Chapter 3 - THE BROTHER I NEVER KNEW
I did not sleep.
At 3:17 a.m., I sat in my father’s old study with Anthony’s baseball glove on the desk in front of me.
Jamie had let me borrow it.
Not keep it.
That mattered.
“Anthony told me it’s mine until you understand,” he said.
I asked:
“What happens when I understand?”
Jamie shrugged.
“He didn’t say.”
Children had a way of making dead men seem irritating.
The glove smelled like leather and field dirt.
Inside the web:
MATT—DON’T LET THEM MAKE HIM INVISIBLE.
My brother had known exactly what our family would do.
The question was whether he meant Jamie alone.
Or Rachel too.
At 7:00 a.m., Luca Ferraro entered.
Forty-six.
Dark suit.
No tie.
My underboss.
We had been friends since high school and criminals since we were old enough to pretend legitimate businesses explained our schedules.
I told him everything.
Almost.
Not Jamie’s paternity at first.
Luca listened.
Then said:
“You think Victor sold Red Hook.”
“I think Anthony thought so.”
“And Carmela knew.”
“Yes.”
“You going to confront her?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After I know what I’m asking.”
Luca smiled faintly.
“Therapy working?”
“Shut up.”
I had started seeing a therapist after the ambush.
Secretly.
Which proved even therapy could become a Santoro family secret.
“Find Victor.”
Luca hesitated.
“For conversation?”
“Yes.”
“No basement?”
I looked.
“No basement.”
“Good.”
He left.
At nine, Rachel arrived with Jamie.
Her choice.
I had asked whether she would bring him.
Not ordered.
Progress.
Jamie entered study.
Looked around.
“Mr. Anthony had a room like this.”
“He did.”
“Smaller.”
“Yes.”
“Yours is too big.”
Rachel closed her eyes.
I almost smiled.
“Probably.”
Jamie noticed photograph of my father.
He stopped.
“That’s Grandpa?”
Rachel went still.
I looked at her.
She nodded.
He knew.
Of course.
“How much did Anthony tell you?” I asked.
Jamie considered.
“That Grandpa was my dad’s dad.”
I frowned.
“Your dad?”
Rachel’s face changed.
Then I understood.
For most of his life, Jamie believed Giuseppe was his grandfather?
“No.”
Rachel sat.
“I told him Anthony was like family.”
“I never told him Giuseppe was his father.”
Jamie looked confused.
Then at me.
“Mom?”
Rachel took his hands.
This was not my disclosure.
Good.
“Jamie, Mr. Giuseppe wasn’t your grandfather.”
His face tightened.
“Then who?”
“He was your father.”
Silence.
Jamie stared.
Children sometimes react smaller than adults expect.
No scream.
No movie tears.
Just:
“Oh.”
Then he looked at photograph.
“Was he old?”
I almost laughed.
Rachel did.
“Older than me.”
“How old?”
“Fifty-four when you were born.”
Jamie frowned.
“That’s pretty old.”
I smiled despite myself.
“Careful.”
He looked at me.
“You’re forty-one.”
“Exactly.”
“Still old.”
Rachel covered mouth.
For a second the room felt human.
Then Jamie asked:
“Does that make you my brother?”
There it was.
I did not say technically.
Did not say we need DNA.
Did not say complicated.
I looked at him.
“Yes.”
He nodded.
Then:
“Anthony too?”
“Yes.”
His eyes filled.
“So I had two brothers.”
My throat tightened.
“Yes.”
“And one died.”
“Yes.”
“Before I knew.”
“Yes.”
He looked down.
“That’s stupid.”
Rachel cried quietly.
I agreed.
“Very.”
He walked to desk.
Touched glove.
“Did Anthony know?”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
He studied me.
“Why?”
There was no child-friendly version that wasn’t a lie.
“Because the adults in our family kept secrets they thought would protect people.”
Jamie frowned.
“Did it?”
“No.”
Simple.
He nodded.
Then noticed red scorebook beside glove.
“You read all of it?”
“Yes.”
“You saw my pitching?”
“Unfortunately.”
He glared.
“Anthony said I’m better than you.”
“Anthony lied often.”
That got a smile.
Good.
Rachel sent Jamie with housekeeper? No. She brought her cousin? Better Angela arrived and took him outside to field? We need adults talk privately. I asked Jamie if he wanted to see the backyard batting cage Anthony used as kid. Angela could show. He agreed.
Once gone, Rachel said:
“You handled that better than your father would have.”
“Low bar?”
“Different bar.”
I leaned back.
“Tell me about the morning Anthony died.”
She closed eyes.
“I heard nothing until your mother came.”
“What time?”
“Six-thirty.”
“Anthony usually home?”
