Chapter 4 - THE TRAITOR IN THE KITCHEN
"Put the pouch on the counter, Hannah," Silas said.
His voice was terrifyingly calm. He didn't look like a man who had just betrayed the most powerful mafia boss in Boston. He looked like a man finishing a routine chore.
I stood frozen in the kitchen, clutching the leather pouch Rosa had pulled from the flour jar.
"Silas," I breathed. "You're Rocco's man. Marco trusts you."
"Marco is a sentimental fool," Silas replied, stepping fully into the light. "And Rocco is an old man who let a ghost distract him from his empire. Put it on the counter."
Answer one: Silas was the leak. He had called Elena the second Rocco ordered the cars. The shootout at the restaurant was a distraction, meant to trap Rocco and Marco while Silas came to eliminate the loose ends.
Rosa didn't scream. She looked at Silas, then down at my mother's gold rosary on the floor.
"Where is the woman who lives downstairs?" Rosa asked, her voice steady and thick with her Calabrian accent. "The sick one. Where is she?"
"She's sleeping peacefully," Silas lied smoothly. "As long as you give me the pouch, she continues to sleep."
Open two: What is inside this tiny leather pouch that is worth betraying a mafia empire, breaking into my mother's apartment, and risking a war?
I slowly placed the pouch on the linoleum counter. Silas kept his gun leveled at Rosa as he reached into his jacket and tossed a heavy ring of keys onto the table.
"Open it," he commanded me.
My hands shook violently as I untied the leather strings. I turned the pouch upside down.
A single, folded piece of heavy parchment fell onto the counter, along with a rusted iron key.
I unfolded the paper. It was old, the ink faded but legible. It was a marriage certificate from a small church in Calabria, Italy. Dated thirty-five years ago.
The names on the document were Rocco DeLuca and Rosa Ferraro.
"A piece of paper," I whispered, staring at it. "You're going to kill us over a piece of paper?"
"That piece of paper proves Rocco and Rosa were never legally divorced," Silas said, stepping closer. "Which means Rocco’s marriage to Elena is fraudulent. Which means Elena has no legal claim to the DeLuca shipping ports, the real estate, or the offshore accounts. Without this paper, Rosa is just a crazy old woman. With it, she destroys a billion-dollar merger."
Silas reached out to grab the certificate.
But Rosa was faster.
The frail, seventy-year-old woman didn't cower. She reached out with her scarred hand, grabbed the rusted iron key off the counter, and drove it directly into Silas's wrist.
Silas roared in pain, dropping his gun.
"Run, Hannah!" Rosa screamed, shoving the heavy bodyguard backward.
I didn't run. I snatched the heavy cast-iron skillet resting on the stove and swung it with everything I had. The heavy metal connected with the side of Silas's head with a sickening crack.
He crumpled to the kitchen floor, unconscious.
I dropped the skillet, my chest heaving. Rosa was already picking up her coat, completely unfazed by the violence.
"You are a good girl, Hannah," Rosa said, breathing heavily. She picked up the marriage certificate and tucked it into her bra. "But we must get your mother. Now."
I ran downstairs, Rosa right behind me. I unlocked my apartment door. The living room had been tossed—drawers pulled out, cushions flipped. Silas had been searching for the pouch before he realized Rosa had it upstairs.
I ran to my mother's bedroom.
She was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking terrified but unharmed. When she saw me, she burst into tears.
"Hannah! There was a man in here—he took my rosary—"
"I know, Mom. I know," I said, grabbing her shoes. "We have to leave right now. You have to be strong for ten minutes. Can you do that?"
My mother, weakened by months of chemo, looked at the pure desperation in my eyes and nodded.
We sneaked out the back fire escape, avoiding the two men parked out front. We moved through the freezing alleyways of East Boston until we reached a crowded twenty-four-hour diner three blocks away.
I pushed them into a corner booth and pulled out my cell phone. I dialed the restaurant.
It rang five times. Finally, someone picked up.
"Bellavista," a breathless voice answered. It was Marco.
"Marco, it's Hannah," I whispered frantically. "We have Rosa. We have my mom. Silas was here. He works for Elena."
A heavy sigh of profound relief echoed through the phone. "Thank God. Are you safe?"
"We're at the Blue Diner on 4th Street," I said. "But Marco... Silas was looking for a marriage certificate. Rosa has it."
There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
"Hannah," Marco said, his voice dropping an octave. "Listen to me very carefully. Do not trust my father."
I frowned. "What? Why?"
May you like
"I just found Elena’s burner phone in the restaurant office," Marco said, his voice filled with cold dread. "Silas wasn't taking orders from Elena tonight. Silas was taking orders from my father. Rocco is the one who ordered the hit on my mother."
TITLE: THE LIE IN THE LEDGER
