Chapter 4 - MICHAEL’S VERSION
Detective Ruiz chose the location.
Not me.
An interview room inside a federal building in Lower Manhattan.
Michael hated it.
Good.
He sat across from me beneath fluorescent lights.
No weapons.
No lawyers yet.
Ruiz stood behind the glass.
Michael looked exhausted.
“You brought police into family business.”
I stared.
“Family business killed my sister.”
He looked down.
“Fair.”
That word surprised me.
I placed his St. Christopher medal on the table.
He stared.
“Frank kept it.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you leave it near Teresa’s car?”
Michael exhaled slowly.
“I was there after the blast.”
“How fast?”
“Three minutes.”
“How?”
“I was following Teresa.”
My eyes hardened.
“Why?”
“Your father told me to.”
“Because she had evidence.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know Carlo had planted a bomb?”
“No.”
“Did you know Carlo was supposed to scare her?”
“Yes.”
There.
My hands tightened.
“And you let it happen.”
“I thought he was going to smash a window.”
“Threaten her.”
“Yes.”
“Terrify my sister.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Michael’s eyes filled.
“Because your father ordered it.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You always were obedient.”
“Yes.”
No defense.
That made it harder.
“Then?”
“I followed her toward Bensonhurst.”
“Carlo’s car was ahead.”
“Did Teresa know?”
“No.”
“The blast?”
Michael closed his eyes.
“I saw the flash.”
His voice broke slightly.
“I ran.”
“Carlo?”
“Gone.”
“You dropped the medal.”
“Yes.”
“Frank found it.”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“I pulled Teresa out.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
Michael’s eyes filled.
“She was alive.”
The room disappeared.
“No.”
“For maybe four minutes.”
My chair scraped as I stood.
“You told me she died instantly.”
“I lied.”
My hands started shaking.
“What did she say?”
Michael looked away.
I leaned over the table.
“What did my sister say?”
Ruiz entered immediately.
“Santoro.”
I ignored her.
Michael whispered:
“She asked if you were safe.”
My chest broke.
Then:
“She said, ‘Tell Gabriel Frank didn’t do it.’”
I stepped back.
Twelve years.
Her last request.
And Michael buried it.
“Why?”
“Because your father arrived.”
I stared.
“My father was there?”
“Seven minutes after.”
“How?”
“He had been tracking Teresa too.”
Of course.
He knew.
He always knew.
Michael continued.
“Teresa was gone by then.”
He wiped his face.
“Your father saw Carlo’s car leaving.”
“He knew?”
“Yes.”
“And still blamed Frank.”
“No.”
“He never blamed Frank.”
“What?”
“Your father knew Frank was innocent.”
My stomach turned.
“Then why let me believe it?”
“Because Frank agreed.”
Silence.
I stared.
“Why?”
“Your father said if anyone knew Carlo did it, every rival would understand Santoro business had turned inward.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It did to him.”
Reputation.
Always.
Michael continued.
“And Frank believed Carlo would come for Anthony.”
“So he took blame.”
“Not publicly.”
“But enough.”
“Yes.”
“Let me hate him.”
“Yes.”
“For twelve years.”
“Yes.”
I sat.
Suddenly tired.
“What did Teresa find?”
Michael swallowed.
“Property corruption.”
“South Pier.”
“Yes.”
“More.”
He nodded.
“Your father and Carlo had been buying buildings through shell companies before city rezoning announcements.”
“Insider information.”
“Bribed planning officials.”
“How much?”
“Hundreds of millions over years.”
My father had built part of our legitimate empire through manipulated land deals.
Not surprising.
Still ugly.
“Where did you fit?”
“I managed payments.”
“And used federal investigations against rivals.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To protect us.”
I laughed.
“There’s that word.”
Michael nodded sadly.
“I know.”
“Carlo?”
“He wanted more.”
“Control?”
“Yes.”
“After Teresa died?”
“Your father wanted out.”
I stared.
“He was guilty enough to stop.”
“Yes.”
“Carlo wouldn’t.”
“No.”
“Then Dad killed himself.”
Michael’s eyes closed.
“Eleven months later.”
“What did the note say?”
“He left one?”
Michael looked surprised.
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
“I destroyed it.”
My hands clenched.
“Why?”
“He asked me.”
“What did it say?”
Michael swallowed.
“That Teresa died because he mistook fear for authority.”
I looked away.
Damn him.