“Yes.”
“She looked like she hadn’t slept.”
“What did she say exactly?”
Rachel remembered.
“‘Anthony is dead.’”
No cushioning.
My mother’s style.
“What did you do?”
“I thought she was lying.”
“Why?”
“Because she had lied about you before.”
“What?”
“She told Anthony doctors thought you might never walk normally again.”
I stared.
“That was never true.”
“I know.”
“She wanted him distracted.”
“From?”
Rachel shook head.
“I don’t know.”
Then:
“She told me Anthony’s car went off road.”
“She said police would call it weather.”
“Did she say Victor?”
“Not at first.”
“When?”
“When I asked why she wanted Jamie gone.”
Rachel’s eyes filled.
“She said, ‘Victor knows Anthony was protecting the boy.’”
“Why would that matter?”
“Because Anthony used Jamie’s baseball practices to meet people.”
I went still.
“Who?”
“Dock workers.”
“Union guys.”
“One retired dispatcher.”
“Why at ball field?”
“No phones.”
“No offices.”
“No men in suits.”
“Just parents.”
Children.
Hot dogs.
A perfect cover.
Anthony had not only coached Jamie.
He had used the field to investigate my ambush.
“Names?”
“Mostly I didn’t know.”
“One man was Eddie Marchese.”
I knew him.
Former night dispatcher at Red Hook Terminal 6.
Retired after my ambush.
Supposedly health.
“Where is he?”
“Anthony said Pennsylvania.”
Luca could find him.
“What else?”
Rachel looked nervous.
“One Saturday, Victor came to the field.”
“When?”
“A week before Anthony died.”
“What happened?”
“He and Anthony argued behind equipment shed.”
“You heard?”
“Some.”
“What?”
“Victor said, ‘You’re risking everything over a bastard nobody knows.’”
My chest tightened.
Jamie.
“He knew.”
“Yes.”
“Anthony?”
Rachel’s face hardened.
“He told Victor if he ever used that word again, he’d forget their mother was siblings with him.”
That sounded like Anthony.
“What else?”
“Victor said the boy would destroy Carmela if he became public.”
“So Victor wanted Jamie hidden for Mom.”
“At least partly.”
“And ambush?”
Rachel nodded slowly.
“Anthony asked him why he changed your Red Hook escort.”
I froze.
“Victor changed my escort?”
“That’s what Anthony said.”
“What did Victor answer?”
“He said, ‘Because you were supposed to miss the meeting, not get shot.’”
The room turned cold.
There.
Not rumor.
Not vague.
Maybe Rachel’s memory.
Still.
Victor admitted route manipulation.
“Then Anthony said?”
“‘You sold the lane to Falcone.’”
Falcone.
The rival crew we had blamed loosely after ambush.
Never proved.
“Victor denied?”
“No.”
That was worse.
“What did he say?”
Rachel whispered:
“‘I sold information. I didn’t tell anyone to put three rounds into Matt.’”
I stood.
My chair hit wall.
Rachel flinched.
I stopped.
Breathed.
Sat again.
She watched.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
She was.
Some.
I could tell.
“What happened next?”
“Anthony saw me.”
“He told me take Jamie home.”
“Later he came back.”
“That’s when he gave him glove?”
“Yes.”
“And scorebook.”
“Yes.”
“Then he left.”
“Yes.”
“Last thing he said?”
Rachel closed eyes.
“‘If Matt wakes up, he’ll clean this up.’”
That sentence hurt.
Anthony believed I would fix it.
Five years.
I did nothing because I knew nothing.
Then Rachel added:
“He also said something else.”
“What?”
“‘If I don’t come back, don’t trust my mother to tell him.’”
I stared.
Anthony knew.
Knew Mom might bury truth.
“Why?”
Rachel’s voice became quiet.
“Because she had already asked him to forgive Victor.”
Before Anthony died.
My mother knew her brother had sold my route.
And she asked my brother to let it go.
My phone rang.
Luca.
“I found Eddie Marchese.”
“Where?”
“Scranton.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Talking?”
“Not to me.”
“Why?”
Luca paused.
“He says he’ll talk to Rachel.”
Interesting.
“Why Rachel?”
“Because Anthony told him if anything happened, she was the only Santoro-adjacent person who hadn’t chosen a side.”
I looked at Rachel.
She heard.
Then Luca added:
“And, Matt?”
“What?”
“Victor isn’t home.”
“Where?”
“Nobody knows.”
“Phone?”
“Off.”
“Cars?”
“One missing.”
I stared at glove.
Victor had survived five years because we never asked right questions.
May you like
Now he knew we were asking.
And old men with buried secrets rarely disappeared for peaceful reasons.
