Chapter 4 - THE GIRL WHO SURVIVED THE FIRE
Rico ordered the restaurant closed.
Not for the night.
Indefinitely.
By nine-thirty, every guest had left through a rear exit.
Employees were paid and sent home.
Marco protested exactly once.
Rico looked at him.
Marco decided closure was an excellent idea.
Clara remained upstairs with Leo.
She didn’t know about Nico’s call yet.
Rico wanted answers first.
Sofia sat in the private dining room.
Two guards stood outside.
No weapons on the table.
No shouting.
Rico had discovered long ago that frightened people often filled silence themselves.
He sat across from her.
“Start.”
Sofia looked exhausted.
“I didn’t kill Elena.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“I loved my sister.”
“Then start.”
She covered her face.
“Nico had debts.”
Rico said nothing.
“Bad ones.”
“With who?”
“Sports betting. Private tables. Then loans.”
“How much?”
“Maybe two million.”
Rico almost laughed.
“For Nico?”
“He hid it.”
“From me.”
“Yes.”
Rico leaned back.
Nico Bellandi worked around Moretti businesses.
Not family leadership.
But close enough to use the name.
Close enough for creditors to believe repayment was guaranteed.
“What happened?”
“He borrowed from people connected to Romano.”
Rico’s jaw tightened.
“How stupid is your brother?”
“Very.”
“At least we agree.”
Sofia stared at the table.
“They started pressuring him.”
“For money?”
“For information.”
Rico went still.
“What information?”
“Routes. Meetings. Deliveries.”
“And he gave it?”
“At first, small things.”
Rico’s hands tightened.
“You knew.”
“Not then.”
“When?”
“A month before Elena died.”
“What did you do?”
“I told him to stop.”
Rico laughed softly.
“That usually works beautifully with blackmail.”
“I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You could have told me.”
Sofia looked up in terror.
“You would have killed him.”
Rico said nothing.
That was probably true.
She continued.
“Nico said he could fix it.”
“How?”
“He told the Romanos you were moving cash through Elena’s foundation events.”
Rico stared.
“That was false.”
“I know.”
“So they started watching my wife.”
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened.
“But that doesn’t explain the fire.”
Sofia began crying again.
“The Romanos wanted leverage.”
“What kind?”
“They were going to take Elena.”
Rico stood.
Sofia recoiled.
He forced himself to sit again.
“Take her.”
“Yes.”
“For ransom?”
“To force concessions.”
“And Nico helped them?”
“He gave her route.”
Rico’s voice went empty.
“Which night?”
She whispered:
“The night she died.”
For several seconds, Rico heard nothing.
Not the ventilation.
Not footsteps.
Only blood inside his ears.
“You knew before tonight.”
“I knew after.”
“How soon after?”
“Nico called me.”
“When?”
“That night.”
Rico stared.
“What did he say?”
“He said it went wrong.”
“What went wrong?”
“The men were supposed to block Elena’s car.”
“Then?”
“She fought.”
Of course she did.
Elena had never been obedient to fear.
“One man fired.”
Rico’s throat tightened.
“Shooting her?”
Sofia nodded.
“Then they panicked.”
“And burned the car.”
“No.”
Rico stared.
“What?”
Sofia shook her head violently.
“That wasn’t them.”
“Clara saw someone.”
“I know.”
“Who?”
Sofia looked at the door.
Then whispered:
“Nico.”
Rico stood again.
This time the chair fell backward.
“He burned his own sister?”
“He said Elena was still breathing.”
Rico stopped.
The room became unreal.
“No.”
Sofia sobbed.
“He was afraid she would survive.”
Rico stared at her.
“He could have called an ambulance.”
“He thought she would tell you.”
“So he killed her.”
“He said he was scared.”
Rico slammed his fist into the wall beside him.
Wood cracked.
The guards outside shifted.
Nobody entered.
Sofia cried harder.
Rico turned away.
For months, he had imagined Elena dying instantly.
That lie had allowed him to sleep some nights.
Gunfire.
Gone.
No fear.
No waiting.
Now he saw her alive inside the car.
Injured.
Trapped.
And her own brother finishing what strangers started.
Rico closed his eyes.
“Where was Leo?”
“In the back seat.”
His eyes opened.
“Nico knew?”
“Yes.”
Rico turned slowly.
“He set fire to a car with my son inside.”
“He pulled Leo out first.”
That barely helped.
“Why?”
“He loved him.”
Rico laughed in disbelief.
“Do not use that word.”
“He did.”