Even dead, he found a sentence that sounded almost wise.
Michael continued.
“He said the Santoro family should leave Carlo behind.”
“Did we?”
“No.”
“Because you kept working with him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He had everything.”
“Evidence.”
“Yes.”
“About me?”
Michael hesitated.
My eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“Your father’s records included things you did in your twenties.”
I understood.
Violence.
Collections.
Orders.
Nothing I was proud of.
“Carlo threatened to give them to federal prosecutors.”
“So you became his prisoner.”
“I told myself I was managing him.”
“You weren’t.”
“No.”
“And Anthony?”
Michael’s face tightened.
“Anthony found Carlo.”
“How?”
“Frank told him.”
“Then?”
“Anthony attacked him.”
“Physical?”
“Yes.”
“Carlo survived.”
“Yes.”
“Then arranged the construction death.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know beforehand?”
“No.”
“After?”
“Yes.”
“And helped cover.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Carlo threatened Lucy.”
I stopped.
“Lucy was two.”
“Yes.”
That was the pattern.
Always a child.
Always family.
Always a secret justified by fear.
Michael whispered:
“I kept telling myself I would eventually fix it.”
I stared.
“You stood next to me at Teresa’s grave.”
“Yes.”
“You told me Frank deserved death.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the more you hated Frank, the less you looked at Carlo.”
“And at you.”
“Yes.”
At least he said it.
I put the bank slip on the table.
Michael went pale.
“Where?”
“Teresa.”
His fingers hovered above it but did not touch.
“This account still exists.”
“You know?”
“Yes.”
“Why does Carlo want the page?”
“Because the account links him to a foundation.”
“What foundation?”
“St. Agnes Children’s Trust.”
I stared.
A charity.
Carlo had laundered money through a children’s foundation.
Of course.
“How much?”
“Current balance?”
“Yes.”
“About forty-eight million.”
My jaw tightened.
“Whose money?”
“Originally Santoro.”
“And now?”
“Carlo’s escape fund.”
Detective Ruiz said:
“That gives us leverage.”
Michael laughed weakly.
“Against him?”
“Yes.”
“He’ll run.”
“Then let him.”
I turned toward her.
“No.”
Ruiz stared.
“You called me because you wanted legal help.”
“I called because I don’t want Lucy touched.”
“Then you don’t get to control every variable.”
I hated her instantly.
Useful.
She continued.
“We freeze the account quietly.”
“Carlo sees that.”
“Not immediately.”
Michael looked up.
“He checks every morning.”
Ruiz frowned.
“Then we have until morning.”
Pier Six tonight.
We could use the meeting.
Michael as bait.
I hated that too.
Michael said:
“I’ll do it.”
I stared.
“You don’t get heroic now.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“Then why?”
“Because Frank died thinking I was still too afraid to tell you.”
His eyes filled.
“I’d like him to be wrong once.”
Silence.
Ruiz outlined the plan.
Wire.
Surveillance.
No Santoro gunmen inside perimeter.
I nearly laughed.
She did not.
“Those are the terms.”
Michael looked at me.
“You going to agree?”
Teresa’s voice again:
Do not do what you always do when you are frightened and call it anger.
I nodded.
“Yes.”
Michael almost smiled.
Then Ruiz received a call.
Her face changed.
“What?”
I asked.
She looked at me.
“Someone went to Lucy’s school.”
My heart stopped.
“She isn’t there.”
“No.”
“Then?”
“Man asked administration whether Lucy was returning tomorrow.”
Michael went pale.
“Description?”
Ruiz listened.
Then:
“Missing left pinky.”
Carlo.
He had gone to the school himself.
Not hiding anymore.
That meant he was either desperate—
or confident somebody close to me was still feeding him information.
I looked at Michael.
“Who else knows Lucy’s school?”
He thought.
“Frank.”
“Rosa.”
“Me.”
“You.”
Then his face changed.
“And Nicholas.”
My younger brother.
My only living sibling.
The man who had sat three pews behind me at Frank’s funeral.
The man who left before Michael ran.
I stopped breathing.
“What about Nicholas?”
Michael stared at the table.
“Carlo helped him pay a gambling debt three years ago.”
Everything went quiet.
“How much?”
“Two million.”
I stood.
“And you never told me.”
Michael closed his eyes.
“No.”
Of course not.
May you like
The funeral had not revealed one traitor at my right hand.
It might have exposed another directly behind me.
