Chapter 4 - THE RED LEDGER AND THE MIDNIGHT BARGAIN
The flame danced inches from the thick, aged paper of the ledger.
The music room, usually a sanctuary of soft melodies and sunlight, felt like a powder keg. Brooke stood frozen, the shards of her broken crystal glass scattered around her designer heels. Vincent was a statue, his eyes locked on the fire in my hand with a terror I had never seen him direct at a rival boss.
“Helen, put the lighter down,” Vincent pleaded, his voice cracking. “You don't understand what you’re holding. If those pages burn, we lose all our leverage. Rossi will slaughter us.”
“Rossi already has our daughter and grandson,” I replied, my voice steady despite the adrenaline roaring in my ears. “Leverage is useless if you’re too cowardly to use it. Brooke, I told you to make the call.”
Brooke’s arrogant veneer had entirely dissolved. She stared at me as if a ghost had just ripped off its mask.
“You’re bluffing,” she stammered, though her hands trembled as she reached for her gold-plated phone. “You’re a housewife. You don't have the stomach for this.”
I lowered the flame slightly, just enough to singe the very edge of the leather binding. The acrid smell of burnt leather filled the room instantly.
Brooke gasped and dialed frantically.
Vincent wiped a line of sweat from his forehead. “How did you find it, Helen? I checked that mantle every week. The seal was never broken.”
“Because I never took it out,” I said, not taking my eyes off Brooke. “I just memorized the account numbers. Do you remember the year you were indicted, Vincent? You spent three months refusing to speak in this house because you thought it was bugged. You wrote everything down.”
He stared at me, the realization dawning in his eyes.
“You left your notes on the piano bench while you paced,” I continued, my voice cold. “You thought I was just sight-reading sheet music. But I was reading your empire, Vincent. Measure by measure.”
Brooke held the phone to her ear, her face pale. “Uncle Tommy? It’s Brooke. We have a problem.”
She listened for a moment, her eyes darting toward me. “His wife has the book. The real one. And she’s threatening to burn it.”
A tinny, sharp voice barked through the receiver. Brooke flinched.
“I’m putting you on speaker,” she said, setting the phone on the coffee table and backing away.
“Mrs. Romano,” Thomas Rossi’s gravelly voice echoed in my home. “I must admit, I’m surprised. I thought Vincent kept his pets well-trained.”
“My daughter, Mr. Rossi. Where is she?” I demanded, ignoring his insult.
“She’s quite comfortable,” Rossi said smoothly. “A bit stubborn, like her father, but her boy is an absolute delight. He’s coloring right now. Wants to know when his grandpa is coming to get him.”
My heart twisted violently at the thought of six-year-old Leo in a room surrounded by armed men. I squeezed my eyes shut for a fraction of a second, letting the anger burn away the fear.
“Bring them to the neutral zone at Navy Pier,” I instructed. “One hour. You bring Lily and Leo, and I bring the ledger.”
“Helen, no!” Vincent shouted. “ Navy Pier is a death trap. If you walk out in the open with that book, his snipers will drop you before you reach the gate.”
“Quiet, Vince,” Rossi chuckled through the phone. “Your wife is handling business better than you have in five years. Mrs. Romano, a trade at the Pier is unacceptable. I don't negotiate with civilians. Hand the book to my niece, and I promise your daughter will be dropped off at a motel by morning.”
“Do I sound like a woman who takes promises from thieves?” I asked. I moved the flame closer to the book. “Listen closely, Mr. Rossi. I am not Vincent. I don't care about your territories, your shipping routes, or your pride. I am a mother who wants her child. If I don't hear Lily’s voice right now, the book burns.”
Silence stretched over the line.
Then, a faint scuffling sound, followed by a voice that made my knees weak.
“Mom?”
“Lily,” I gasped, the cold facade cracking for a second. “Lily, honey, are you okay? Is Leo hurt?”
“We’re okay, Mom,” Lily’s voice shook, thick with tears. “But Mom, you shouldn't have gotten involved. They’re not going to let us go. The man guarding us... Mom, I know him.”
“What do you mean you know him?” I asked, panic flaring.
“It’s Uncle Leo,” Lily cried. “Mom, Vincent’s brother is here. He’s the one who took us.”
The phone went dead.
The silence in the room was absolute.
I looked at Vincent. His face was gray. The brother he claimed was dead—the brother whose silver rosary had started this nightmare—was alive. And he was working with the rival family to destroy us.
Before I could speak, the heavy oak doors of the music room slammed open.
Three men in dark suits stepped in, their weapons drawn and leveled directly at my chest.
Brooke smiled, reaching down to pick up her phone. “Did you really think I didn't text my security team while we were talking, Helen?”
She walked toward me, her hand outstretched.
“Give me the ledger, Helen. The game is over.”
But as Brooke reached for the book, I didn't look at her. I looked past the gunmen, straight at the doorway, where a fourth figure had just stepped out of the shadows.
He was older, his face scarred and weather-beaten, wearing a heavy wool coat.
“Hello, Vincent,” the man said softly.
May you like
Vincent fell to his knees. “Leo.”
The dead brother had come home. And in his hand, he was holding my grandson’s tiny, blue winter coat.
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