Chapter 5 - THE BOY IN THE BASEMENT
Dominic’s son was nineteen.
That fact mattered to me.
It did not seem to matter to Vincent.
We returned to the mansion just after two in the morning.
Security had locked the property down.
Emma was asleep in Mrs. Morales’s room upstairs.
I checked her before doing anything else.
She slept sideways across the bed with one sock off and both arms wrapped around a pillow.
Not Bunny.
Bunny had been left in the cottage during the attack.
I promised myself I would get him tomorrow.
Then I went downstairs.
The boy sat in a chair inside the old wine cellar.
His hands were not tied.
That surprised me.
Two guards stood near the door.
Dominic’s son looked like him.
Same dark hair.
Same narrow mouth.
Same proud jaw.
But younger.
Afraid.
He wore a black hoodie and jeans.
No weapon.
Vincent stood across from him.
“What is your name?”
The boy laughed bitterly.
“You know my name.”
“Say it.”
“Anthony.”
Vincent’s eyes hardened.
“Anthony what?”
“Falcone.”
Silence.
The name carried history.
Salvatore Falcone.
Dominic Falcone.
Now Anthony.
Three generations orbiting Caruso power.
Vincent looked at the lockpick tools on the table.
“You entered my house through the service tunnels.”
Anthony said nothing.
“You knew the old layout.”
Still nothing.
Vincent stepped closer.
“Your father sent you?”
Anthony’s face changed.
There.
Not loyalty.
Fear.
I saw it.
So did Vincent.
“No,” Anthony said.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
The answer surprised him.
Anthony continued.
“My father does not know I’m here.”
Vincent stared.
“Then why?”
The boy looked toward me.
I immediately felt the room shift.
“What?”
He swallowed.
“I came to warn her.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“About what?”
Anthony looked at me.
“Dominic is going to kill you.”
I stopped breathing.
Vincent moved before I did.
He grabbed Anthony by the front of his hoodie and pulled him halfway out of the chair.
“Choose your next words carefully.”
Anthony’s face went pale.
I stepped forward.
“Vincent.”
He ignored me.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
Vincent tightened his grip.
“Wrong answer.”
“Vincent.”
This time I touched his arm.
He looked at me.
“Let him sit.”
His eyes were cold.
“He broke into my house.”
“He is nineteen.”
“So?”
“So Emma has already given you one lesson about letting fear turn people mean.”
That landed.
Anthony looked confused.
Vincent slowly released him.
The boy sat.
I moved closer.
“Why would your father want me dead?”
Anthony looked at the floor.
“Because of the necklace.”
“He already has it.”
“No.”
I frowned.
“What?”
Anthony looked up.
“He has the chain.”
My heart kicked.
“The pendant?”
“Fake.”
Vincent went still.
Anthony continued.
“My grandfather replaced the real insert years ago.”
“What insert?” I asked.
“The inside plate.”
Lucia had said Thomas put paper inside.
Anthony looked at Vincent.
“My grandfather found out about the pendant after Lucia disappeared. He searched for it but never found her.”
“So what did Dominic take from my cottage?”
“Whatever your mother wore.”
“That was Lucia’s necklace.”
“Yes.”
“Then how is it fake?”
Anthony rubbed his face.
“The outer pendant is real. The insert is gone.”
Vincent stared.
“When was it removed?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who has it?”
Anthony looked at me.
“Probably you.”
I laughed.
“I have never opened that pendant.”
“Not the pendant.”
He pointed toward my left hand.
My wedding ring.
I stared.
“What?”
“Your mother had the insert recut.”
I looked at the plain silver band.
Michael had given it to me when we married.
Cheap.
Simple.
Inside the band were tiny engraved lines.
I had always thought they were scratches from resizing.
Anthony said, “My father believes Elaine hid the account code in jewelry that would stay with the family.”
My stomach turned.
“How would he know?”
“Letters.”
“What letters?”
“Lucia wrote to Dominic’s father once.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“Salvatore kept Lucia’s letters?”
“Some.”
“Where?”
Anthony looked toward the door.
“My father’s office.”
Vincent’s voice went cold.
“Which office?”
“The private one under Pier Forty-Two.”
Emma’s words returned.
The men downstairs look sad.
Pier Forty-Two.
The dinner discussion Dominic had wanted.
Everything was connected.
Vincent looked at me.
“Your ring.”
I pulled my hand back.
“No.”
He stopped.
“I was going to ask.”
“Good.”
I looked at Anthony.
“If this is true, why warn me?”
His face changed.
“He killed my brother.”
The room went silent.
Vincent frowned.
“Dominic has one son.”
Anthony laughed bitterly.
“Publicly.”
I stared.
Anthony continued.
“My older brother was named Julian. Different mother. My father kept him away from the family business.”
“What happened?”
“He found records.”
Of course.
Every generation had one person who opened the wrong drawer.
“Records of what?”
“Collections. Payments. Store owners. Dock workers. Judges.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
Anthony looked at him.
“Your organization thinks Dominic sends you everything.”
“He is supposed to.”
“He sends enough.”