“He left him next to his mother’s burning car.”
Sofia sobbed.
“He thought Leo was unconscious.”
“But he wasn’t.”
“No.”
Rico remembered Leo’s screams.
Fire.
Red.
Uncle Nicky.
The child hadn’t lost language because grief made him silent.
He had seen something no three-year-old mind could understand.
Rico whispered:
“And Clara?”
Sofia wiped her face.
“Nico saw her.”
“She said a man grabbed her.”
“That was one of the Romano men.”
“Why didn’t he kill her?”
“He thought the fire would scare her away.”
“It did.”
“For a while.”
Rico turned.
“Why hunt her later?”
“Because Nico learned she had talked to a detective.”
Clara had never mentioned that.
“What detective?”
“Frank Delaney.”
Rico knew the name.
Chicago transplant.
NYPD organized crime.
Now retired suddenly.
“What happened to him?”
Sofia looked away.
Rico already knew the answer would be bad.
“He disappeared three months ago.”
Rico stared.
“Dead?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know more.”
“Nico said the problem was handled.”
Rico breathed slowly.
He had spent six months hunting Romanos while Nico cleaned witnesses.
Every corpse.
Every retaliation.
Every business burned.
Had all of it been built on a lie?
Rico stood.
“Dante.”
The door opened instantly.
“Boss.”
“Find Nico.”
“We’re already moving.”
“Alive.”
Dante hesitated.
Rico looked at him.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Alive.”
Because Rico wanted answers.
Not revenge.
At least not yet.
Then he went upstairs.
Clara sat with Leo asleep across her lap.
She looked up.
Something in Rico’s face made her tense.
“What happened?”
Rico looked at his son.
Then at her.
“Nico Bellandi knows who you are.”
Clara went completely still.
“You said that name before.”
“My brother-in-law.”
“The man Leo mentioned.”
“Yes.”
Rico sat opposite her.
“He called Sofia.”
Clara swallowed.
“What did he say?”
“He asked whether I found the girl.”
Her skin went pale.
“No.”
“Yes.”
She looked toward the windows.
“I need to leave.”
“No.”
She started to stand.
Leo stirred.
Clara froze.
Rico lowered his voice.
“You leave this building alone and Nico finds you before midnight.”
“I’ve survived six months.”
“Because he didn’t know where you were.”
“You found me.”
“My son found you.”
“That doesn’t make me safer.”
“No.”
Rico looked at her.
“I do.”
Clara almost laughed.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“You are the reason people were shooting in the first place.”
The truth hit.
Rico didn’t deny it.
“My life put Elena in danger.”
“And your son.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe I don’t want your protection.”
“You don’t have to want it.”
Her eyes flashed.
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It is reality.”
Clara carefully shifted Leo onto the couch.
Then stood.
“I changed my last name.”
Rico stared.
“What?”
“Vance isn’t my real last name.”
“Why?”
“Because Detective Delaney told me to disappear.”
Rico leaned forward.
“You knew him.”
“I gave him a statement two days after the fire.”
“What statement?”
“What I told you.”
“About Nico?”
“I didn’t know it was Nico.”
“Red car?”
“Yes.”
“Woman?”
“Yes.”
Rico frowned.
“What woman?”
“The woman who poured liquid through the window.”
Rico went still.
“Sofia said Nico set the fire.”
Clara shook her head.
“No.”
“You’re certain?”
“I didn’t see a face. But I saw the body.”
“What does that mean?”
“She was smaller than the man who grabbed me.”
“Could it have been Nico in a coat?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
Clara swallowed.
“Because she spoke.”
Rico stared.
“What did she say?”
Clara had buried the memory.
She heard it again now.
The flames beginning.
A woman’s voice.
Cold.
Furious.
“He promised you’d be dead before I got here.”
Rico felt the air leave the room.
“She said that to Elena?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
Clara looked at him.
“She leaned into the car.”
Rico’s hands clenched.
“And said, ‘You should have stayed away from him.’”
Silence.
Rico’s expression changed.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
Clara noticed.
“You know who said that.”
He didn’t answer.
“Rico.”
His eyes lifted to hers.
Only three women had ever spoken about Elena that way.
Only one had been obsessed enough.
Connected enough.
Protected enough.
Rico stood.
“My cousin’s wife.”
Clara frowned.
“What?”
Rico’s voice became colder with every word.
“Camilla Russo.”
A Moretti by marriage.
Widowed for four years.
Beautiful.
Well connected.
May you like
And before Rico married Elena—
the woman his father had expected him to marry.
