Chapter 4 - THE KNOCK IN THE DARK
"My father didn't owe you people."
The town car sped through the rain. I held the photograph so tight my knuckles turned white.
"He was an honest man," I said, my voice shaking with a rage I didn't know I possessed.
Vincent glanced at the photo. "In my world, honest men pay the highest debts, Grace."
"He wasn't part of your world!"
"Then why is Frankie Russo collecting an envelope from him?" Vincent asked calmly.
He wasn't mocking me. He was trying to solve the puzzle.
"My father died in an accident," I whispered, tears finally blurring my vision. "Eleven months ago. His van slipped off a jack. It crushed him."
Vincent's hands tightened on the steering wheel.
"Who wrote the police report?"
"A Detective Miller."
Vincent cursed softly in Italian.
"Miller works for my uncle, Sal," Vincent said. "Sal runs the unions. He controls the mechanics, the construction crews, the inspectors."
The pieces were clicking together, and the picture they formed was horrifying.
Answer one: My father’s death wasn’t an accident.
Open two: Why was Uncle Sal targeting a simple elevator repairman? And why was my father paying Frankie to protect a six-year-old boy?
"We need to get Leo," I said, panic rising in my throat. "Right now."
"Where does Mrs. Gable live?"
"Two doors down from my apartment. Unit 4B."
Vincent whipped the car into a hard U-turn.
Ten minutes later, we pulled into the alley behind my crumbling brick apartment building.
The rain had turned into a downpour.
"Stay behind me," Vincent ordered, pulling a heavy black pistol from the waistband of his trousers.
We took the fire escape. The metal steps were slippery.
When we reached the fourth floor, I saw it.
My apartment door, Unit 4D, was kicked wide open. The wood was splintered.
I screamed. "Leo!"
I ran past Vincent, heedless of the danger.
My living room was destroyed. The couch was slashed. The small television was smashed on the floor.
They had torn the place apart looking for something.
"Leo!" I sobbed.
I ran back into the hallway toward Unit 4B.
I pounded on the door. "Mrs. Gable! Open up!"
The door unlatched. The chain caught.
Mrs. Gable, a frail seventy-year-old woman, peered out. Her face was paper-white.
"Grace," she whimpered.
"Is he here?" I begged. "Is Leo safe?"
She opened the door.
Leo was sitting on her faded floral rug. He was clutching a piece of paper, staring blankly at the wall.
I fell to my knees and pulled him into my arms. He was shaking, but unhurt.
"I saw them, Aunt Grace," Leo whispered into my shoulder.
Vincent stepped into the doorway. His dark eyes scanned the room.
"How many men, kid?" Vincent asked gently.
"Two," Leo said. He held up the piece of paper he had been clutching.
It was a child's crayon drawing.
But it wasn't a stick figure.
Leo had drawn a man's coat. And pinned to the lapel of the coat, drawn in bright yellow crayon, was a very specific symbol.
A golden rose.
Vincent took the paper from Leo’s small hand.
His face drained of all color.
"That's not Uncle Sal," Vincent breathed.
May you like
He looked at me, a terrifying realization dawning in his eyes.
"That's my father."