Cold moved through the room.
“The rest?”
“His own network.”
Vincent stared.
Anthony continued.
“Julian tried to give the records to a reporter.”
“What happened?”
“My father said he overdosed.”
Anthony’s voice broke.
“He did not use drugs.”
I felt sick.
“How old was he?”
“Twenty-three.”
Vincent looked away.
Another person harmed while he sat at the head of the table.
Emma’s accusation had been more accurate than she knew.
Anthony continued.
“I found Julian’s backup three weeks ago.”
“Where?” Vincent asked.
“I’m not telling you.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
Anthony looked terrified but held his ground.
I stepped between them slightly.
“Why come here?”
“Because Dominic knows Rachel is Lucia’s family.”
“How?”
“The necklace.”
“No. Before that.”
Anthony hesitated.
“My grandfather left a file on Lucia.”
Vincent went still.
“What file?”
“Photos. Letters. Elaine’s adoption.”
My breath stopped.
“He knew my mother?”
Anthony nodded.
“Salvatore tracked Lucia after she escaped.”
The room tilted.
“He knew where she was?”
“Yes.”
Vincent’s face drained.
“Then why did he never tell my father?”
Anthony laughed without humor.
“Because your father paid him to make sure Lucia never came back.”
Silence.
Vincent looked as though someone had struck him.
I thought of Lucia saying Caruso men lie.
Papa says you chose him.
Maybe Vincent’s father had not simply failed to find her.
Maybe he had spent money ensuring she remained gone.
“Did he try to kill her?” I asked.
Anthony shook his head.
“I don’t know. The file says monitor, intercept contact, prevent return.”
Prevent return.
That could mean many things.
None kind.
Vincent sat down.
For the first time, he looked sixty.
Not feared.
Not powerful.
Old.
Anthony looked at him.
“My father inherited the arrangement.”
“Why?”
“Because Lucia’s evidence implicated Falcone accounts.”
“So Dominic kept her hidden.”
“Yes.”
“And now that she is alive publicly?”
Anthony shook his head.
“She isn’t public.”
“Yet,” I said.
Everyone looked at me.
I continued.
“Dominic attacked my cottage because he thought the necklace could expose him.”
Anthony nodded.
“He will not stop.”
Vincent’s eyes hardened again.
“Where is Dominic now?”
“I don’t know.”
“You do.”
“No.”
“Anthony.”
The boy flinched.
I raised one hand.
Vincent stopped.
I asked, “What does he want next?”
Anthony looked at my wedding ring.
“The code.”
“To what?”
“A trust account.”
Of course.
Another account.
Another set of numbers people were willing to kill over.
Anthony continued.
“Not money exactly.”
“What then?”
“Copies.”
“Copies of what?”
“Everything Salvatore kept.”
Vincent stared.
“Where?”
“Offshore archive.”
“How much?”
Anthony looked at him.
“Thirty years.”
That changed the room.
Thirty years of Caruso and Falcone secrets.
Judges.
Ports.
Collections.
Disappearances.
Vincent’s empire in documents.
I looked at him.
“If the code is in my ring, opening the archive could destroy you.”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
I studied his face.
“You still want it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked toward the ceiling.
Emma slept above us.
Lucia sat in a nursing home because his father and his world had made disappearance safer than family.
“Because I have spent thirty years benefiting from things I did not ask to see.”
His voice was quiet.
“Your daughter was right.”
Anthony stared.
Vincent continued.
“If I am the boss, then I do not get to claim innocence because Dominic handled the basement.”
That sentence changed something.
Not everything.
But something.
I looked at my wedding ring.
Michael had chosen it.
Or maybe Elaine had.
Maybe the tiny marks inside were not scratches.
I removed it slowly.
Vincent did not reach.
Good.
I handed it to Anthony.
He turned it beneath the light.
Then pointed.
Inside the band were fourteen tiny symbols.
Numbers hidden inside decorative engraving.
Anthony whispered, “That’s it.”
Vincent looked at me.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
I took the ring back.
“But I am sure nobody opens anything until Emma is somewhere Dominic cannot reach.”
Vincent nodded.
“Agreed.”
Anthony looked toward the cellar door.
“There is one more thing.”
I almost laughed.
There was always one more thing.
“What?”
“My father has somebody inside the house.”
Vincent’s face went cold.
“Who?”
Anthony shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
“You broke into the mansion and you don’t know?”
“I came through Julian’s old route. He mapped it before he died.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“How do you know someone is inside?”
“Because my father knew Emma shouted at dinner before I did.”
My skin chilled.
The room had been private.
Twelve men.
Staff.
Security.
Someone told Dominic every detail.
Anthony continued.
“And he knew Rachel wore the necklace before the attack.”
I looked toward the cellar door.
The mansion suddenly felt less safe than the broken cottage.
Vincent asked, “How quickly did he know?”
Anthony swallowed.
“Seven minutes.”
Seven minutes after Emma challenged him, someone inside Vincent’s house had called Dominic Falcone.
May you like
The traitor had not been outside the gates.
They had been at dinner.
