Chapter 4 - THE RETIRED DETECTIVE
Paul Greene lived in Staten Island.
Large brick house.
American flag.
Retired-cop sticker on the rear window.
Normal.
That was always the problem.
Men who helped bury lives rarely looked cinematic.
Matteo did not go personally.
That irritated him.
Federal investigators did.
Anthony’s cooperation made it possible.
The old ledger surfaced because an attorney reviewing a union pension lawsuit requested archived evidence.
Greene learned before anyone else because he still had friends in the precinct property unit.
He called Anthony.
Then began cleaning old loose ends.
Elena.
The watch.
Pier Seventeen.
Matteo listened from his attorney’s office as an agent explained.
“We cannot say Greene ordered Daniel’s death.”
“What can you say?”
“He helped falsify evidence after.”
“Dental records?”
“Looks likely.”
“Warehouse report?”
“Yes.”
“Body identification?”
“Yes.”
Matteo’s jaw tightened.
“What happened to Daniel after the gas-station call?”
“That’s what we’re still building.”
Anthony knew Daniel escaped.
Then disappeared again.
He claimed he arrived at the farmhouse after Roberto’s men recovered Daniel.
Daniel was alive.
Badly injured.
Roberto and Thomas Vale argued.
Anthony left.
Cowardice.
The next morning, Roberto told him Daniel was dead.
No body shown.
No location.
Matteo stared at Anthony through the interview-room glass.
“So he might have lived longer.”
The agent nodded.
“Possibly.”
That hope was cruel.
Matteo knew it.
Still felt it.
Elena and Grace moved into a furnished apartment in Brooklyn chosen by Elena.
Not Matteo.
The building belonged to an unrelated corporate landlord.
Two security officers stayed outside.
Elena approved one week at a time.
Matteo paid.
She hated that.
He said:
“Call it back wages.”
“For what?”
“Eleven years of carrying my family’s problem.”
She did not smile.
But she accepted.
Grace returned to school after three days.
Matteo made sure no black SUVs parked out front.
He asked Elena what would feel normal.
“Normal car.”
“One person.”
“Across the street.”
Done.
That was more difficult for him than deploying six men.
He learned anyway.
Then Grace asked him something unexpected.
“Can you fix the watch?”
They were sitting at Harbor Grill after closing.
Elena had agreed to dinner because Grace wanted pasta.
Matteo looked down at Daniel’s watch.
“I don’t know.”
“The glass is cracked.”
“I noticed.”
“Did your brother break it?”
“Probably.”
“Why don’t you fix it?”
Matteo thought.
“Because then it wouldn’t look like the last time he touched it.”
Grace frowned.
“That sounds sad.”
“It is.”
She thought longer.
“If he wanted you to have it, maybe he wanted you to use it.”
Children.
Again.
Matteo looked at Elena.
She shrugged.
“Don’t ask me.”
Grace continued:
“My mom fixes things instead of saving broken ones.”
Elena laughed softly.
“Not always.”
Matteo turned the watch over.
Daniel’s initials.
D.R.
Not M.R.—the initial engraving near the crown in the original caption had been described as Daniel’s initials beside the crown, so here it remained Daniel Romano.
He remembered his brother saying:
A watch you don’t wear is just guilt with gears.
Daniel had said that at twenty-two.
Matteo almost smiled.
“Maybe.”
Grace nodded.
Victory.
Then Elena asked:
“What happens to Anthony?”
Matteo’s expression changed.
“Federal protection if he cooperates fully.”
“You’re allowing that?”
“I’m not the government.”
“You could refuse to help.”
“Yes.”
“But?”
Matteo looked at Grace.
“He threatened you.”
“So you want him punished.”
“Yes.”
“Elena?”
“Yes?”
“I also want the whole truth.”
Those two wants did not fit together neatly.
That was adulthood.
Anthony gave investigators names.
Accountants.
Union officials.
Old Romano captains.
Shipping managers.
Most were retired.
Some dead.
Some active.
The conspiracy had changed shape after Roberto died six years earlier.
Paul Greene became a broker.
Not boss.
He kept records buried.
Sold favors.
Extorted survivors of the old network.
That explained why he suddenly cared about Daniel’s watch.
If Daniel’s evidence resurfaced, Greene’s retirement became evidence.
Then investigators searched Greene’s house.
They found:
Cash.
Old police reports.
Photographs.
Three burner phones.
And Daniel’s wallet.
Matteo stopped breathing when shown the evidence photograph.
Brown leather.
His brother’s initials pressed inside.
Not burned.
Not at Warehouse Nine.
Found in Greene’s locked basement cabinet.
Matteo said:
“He had Daniel’s wallet.”
“Yes.”
“When did he get it?”
“Unknown.”
“Anything inside?”
One item.
A receipt.
Gas station.
December 31.
Eleven years earlier.
Two weeks after Daniel’s supposed funeral.
Matteo stared.
Daniel had been alive on New Year’s Eve.
The same day Elena expected his final call.
The receipt was from Pennsylvania.
Near Scranton.
He had made it farther than Anthony knew.
Maybe Roberto had lied to everyone.
Maybe Daniel escaped again.
The investigation shifted.
Gas-station footage was long gone.
But payment records remained.
Cash purchase.
Receipt handwritten because card system was down.
Employee names archived through tax records.
One clerk still alive.
Seventy-two.
Living in Allentown.
Federal agents interviewed him.
He remembered almost nothing.
Then they showed Daniel’s photograph.
The old man stared.
“Yes.”
Matteo’s heart stopped.
“You remember him?”
“Because he had blood on his coat.”
The clerk said Daniel bought water, bandages, and asked for directions to a bus station.
“Was he alone?”
“At first.”
“Then?”
“A woman came in.”
Matteo froze.
“What woman?”
The clerk described:
Dark hair.
Late twenties.
Long gray coat.
Italian accent.
Matteo knew before the agent said anything.
His sister.
Isabella Romano.
Daniel and Matteo’s younger sister.
Dead seven years.
Cancer.
At the time Daniel disappeared, Isabella had been twenty-seven.
Matteo whispered:
“No.”
Anthony, listening, went white.
The clerk said:
“She hugged him.”
That one sentence reopened the family completely.
May you like
Isabella had known Daniel was alive.
And for four years after Daniel’s supposed death, she had sat across from Matteo at Sunday dinner and never said a word.
