Chapter 3 - ANTHONY’S FATHER MADE THE SAME DEAL
Anthony Romano lasted eleven minutes before asking for Luca.
Not a lawyer.
Not his mother.
Not Enzo.
Luca.
By 8:26 p.m., we were back at the estate.
Salvatore waited in the library.
I expected him to look exhausted.
Instead, he looked furious.
Speech was difficult.
Anger was not.
I sat beside him with the cards.
Luca remained standing across from Anthony.
Michael stayed near the door.
Anthony had lost the confidence he wore during dinner.
His tie was gone.
Sleeves rolled.
Face gray.
Luca placed my mother’s cassette on the table.
“You knew.”
Anthony looked at it.
“About my father?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
Anthony rubbed both hands over his face.
“Not until last year.”
“Who told you?”
Silence.
Luca did not need to ask twice.
“Enzo.”
Anthony nodded.
Salvatore hit the arm of his chair.
Then pointed to Anthony.
Three taps.
No.
I frowned.
“You think that’s not the whole answer?”
Two taps.
Yes.
Luca looked at his cousin.
“What else?”
Anthony’s jaw tightened.
“Enzo showed me proof.”
“Of Paolo’s betrayal?”
“Yes.”
“What proof?”
“Bank records. Photographs. The route sheet.”
“The one Maggie saw?”
Anthony looked at me.
“Your mother?”
“Yes.”
He looked ashamed.
Good.
Luca said:
“And what did Enzo want?”
“At first?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing.”
Nobody believed that.
Anthony laughed bitterly.
“I know how it sounds.”
“Then make it sound better.”
“He said my father had made a mistake twenty years ago and Salvatore buried it to protect the family.”
Luca glanced at his father.
Salvatore looked down.
True.
“You buried it?”
Two taps.
Yes.
“Why?”
Salvatore touched the card showing family.
Then a child.
One I had made for therapy.
Luca understood.
“Anthony.”
Salvatore nodded.
Anthony was maybe twelve when Paolo betrayed the route.
Luca’s anger did not soften much.
Mine did.
A little.
Anthony continued:
“Enzo told me if it came out, every captain would know what my father did.”
“And?”
“My father’s name is all my mother has left.”
Luca stared.
“You sold my route to protect a dead man’s reputation?”
Anthony’s face reddened.
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Enzo started talking about succession.”
Salvatore’s fist closed.
There it was.
Anthony looked toward him.
“He said Uncle Salvatore would never recover.”
Luca’s face became still.
“He said you were stretching yourself too thin. That the family needed somebody younger running Brooklyn while you handled the waterfront.”
“You.”
“Yes.”
“Did that sound good?”
Anthony looked at the floor.
“Yes.”
At least honest.
“He said one route.”
Luca’s voice sharpened.
“What route?”
“A harmless test.”
“Black Umbrella.”
Anthony nodded.
“He said the church meeting was being moved anyway.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I know that now.”
“You handed him my entrance route.”
“Yes.”
“For money?”
Anthony closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Salvatore made a sound of disgust.
Anthony looked toward him.
“I know.”
“How much?” Luca asked.
“Two hundred thousand.”
Luca laughed softly.
Not because anything was funny.
“You sold the location of a peace meeting involving two rival captains for two hundred thousand dollars.”
Anthony snapped:
“I didn’t know there would be an attack.”
“Then why did my father show us trucks watching the church?”
“I thought Enzo was checking security.”
“Stop saying you thought.”
Anthony fell silent.
Luca leaned forward.
“You knew enough to hide it.”
“Yes.”
“You knew enough to say no before anyone accused you.”
“Yes.”
“You knew enough to run.”
“Yes.”
Salvatore reached for the cards.
Warehouse.
Red truck.
Church.
Then Anthony.
Then he chose one more card.
A mask.
I had made it for emotions.
Pretending.
Anthony stared.
Salvatore tapped twice.
Yes.
“He thinks you’re still hiding something,” I said.
Anthony looked at me.
His eyes filled.
Then he whispered:
“The stroke.”
The room stopped.
Luca straightened.
“What about it?”
Anthony looked at Salvatore.
“I knew Enzo had been meeting with Dr. Pritchard.”
Salvatore’s private physician.
Michael frowned.
“When?”
“Before the stroke.”
“How long before?”
“Two weeks.”
Luca’s voice dropped.
“And?”
