Chapter 2 - LOCK THE DOORS
For several seconds, Salvatore Romano did not move.
Neither did Paul.
The bent piece of license plate rested in Salvatore’s palm.
Three numbers.
417.
Daniel Romano’s motorcycle plate had ended in 417.
Salvatore remembered because he had bought the motorcycle for his nephew’s twenty-seventh birthday.
A black Ducati Daniel had wanted since he was nineteen.
Salvatore had told him it was too fast.
Daniel had laughed.
“So are most things you like.”
That memory suddenly felt cruel.
Salvatore closed his fingers around the metal.
Then looked toward the two men standing near the dining-room entrance.
“Lock the doors.”
Angela’s face changed.
“Salvatore.”
He ignored her.
“Front.”
“Kitchen.”
“Patio.”
“Garage.”
One of his men, Carlo Bianchi, nodded.
“Done.”
Paul stepped forward.
“What the hell is this?”
Salvatore finally looked at him.
“A family dinner.”
His voice remained calm.
“We’re going to finish it.”
Nobody believed him.
The children looked frightened.
Salvatore noticed immediately.
He turned toward his oldest niece, Teresa.
“Take the kids upstairs.”
Christopher looked at his mother.
Angela started:
“My son isn’t—”
Salvatore raised one hand.
“All children.”
Then he looked at Mia.
“You stay.”
Angela laughed nervously.
“Of course she stays. She started this.”
Salvatore’s eyes moved toward her.
“No.”
He dried Mia’s hands again.
“She survived it.”
The room went completely silent.
Teresa led the children upstairs.
Christopher hesitated.
Mia looked at him.
Then at Daniel’s watch in her hand.
Christopher’s face reddened.
“I’m sorry.”
Mia said nothing.
That was okay.
She did not owe him immediate forgiveness because adults wanted the room comfortable.
Once the children were gone, Salvatore pulled out the chair at the head of the table.
He didn’t sit.
“Paul.”
His younger brother stood near the fallen chair.
“What happened at the warehouse?”
“Nothing.”
“Mia says otherwise.”
“She’s nine.”
Salvatore’s expression changed slightly.
“So?”
“She found a piece of junk.”
“Daniel’s plate.”
“You don’t know that.”
Salvatore placed the bent metal on the table.
“Then you won’t mind if I have it checked.”
Paul’s jaw tightened.
Angela jumped in.
“This is insane.”
Salvatore looked at her.
“Did you take Mia to the warehouse last week?”
Angela hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I needed something from Paul.”
“What?”
“My coat.”
Someone at the table coughed.
Salvatore stared.
“You drove to a warehouse to get a coat.”
Angela’s face flushed.
“It was in his office.”
“Why was Mia with you?”
“She was in the car.”
Mia whispered:
“She told me to wait.”
Salvatore looked at her.
“And you got out?”
The girl nodded.
“I had to use the bathroom.”
“Then?”
“I went behind the building because the front door was locked.”
Paul said sharply:
“She was trespassing where she’d been told not to go.”
Salvatore looked at his brother.
“That is your concern?”
Paul stopped.
Mia continued.
“There were motorcycles.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
“Were they whole?”
She thought.
“Two were.”
Salvatore’s pulse changed.
“And the other?”
Mia lifted one hand.
“Pieces.”
Paul’s face went pale.
Salvatore saw.
“So you found the plate there.”
“Yes.”
“Where exactly?”
“Under Uncle Paul’s black car.”
Angela snapped:
“It could have come from anywhere.”
Mia looked at her.
Then quietly said:
“It had Dad’s blue sticker.”
Salvatore frowned.
“What sticker?”
Mia turned the plate fragment over.
Near one corner was the torn edge of a faded blue decal.
Daniel had joined a charity motorcycle ride every September.
Participants received a small blue wing sticker.
Daniel had put his beside the plate.
Salvatore remembered teasing him about it.
He stopped breathing for half a second.
Paul reached for the wine bottle.
His hand shook.
Salvatore noticed.
“When Daniel died, police said the motorcycle was recovered from Bayview Road.”
“Yes.”
“Three miles from your warehouse.”
Paul nodded.
“So?”
“So pieces of Daniel’s motorcycle should not be behind your building eighteen months later.”
Paul looked at him.
“You think I killed my own son?”
The sentence hit the room.
Mia froze.
Salvatore’s eyes sharpened.
“Your son?”
Paul swallowed.
Daniel had not been Paul’s biological son.
Daniel was their late sister Rosa’s child.
After Rosa died young, Paul and his first wife had taken Daniel in at thirteen.
