Chapter 5 - ANTHONY’S LAST SATURDAY
Eddie Marchese did not look like a man who had carried a Mafia secret for five years.
He looked like a tired grandfather who needed better knees.
Gray cardigan.
Reading glasses.
Pennsylvania farmhouse.
Three bird feeders outside.
Rachel sat across from him at his kitchen table.
I stayed by window.
Eddie had agreed to talk only if she came.
“You look like your mother,” he told Rachel.
She smiled faintly.
“You never met her.”
“I saw pictures in Anthony’s house.”
That hurt.
My brother had apparently built a second quiet family around people we never saw.
Eddie poured coffee.
Then looked at me.
“You want truth?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not going to like Anthony in all of it.”
Good.
“Tell me anyway.”
He nodded.
“The ambush was supposed to be a delay.”
That matched Victor’s story.
“At first.”
“Victor Bellini was angry because you planned to shut down Pier Six.”
“Why?”
“Falcone was using reefer trucks to move pills.”
Counterfeit pharmaceuticals.
Stolen prescription medication.
Money.
My father tolerated some things.
I had decided this one stopped.
Families in neighborhood were already losing kids to pills.
“Victor was getting paid?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Enough.”
“He gave Falcone your route.”
“To delay me?”
“He told them disable lead vehicle.”
“Block lane.”
“Make you miss meeting where Pier Six vote happened.”
“And shooters?”
Eddie looked down.
“Falcone captain changed plan.”
“Why?”
“He thought if you were wounded, Victor would control docks longer.”
My hands tightened.
“Victor knew?”
“Not before.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
Good.
No false certainty.
“What happened after?”
“Victor panicked.”
“He wanted Falcone cut out.”
“Anthony started digging.”
“Why Anthony?”
“Because you were in hospital.”
Of course.
“Anthony found me.”
“I had dispatch copy showing Victor requested escort change.”
Again support evidence, but not main twist.
“He wanted me to go to you.”
“I said no.”
“Why?”
Eddie laughed.
“You were Matteo Santoro.”
Fair.
“I thought telling you meant bodies.”
Probably.
“Then Anthony brought Jamie to field.”
Rachel looked at him.
“You knew who Jamie was?”
“Yes.”
“From Anthony.”
Eddie smiled sadly.
“He’d pitch with boy while talking to me behind backstop.”
“Smart.”
“Less suspicious than meeting me at social club.”
“What did Anthony plan?”
“Get enough witnesses that Victor couldn’t call it family argument.”
I stared.
“He wanted law?”
“Eventually.”
That surprised.
Eddie shrugged.
“Anthony was tired.”
“Of what?”
“All of it.”
“He told me you nearly died because grown men thought docks were worth more than brothers.”
My chest tightened.
“What happened Saturday before he died?”
Eddie looked at Rachel.
She already knew some.
“Victor came to field.”
“Yes.”
“I was there.”
Rachel stared.
“You were?”
“Bleachers.”
“I left when shouting started.”
Eddie continued.
“Anthony told Victor he had until Monday to confess to Matteo.”
“Victor said no.”
“Then Anthony said he would.”
“And Jamie?”
“Victor saw him.”
That was crucial.
“He knew Dad was father already?”
“Yes.”
“Carmela told him years before.”
Of course.
“Victor said if Anthony brought scandal to family, he’d make Rachel disappear from Brooklyn.”
Rachel’s face hardened.
“What did Anthony do?”
“Put him against fence.”
Not graphic.
Just enough.
“Then?”
“He let go.”
“Told him never threaten child again.”
Eddie looked at me.
“That’s when Victor said something I never forgot.”
“What?”
“‘You think Matteo will thank you for giving him another mouth to protect?’”
My jaw tightened.
Anthony answered?
Eddie nodded.
“He said, ‘No. I think he’ll thank me for giving him back his brother.’”
I looked away.
Damn him.
“What happened night he died?”
Eddie’s voice lowered.
“Anthony called.”
“Asked me to meet near Whitestone.”
“Why?”
“He said Victor agreed to talk.”
“You went?”
“Yes.”
“Victor?”
“Yes.”
“Anthony?”
“Yes.”
“Anybody else?”
“One of Victor’s drivers.”
“Name?”
“Peter Vale.”
Known.
Former Bellini driver.
Dead now? Could still be alive. Let's keep alive later witness.
“What happened?”
“They argued.”
“Victor admitted route sale?”
“Yes.”
“Anthony demanded he tell you.”
“Victor refused.”
“Then?”
“Anthony said he was done.”
“Done with what?”
“Family business.”
That surprised me.
“He planned to leave?”
“Not exactly.”
“He said he would help you clean docks, then step away.”
“He wanted to coach.”
Eddie smiled sadly.
“That boy changed him.”
Jamie.
My throat tightened.
“Did Victor hurt him?”
“No.”
“Anthony left alive.”
I stared.
“You saw?”
“Yes.”
“In his car?”
“Yes.”
“Where was he going?”
Eddie looked at Rachel.
“Rachel’s.”
She frowned.
“He never arrived.”
“Why would he come to me?”
“He thought Victor knew Jamie’s address.”
“He wanted move you that night.”
There.
