Chapter 5 - THE PRICE OF A SECRET
My heart stopped beating.
The cold air in the ruined restaurant kitchen suddenly felt suffocating.
“My sister?” I stammered, gripping the edge of the prep table. “Chloe is at her dorm. At Northwestern. Why?”
Vincent didn't answer. He stared at the bloodstained letter in his hands, his face completely pale. He shoved the paper at Anthony and grabbed his phone, dialing a number with frantic speed.
“Pick up, pick up,” he muttered.
“Vincent, what does my sister have to do with this?” I demanded, stepping forward. I didn't care that he was a mafia boss. I didn't care about the gun in his hand. “Tell me!”
Anthony looked at me with deep pity. He held up the letter.
“This isn't a confession from my mother, Mia,” Anthony said softly. “It’s a ledger. A list of every dirty payoff Daniel ever made using the Caruso money. The judges. The cops. The politicians. But Daniel didn't keep the money for himself. He laundered it through fake scholarships and charities.”
My blood ran cold.
My younger sister’s tuition.
I had been struggling to pay it. Six months ago, a mysterious "anonymous alumni grant" had covered Chloe's entire four-year program. I had cried tears of joy. I had told Vincent about it during one of my shifts, thanking God for the miracle.
“Daniel knows everything about my staff,” Vincent said, lowering his phone. His eyes were dark pools of dread. “He manages the household payroll. He knew you were struggling. He used my mother’s laundered money to pay your sister’s tuition, Mia. He made your sister an accessory to a federal money-laundering syndicate.”
I couldn't breathe. “No. No, she doesn't know anything about that!”
“It doesn't matter,” Vincent said. “Daniel has the receipts. If we turn him in for my father’s murder, he’ll hand the FBI the ledger. Your sister will go to federal prison for receiving stolen mafia funds.”
I collapsed against the wall, my knees giving out. Rose rushed to my side, wrapping her frail arms around me.
“You sick bastards,” I sobbed, looking at Vincent and Anthony. “You dragged my family into your blood.”
“I didn't know,” Vincent swore, dropping to his knees in front of me. “Mia, I swear to you, I didn't know Daniel was doing this.”
“Well, he is!” Anthony yelled. “And he’s doing it to keep us trapped! That’s why he wanted the restaurant sold. The twenty-eight million dollar loan wasn't for a hotel, Vince. Daniel was cashing out. He used Richard’s company to take out the loan, planning to frame Richard for the fraud, grab the cash, and disappear.”
On the floor, Richard Mercer whimpered. “He forced me. Daniel said if I didn't sign the loan documents, he’d give the police the gun Frankie used to kill a cop thirty years ago. He kept it all this time.”
I looked at Rose. She was crying silently, her hand stroking my hair.
“Did you know, Rose?” I whispered, pulling away from her slightly. “Did you know Daniel was doing this?”
Rose shook her head violently. “No, sweetheart, I swear. I only knew Evelyn was hiding something terrible in that box.”
Vincent stood up, his face hardening into a mask of pure violence.
“We have to find Daniel,” Vincent said. “Before he gets on a plane.”
Anthony shook his head. “He’s not going to an airport, Vince. He needs leverage to ensure we don't go to the cops while he escapes.”
Suddenly, Vincent’s phone buzzed. He looked down at the screen.
It was a text from Daniel.
Vincent read it aloud, his voice devoid of all emotion.
“If you want the ledger, and if you want the girl's sister to stay out of prison, bring the twenty-eight million in bearer bonds to the old shipyard on Navy Pier. Come alone, Vincent. If I see Anthony, or the police, the little boy dies.”
I gasped.
Vincent froze.
“The little boy?” Vincent looked at Anthony. “What little boy?”
Anthony’s tough exterior shattered. The gangster who had just kicked down a door and threatened a man with a sledgehammer suddenly looked like a terrified child. Tears welled in his eyes.
He reached into his leather jacket and pulled out a small, silver locket. He clicked it open and showed it to Vincent.
It was a picture of a five-year-old boy with dark, curly hair and bright blue eyes.
Rose gasped aloud. “Leo.”
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I recognized him instantly. He was one of the two little boys who came into the restaurant every Saturday morning for extra syrup.
“He’s my son, Vince,” Anthony sobbed, dropping to his knees among the splintered floorboards. “I hid him. I kept him away from the family so he wouldn't turn out like us. But Daniel found him. Daniel took my boy.”