Daniel called Paul Dad for years.
Then something changed in adulthood.
Salvatore never understood why.
He stared at his brother.
“I didn’t accuse you of murder.”
“You locked the doors.”
“I accused you of knowing something.”
Paul looked away.
That was worse.
Salvatore turned toward Angela.
“How long has Mia been washing dishes during dinner?”
She blinked.
“What does that have to do with Daniel?”
“Answer.”
“Sometimes she helps.”
“How often?”
Angela crossed her arms.
“She needs chores.”
“Chores.”
Salvatore looked at Mia’s red hands.
“Does Christopher do dishes while everyone else eats?”
“He has other chores.”
“What?”
Angela opened her mouth.
Nothing came.
Salvatore looked at Paul.
“I send you six thousand dollars every month for Mia.”
Several relatives shifted.
Angela’s face changed.
Mia looked up sharply.
“What?”
Salvatore stared at her.
“You didn’t know?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
His chest tightened.
Paul said:
“That money goes toward the household.”
“Her household.”
“She lives with us.”
“Her clothes?”
“Paid.”
“School?”
“You pay tuition directly.”
“Dance?”
Paul looked away.
Mia whispered:
“I don’t dance anymore.”
Salvatore turned.
“What?”
Angela answered:
“She lost interest.”
Mia shook her head.
“No.”
Salvatore crouched.
“Why did you stop?”
“Aunt Angela said it cost too much.”
The room went quiet.
“How long ago?”
“October.”
Seven months.
Salvatore had continued paying the monthly support.
“What about your doctor?”
Mia shrugged.
“I haven’t gone.”
“When was the last time?”
“Before Christmas.”
Salvatore looked at Paul.
Her annual pediatric appointment had supposedly happened in February.
He had received an emailed summary from Paul.
Healthy.
Normal growth.
No concerns.
“You told me she saw Dr. Kaplan.”
Paul’s face tightened.
“I thought Angela took her.”
Angela stared.
“You told him?”
Salvatore caught it.
Not coordination anymore.
Fracture.
Good.
“What happened to the money?”
Paul’s voice hardened.
“This is insulting.”
“Yes.”
Salvatore nodded.
“It is.”
Paul looked surprised.
“I trusted you with Daniel’s daughter.”
His voice lowered.
“I am discovering I may have insulted her every month by assuming that trust was deserved.”
Mia’s eyes filled.
Salvatore turned toward her.
“Sweetheart, I need to ask something.”
She nodded.
“Do you have your own bedroom?”
“Yes.”
Angela answered too quickly.
Salvatore looked at Mia.
She hesitated.
Then:
“Sort of.”
His stomach sank.
“What does sort of mean?”
“My bed is in the sewing room now.”
Angela sighed.
“She sleeps there.”
“What happened to her bedroom?”
“Christopher needed a study room.”
Salvatore slowly stood.
The entire room felt colder.
“Christopher has a bedroom.”
“He needs privacy.”
“So does Mia.”
“She is nine.”
Salvatore stared.
Children apparently stopped deserving privacy at nine and became old enough to wash dishes alone.
Interesting.
He turned to Carlo.
“Call Dr. Kaplan tomorrow.”
“Get every record concerning Mia.”
Paul stepped forward.
“You don’t have authority to do that.”
Salvatore looked at him.
That was an odd thing to say.
“Why not?”
“I’m her guardian.”
There it was.
Guardian.
Not father.
Not uncle.
Control.
Salvatore asked:
“Where is Daniel’s will?”
Paul’s expression changed.
“Why?”
“Because Daniel named me executor.”
Paul looked pale now.
“I don’t remember.”
“I do.”
Daniel had left very little.
A motorcycle.
Personal possessions.
A modest life-insurance policy.
And instructions that Mia’s legal guardian would be Paul because he had raised Daniel.
Salvatore had agreed.
He had believed stability mattered more than changing homes after Mia lost her father.
Maybe he had mistaken familiarity for safety.
“Where is the life-insurance money?”
Paul said:
“In trust.”
“Which trust?”
“Sal, come on.”
“Which trust?”
Paul looked toward Angela.
Wrong direction.
Salvatore saw it.
Before anyone could answer, Mia tugged his jacket.
“Uncle Sal?”
He looked down.
“There was a bag too.”
Paul went white.
“What bag?”
Mia looked at him.
“The one in the garage.”
Salvatore crouched again.
“What was in it?”
“I didn’t open it.”
“Describe it.”
“Black.”
“Big?”
She held her hands about two feet apart.
“It had Dad’s name.”
