Chapter 5 - THE MAN WHO STOOD BESIDE DANTE FOR NINE YEARS
Dante did not react the way I expected.
No slammed fist.
No shouted order.
No dramatic promise of revenge.
He simply took the map down from the wall and folded it.
That frightened Luca more than anger would have.
“Dante.”
“What?”
“Don’t move yet.”
Dante looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because if Carlo knew about the bomb, we don’t know who else did.”
Dante slipped the map inside his coat.
“Then we find out.”
Tommy checked the storage unit again.
“No sign Matthew was here recently.”
I pointed at the newspaper.
“Three days.”
“Could be someone else.”
“It’s his coat.”
Tommy gave me a sympathetic look.
“That doesn’t mean he’s still using the place.”
I hated that he was right.
Dante looked at the photographs again.
“Anthony and Matthew worked together.”
Luca nodded.
“Looks that way.”
“And Clara knew both.”
“Yes.”
Dante’s face hardened.
“So three people knew something about the bomb before it happened.”
I corrected him.
“Before or after.”
He looked at me.
“We don’t know when these pictures were taken.”
That mattered.
If Clara learned about Carlo after the bombing, it meant she had discovered a threat too late.
If she knew before—
Then why had she gotten into that car?
We returned to Chicago before midnight.
Nobody called Carlo.
Nobody warned the capos.
Dante went home.
I should have gone home too.
Instead, I stayed at the office.
At 1:30 a.m., Dante came back.
I was eating crackers from the emergency drawer.
He stood beside my desk.
“Why are you still here?”
“I’m investigating my missing father, your dead wife, your secret brother, and a capo who may have known about a bombing.”
I held up a cracker.
“Sleep seemed optimistic.”
Dante looked at the box.
“That is dinner?”
“No. Dinner was coffee.”
He disappeared into his office.
Five minutes later he returned carrying two plates from the small executive kitchen.
Pasta.
“Eat.”
I stared.
“Did you cook?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He almost smiled.
We ate at my desk.
No one spoke for several minutes.
Then Dante asked, “Why does Ethan need residential care?”
I stiffened.
He noticed.
“You don’t have to answer.”
That surprised me enough that I did.
“He has a neurological disorder. Progressive when we were kids. Stable now, mostly.”
Dante listened.
“He needs assistance with almost everything. He’s smart. Funny. Stubborn.”
“You visit?”
“Every Sunday.”
“Does he know about Matthew?”
“He remembers pieces.”
I looked at the computer screen.
“He once told me Dad used to visit when I was at school.”
Dante stopped eating.
“What?”
“I thought he was confused.”
“How old was Ethan?”
“Six. Maybe seven.”
“So your father may have been nearby for years.”
“Yes.”
The hurt came unexpectedly.
I had spent half my life believing Matthew abandoned both of us.
Now I was learning he might have abandoned only me.
Dante seemed to understand the distinction.
“That’s worse.”
I looked at him.
“Yes.”
He did not tell me there was probably a good reason.
I appreciated that.
At three, I found the first useful connection.
Carlo Vitale had authorized several Lake Street trucking crews nine years ago.
Nothing unusual.
Except one driver appeared on four manifests that had later been altered.
Gianni Russo.
Current position?
Union representative for Warehouse Local 418.
I knew that local.
They handled labor at two Marino warehouses and one Rinaldi property.
Dante leaned over the screen.
“Gianni worked for Carlo.”
“Before he joined the union.”
“Where is he now?”
“Probably sleeping, unlike us.”
Dante ignored that.
At seven, Gianni arrived at Marino headquarters.
He was fifty-three.
Broad.
Gray at the temples.
He looked at Dante, then Luca, then me.
“Why is the secretary here?”
“I found you,” I said.
He looked mildly offended.
Dante placed the Lake Street map on the table.
Gianni’s face changed.
“Where did you get that?”
“Matthew Davis.”
The man sat down.
That was answer enough.
“You know him,” Dante said.
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try again.”
“I haven’t seen him in two years.”
Dante’s voice stayed calm.
“Carlo knew about the bomb.”
Gianni shut his eyes.
“Yes.”
Luca swore quietly.
Dante did not move.
“Did he order it?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know.”
Dante leaned forward.
“Gianni.”
“I swear.”
“Then what did Carlo know?”
Gianni rubbed both hands over his face.
“He knew somebody inside the family was feeding routes to the Rinaldis.”
“Who?”
“Anthony.”
Dante’s face changed.
I frowned.
“Anthony was betraying the family?”
Gianni looked at me.
“No.”
He was trying to prove someone else was.
That was the reversal.
Anthony had been following the leaks.
Not creating them.
The bomb had been blamed on the Rinaldis because their soldiers had access to the route.
But Anthony discovered someone inside Marino operations had deliberately given them partial information.
“Why partial?” I asked.
Gianni looked at Dante.
“Because the bomb wasn’t supposed to kill you.”
Silence.
Dante’s voice became dangerously quiet.
“It killed my wife.”
“I know.”
“Who was it supposed to kill?”
Gianni’s eyes moved toward Luca.
Then back to Dante.
“Your father.”
Enzo Marino.
Dante took one step backward.
The history changed instantly.
The bomb that killed Clara had supposedly been an attack on Dante.
Instead, his father had been the target.
“Why?” Dante asked.
Gianni shook his head.
“Anthony believed someone wanted Enzo removed without starting a full family war.”
“Who?”
“He never proved it.”
“Carlo?”
“Carlo found out there was a plan. He tried to warn Enzo.”
Dante stared.
“Then why did my father let me believe Carlo knew nothing?”
Gianni looked grim.
“Because Enzo was the one who changed cars that morning.”
Nobody spoke.
I felt sick.
“What does that mean?”
Gianni answered.
“The bomb had been planted in the sedan Enzo usually used.”
Dante’s eyes went empty.
“But Clara took it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Gianni looked down.
“Because Enzo gave it to her.”
Dante’s face changed in a way I hope never to see again.
Not rage.
Pain so complete it looked like absence.
“My father put my wife in that car?”
“He didn’t know about the bomb.”
Dante’s voice turned sharp.
“You just said Carlo warned him.”
“Not specifically.”
Gianni raised both hands.
“Carlo said there was a threat around Enzo’s movements. Enzo thought it was routine pressure. He switched cars because he was paranoid about being followed.”
“And Clara?”
“She needed to go downtown.”
Dante turned away.
Nine years of grief.
Nine years of hatred toward the Rinaldis.
Nine years of believing the bomb was meant for him.
Now his father stood at the center of it.
“Why did Clara meet Matthew?” I asked.
Gianni looked at me.
“She was trying to figure out who betrayed Enzo’s routes.”
“And Anthony?”
“He was helping her.”
“Then where did Carlo fit?”
“He discovered them.”
Dante turned.
“What did he do?”
“Protected them.”
Another reversal.
Carlo had not been Clara’s enemy.
He had been helping.
Then why did my father write CARLO KNEW ABOUT THE BOMB?
Gianni nodded toward the map.
“Because he did.”
I frowned.
“That still sounds terrible.”
“He knew after.”
Dante looked at him.
“After what?”
“The explosion.”
Gianni swallowed.
“Carlo found the man who planted it.”
Silence.
“Who?”
Gianni stared at Dante.
“He was one of your father’s soldiers.”
Dante’s hands curled.
“Name.”
“Paul Santoro.”
Luca’s face went pale.
I noticed immediately.
“You know him.”
Luca sat down.
“Paul was my driver.”
Dante looked at his uncle.
May you like
The room went cold.
Luca whispered, “And my wife’s brother.”