Victor’s claim that Anthony was going to get Jamie was true.
Not sinister.
Protective.
“He left Whitestone at 11:26.”
“Victor?”
“Five minutes later.”
“Same direction?”
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“Did you follow?”
“No.”
Eddie looked ashamed.
“I should have.”
“Not your fault.”
He stared.
“Don’t absolve me because you want me useful.”
Fair.
“I was afraid.”
“I went home.”
“Next morning Anthony dead.”
“Victor gone.”
Then Eddie said:
“But I did one thing.”
“What?”
“I drove crash site before police cleared.”
“Why?”
“Guilt.”
“What did you see?”
“Black paint on Anthony’s rear quarter panel.”
I frowned.
His car was dark blue.
“Another car hit him.”
“Looked like.”
“Police said guardrail.”
“Did you tell?”
“No.”
“Anything else?”
“A broken taillight.”
“Black SUV.”
My stomach tightened.
Victor drove black Escalade then.
Many people did.
Not enough.
Eddie continued.
“Two days later, I saw Victor’s SUV at body shop in Jersey.”
There.
“Which shop?”
“Marino Collision.”
“Owner?”
“Tommy Marino.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Would he talk?”
Eddie shrugged.
“Depends if he wants to sleep.”
I called Luca.
Three hours later, Tommy Marino sat in back office of his shop looking like he regretted every life choice.
He remembered the SUV.
Of course.
“You don’t forget when Victor Bellini tells you repair a car before sunrise.”
“What damage?”
“Passenger side.”
“Front and mirror.”
“Black paint missing.”
“Blood?”
“No.”
“Blue paint?”
Tommy closed eyes.
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“Did you keep anything?”
“No.”
“Pictures?”
He hesitated.
Good.
“Insurance?”
“No.”
“Then why pictures?”
“Habit.”
Smart mechanic.
He pulled old external drive.
Photos.
Black Escalade.
Passenger-side damage.
Blue transfer.
Date:
Morning after Anthony died.
That did not prove Victor intentionally killed him.
It proved contact.
Enough to reopen.
Detective Lena Ruiz looked at photos.
Then Anthony’s voicemail.
Then Eddie’s statement.
Then Rachel’s.
She said:
“This is not a Mafia sit-down anymore.”
I almost smiled.
“What is it?”
“A homicide investigation.”
My stomach tightened.
Anthony.
Five years late.
Ruiz continued:
“I need Victor found before he knows what we have.”
Too late.
My phone buzzed.
Victor.
I answered.
“Matt.”
Only family called me that.
I hated hearing it from him.
“Where are you?”
“You have Marchese.”
Not question.
“You’re watching?”
“Always.”
“Why did your SUV hit Anthony’s car?”
Silence.
Then Victor sighed.
“Because he wouldn’t stop.”
Rachel stood nearby.
Luca too.
Detective Ruiz signaled record.
Victor continued:
“He was taking Rachel and boy away.”
“Why did you care?”
“Because Carmela begged me.”
My stomach turned.
“What?”
“She said no more scandal.”
“Mom asked you to stop Anthony?”
“She asked me to keep things quiet.”
That sounded plausible and dangerously vague.
“Did she ask you to kill him?”
“No.”
Immediate.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
“I followed.”
“I pulled beside him.”
“He wouldn’t stop.”
“I bumped him.”
My blood turned cold.
“Bumped?”
“To make him pull over.”
“At sixty miles an hour?”
Silence.
“He lost control.”
My hand shook.
“You left him.”
“No.”
“What?”
“I stopped.”
“He was alive.”
Everything inside me froze.
“What did you say?”
Victor’s voice changed.
“I got him out.”
“How?”
“He crawled.”
“Talked?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Long pause.
Then:
“‘Tell Matt.’”
My throat closed.
“And?”
“I called ambulance anonymously.”
“You called Mom first.”
Silence.
Yes.
“You called Mom before 911.”
Victor finally whispered:
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I was scared.”
There it was.
Not mastermind.
Cowardice.
“What did Mom say?”
Victor answered:
“She said, ‘Don’t let Matteo find you.’”
I closed eyes.
She knew.
Not murder in advance.
Cover after.
Victor continued:
“I didn’t mean Anthony dead.”
“That sentence does nothing for me.”
“I know.”
Then:
“I’m done running.”
“Where?”
“Anthony’s field.”
I looked at Ruiz.
She shook head.
Not go alone.
Victor said:
“Bring the glove.”
“Why?”
My jaw tightened.
“It has nothing to do with you.”
“You’re wrong.”
Then he hung up.
Rachel looked at glove on chair.
“What does he want with it?”
I stared.
Then remembered black thread around wrist strap.
Three loops.
I had tied it at sixteen.
But Anthony had repaired glove again years later.
Maybe not all stitching was mine.
I opened wrist.
Under leather flap—
something hard.
Not documents.
A small brass locker token.
Number 18.
Rachel stared.
“What is that?”
I knew.
Old Santoro Athletic Club had metal lockers.
Anthony’s jersey number:
18.
The club had closed after Dad died.
Building still belonged to us.
May you like
Victor did not want glove.
He wanted whatever Anthony had hidden before he died.