Paul suddenly moved.
Not toward Salvatore.
Toward Mia.
Carlo stepped between them immediately.
Paul stopped.
Salvatore stood.
“What was written?”
Mia thought.
“D. Romano.”
Then:
“And police.”
Nobody breathed.
Salvatore looked at his brother.
Police evidence bags did not normally sit behind warehouses eighteen months after a fatal accident.
“Paul.”
His voice was almost gentle.
“Where did you get Daniel’s evidence?”
Paul stared.
Angela whispered:
“Tell him.”
Paul turned.
“Shut up.”
Salvatore’s expression changed.
Angela flinched.
Not from volume.
Recognition.
Salvatore saw it.
This marriage had more fear in it than he had noticed.
“Angela.”
She looked at him.
“Do you know what happened to Daniel?”
Her eyes filled.
Paul said:
“Don’t.”
Salvatore did not look away from her.
“Do you?”
A tear slid down Angela’s cheek.
Then she whispered:
“He didn’t crash on Bayview Road.”
Paul closed his eyes.
Mia gripped the watch.
Salvatore asked:
“Where?”
Angela looked toward her husband.
Then at the piece of license plate on the table.
“Behind the warehouse.”
The room went silent.
Salvatore’s voice became colder.
“Who moved the body?”
Angela’s face crumpled.
“I don’t know.”
“Who moved the motorcycle?”
“I don’t know.”
Paul shouted:
“She’s lying!”
Mia jumped.
Salvatore’s head snapped toward him.
“Enough.”
Paul breathed hard.
Angela was crying now.
“I saw Daniel that night.”
Salvatore stared.
“You were there?”
“No.”
“I came later.”
“For what?”
Angela looked at Paul.
“He called me.”
“What time?”
“After midnight.”
Daniel’s official accident time had been estimated around 11:30.
“What did Paul say?”
Angela swallowed.
“That Daniel had gotten hurt.”
Salvatore felt every muscle in his body tighten.
“And when you arrived?”
“There was blood behind the warehouse.”
Mia shut her eyes.
Salvatore immediately turned toward her.
This was no longer something she needed to hear.
“Mia.”
She opened them.
“Go upstairs with Teresa.”
“No.”
“Mia.”
“I want to know what happened to Dad.”
Salvatore’s chest tightened.
“You deserve to know.”
He lowered his voice.
“But you do not deserve to hear adults describe it like this.”
She looked at Paul.
“Did he hurt Dad?”
Salvatore would not lie.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Are you going to find out?”
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
He thought carefully.
Then nodded.
“I promise I will find the truth.”
Mia stared at him.
Then handed him Daniel’s watch.
“What?”
“Keep it.”
“No.”
“So Uncle Paul can’t take it again.”
The sentence nearly broke him.
Salvatore closed his hand around the watch.
“I’ll keep it safe.”
Mia followed Teresa upstairs.
Only after she disappeared did Salvatore turn back.
The softness left his face.
“Angela.”
She wiped her cheeks.
“Continue.”
“I got there around twelve fifteen.”
“Paul was there.”
“Yes.”
“Daniel?”
She nodded.
“Alive?”
The question barely came out.
Angela started crying harder.
“Yes.”
Salvatore stopped breathing.
Paul whispered:
“Angela.”
She looked at him.
Something changed.
Maybe eighteen months of fear finally reached its limit.
“He was alive.”
Salvatore stared at Paul.
The official report said Daniel died at the scene on Bayview Road.
If Daniel had been alive at the warehouse—
then someone had moved a dying man instead of calling an ambulance.
Salvatore placed both hands on the table.
“What happened next?”
Angela looked directly at him.
“Paul told me to go home.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he said you were coming.”
Salvatore went completely still.
“I was where?”
Angela blinked.
“He said he’d already called you.”
Salvatore stared.
“No one called me that night until the police did at 2:07 in the morning.”
Angela’s face went white.
Paul looked toward the door.
Locked.
Salvatore understood.
His brother had not only lied about Daniel’s accident.
He had used Salvatore’s name to control witnesses.
“What did Daniel say?”
Angela closed her eyes.
“He kept asking for Mia.”
Salvatore’s throat tightened.
“And?”
“He said…”
She looked toward Paul.
“He said, ‘Tell Uncle Sal it wasn’t an accident.’”
Nobody in the dining room breathed.
Salvatore turned toward his younger brother.
Paul’s face had gone completely gray.
And for the first time since Sunday dinner began—
Salvatore stopped wondering whether Paul had covered up Daniel’s death.
May you like
Now he wondered whether Paul had caused it.
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