giuseppe threatened to go to police,” Luchia said.
“And?”
“Three days later, he disappeared.”
Romano’s expression did not change.
“Body?”
“Found in the river two weeks later.”
Elena swallowed.
“Antonio knew who did it.”
“Yes.”
“And named them on Tape A.”
Luchia nodded.
“Years later, after those men became respectable businessmen.”
Romano laughed without humor.
“Of course.”
“Your father donated both tapes to the center because Antonio asked him to. But he restricted the first until everyone named was dead.”
“Were they?”
“Most.”
“Most?”
Luchia looked toward the window.
“One family line remained.”
Romano’s gaze sharpened.
“Who?”
She hesitated.
The office door rattled.
Everyone froze.
Luca opened it from inside.
A police officer stood there.
“Ms. Marlo?”
“Yes.”
“We found something near the rear service entrance.”
Elena followed him.
Romano beside her.
Outside, a cardboard box sat on the pavement.
The bomb squad had already cleared it.
Inside was an old photograph.
Black-and-white.
Five men standing outside a warehouse.
One was Antonio Valente.
Another had Antonio’s face but sharper.
Giuseppe.
A third had been marked with a red circle.
Elena did not recognize him.
Romano did.
His face changed.
“No.”
Luchia came up behind them.
She stopped.
The photograph nearly slipped from Elena’s hand.
“Who is he?” Elena asked.
Romano stared.
“My grandfather’s business partner.”
Luchia whispered the name.
“Samuel Orsini.”
Elena had heard it.
Anyone involved in Chicago philanthropy had.
The Orsini Foundation funded hospitals, museums, scholarships, youth programs.
Its chairman, Vincent Orsini, sat on half the city’s important boards.
Including one.
Elena’s.
Her stomach dropped.
“Vincent Orsini is president of the Marlo Center board.”
Romano looked at her.
“I know.”
“You knew?”
“I looked at your board before coming.”
“Of course you did.”
Luchia pointed at Samuel’s face.
“His father.”
“Did Samuel kill Giuseppe?” Elena asked.
Luchia closed her eyes.
“Antonio believed he ordered it.”
Silence.
Romano took out his phone.
Elena grabbed his wrist.
“No.”
His eyes dropped to her hand.
Then lifted.
“What do you think I’m doing?”
“Something illegal.”
“That is an impressive amount of confidence.”
“Your face changed.”
“So?”
“So you have a face for philanthropy and a face for crime.”
Luca coughed.
Romano looked at him.
Luca looked away.
Elena released Romano.
“Vincent sits on my board. If his family is connected to the missing tape, I need proof before you do anything.”
“Anything?”
“Yes.”
“What exactly do you imagine?”
“I do not want details.”
“Convenient.”
“I want the police involved.”
“The police have had forty-eight years.”
“Then federal archives. Investigators. Lawyers.”
His eyes stayed on hers.
“You think paperwork protects people.”
“I think bullets create more paperwork.”
Luchia made a small approving sound.
Romano ignored her.
“What do you propose?”
Elena looked at the photograph.
“Board meeting Monday.”
“No.”
“My board meeting.”
“You want to sit across from Vincent Orsini and ask whether his father ordered a murder?”
“Not exactly.”
“Good.”
“I want to see whether he knows the tape existed.”
Romano stared.
“No.”
Elena folded her arms.
“You are becoming repetitive.”
“And you are volunteering to bait a man connected to a threat made tonight.”
“I am not bait.”
“You are if you ask the question.”
Luchia looked between them.
“This is excellent.”
Both turned.
“What?” Elena asked.
“You already argue like married people.”
Romano shut his eyes.
Elena pointed toward the door.
“Zia Luchia.”
“Yes?”
“Go home.”
Luchia smiled.
“Now you sound like family.”
Elena regretted everything.
Monday morning, Vincent Orsini arrived at the center in a navy suit carrying pastries.
He was sixty-four, charming, silver-haired, and famous for remembering everyone’s birthday.
Elena had known him for six years.
He had helped save the center twice.
He had attended children’s recitals.
He sent flowers when Elena’s mother died.
He hugged her in the lobby.
“My dear. I heard about Thursday’s power problem.”
“News travels.”
“In this neighborhood? Faster than electricity.”
He smiled.
Elena watched his eyes.
Romano sat in her office.
Hidden from the boardroom.
Not because she had invited him.
Because he had arrived twenty minutes earlier and said, “I am observing.”
She had responded, “From another room.”
It was their compromise.
The meeting began.
Budgets.
Roof repairs.
Grant applications.
Then Elena reached the archive report.
“We discovered an inventory discrepancy during Heritage Night.”
Vincent’s pen stopped.
Barely.
But she saw it.
“One of our oral-history tapes is missing.”
His eyes lifted.
“Which collection?”
There.
He asked which collection.
Not which tape.
Elena kept her face neutral.
“Valente.”
Vincent’s expression did not change.
His hand did.
Fingers tightened around the pen.
“Antonio?”
“Yes.”
“How unfortunate.”
“You knew we had his interview?”
“Many old neighborhood families donated recordings.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Around the table, people became quiet.
Vincent smiled.
“I may have heard.”
“From whom?”
He leaned back.
“Elena, is there a reason this sounds like an interrogation?”
“Yes.”
She placed the photograph on the table.
His smile vanished.
The room stopped breathing.
“Where did you get that?”
Elena’s pulse jumped.
He recognized it.
“What does this photograph mean to you?”
Vincent stood.
“We should discuss this privately.”
“No.”
His eyes became cold.
It happened so quickly she almost wondered if she imagined the warmth before.
“Elena.”
Her office door opened.
Romano stepped out.
Every board member went silent.
Vincent looked at him.
Something old and ugly passed between them.
“Valente.”
“Orsini.”
Elena stood.
“No one is threatening anyone in my boardroom.”
Neither man looked at her.
Naturally.
She slammed one hand on the table.
Both looked.
“Thank you.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“You brought him here?”
“He brought himself.”
Romano almost smiled.
Vincent gathered his papers.
“The center has benefited from my family’s generosity for years.”
“That is true.”
“And this is how you repay it?”
“With a question?”
“With accusation.”
“I haven’t accused you of anything.”
“Yet.”
His eyes moved to the photograph.
Then he made the mistake.
He said, “Whatever Antonio said on that tape—”
Elena went still.
Nobody had mentioned what was on the tape.
Romano’s voice became quiet.
“What tape?”
Vincent realized too late.
The room changed.
He looked at Elena.
Then Romano.
“I have another meeting.”
He walked toward the door.
Romano did not stop him.
Neither did Elena.
When Vincent left, every board member began talking at once.
Elena stared at the empty doorway.
She had her answer.
May you like
Vincent Orsini knew about Tape A.
And now he knew she was looking for it.