“I asked Enzo.”
“What did he say?”
“That Salvatore’s medication needed reviewing.”
I looked at Salvatore.
His eyes had closed.
He knew.
Or suspected.
“Did you tell anyone?”
Anthony shook his head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted Enzo’s support.”
The sentence landed like a body.
Luca stepped backward.
Not toward Anthony.
Away.
As if being close to him had become unbearable.
“So you saw something strange around my father’s doctor and stayed quiet because you wanted a promotion.”
Anthony started crying.
“Yes.”
Salvatore did not look at him.
Luca asked Michael:
“Where is Pritchard?”
“Retired last month.”
“Where?”
“Supposedly Arizona.”
“Supposedly?”
“His house in Queens is empty.”
Luca stared at Anthony.
“Anything else?”
Anthony shook his head.
“Think carefully.”
“Nothing.”
Salvatore reached for my wrist.
Then pointed at the card with a blue pharmacy bottle.
One I used to help him request medication.
Then the card for warehouse.
Then held up four fingers.
“Four months,” I said.
The stroke.
He nodded.
I looked at Luca.
“He may be saying the medication came through one of the warehouses.”
Michael frowned.
“Medical deliveries went through Romano Health Supply.”
Luca’s eyes hardened.
“Who oversees it?”
Michael answered:
“Enzo’s nephew.”
Of course.
Luca pulled out his phone.
“Lock every Carbone-controlled property. Nobody leaves.”
Michael moved immediately.
I looked at Salvatore.
“What happened the week before your stroke?”
He pointed at me.
No.
Not me.
The photograph of my mother.
Then he touched the card for letter.
“You found something from Maggie.”
Two taps.
Yes.
“What?”
He pointed toward the red coat card.
Then the green ring in the old photograph.
He had finally connected Enzo to the first betrayal.
Twenty years too late.
“And you confronted him?”
Two taps.
Yes.
Luca looked at his father.
“When?”
Salvatore held up three fingers.
“Three days before your stroke?” I asked.
Yes.
The room seemed to lose air.
Luca sat.
For the first time all night, the Mafia Boss looked like a son.
Not a leader.
Not a man calculating retaliation.
A son realizing his father’s medical emergency might have been attempted murder.
“You knew.”
Salvatore looked at him.
Tears filled his eyes.
He touched the card with Luca’s photograph.
Then a shield.
Protect.
Luca’s face hardened.
“No.”
Salvatore blinked.
“You don’t get to call that protection.”
The words sounded harsher because I had thought them myself earlier.
“If you suspected Enzo, you tell me.”
Salvatore looked away.
Luca continued:
“You spent your whole life teaching me loyalty. Then when loyalty became dangerous, you still chose secrets.”
Salvatore’s jaw shook.
I touched Luca’s sleeve.
He turned.
“Give him time.”
“I’ve given everyone time.”
“He’s trying.”
Luca looked at his father.
Then sat again.
Closer.
“Try now.”
I laid out cards.
Doctor.
Bottle.
Enzo.
Phone.
Car.
House.
Salvatore picked doctor.
Enzo.
Then he tapped twice.
“Yes.”
“Enzo controlled the doctor?”
Two taps.
“Did Dr. Pritchard know what he was doing?”
Salvatore hesitated.
Then three taps.
No.
Interesting.
“Enzo changed something without the doctor?”
Two taps.
I felt cold.
Luca called the current neurologist.
Within an hour, medication bottles from the months before Salvatore’s stroke were being pulled from storage.
One refill had a different lot label.
One had come through a pharmacy not normally used by the family.
No one could yet say what happened.
But somebody had altered the chain.
Anthony whispered:
“I’m sorry.”
Salvatore looked at him.
Then reached for a card.
A broken bridge.
I had drawn it weeks ago when working on concepts.
Anthony stared.
Salvatore pushed it toward him.
Trust.
Broken.
No need for words.
Anthony cried harder.
Luca stood.
“You’ll cooperate with Michael. Every account. Every call. Every time Enzo spoke to you.”
“And then?”
“You’re done.”
Anthony’s face tightened.
“With the family?”
“With operations.”
“Luca—”
“You sold me.”
“I didn’t know—”
“You sold a route.”
Luca’s voice remained quiet.
“The fact that the buyer planned more than you understood does not make the sale disappear.”
Anthony lowered his eyes.
“Understood.”
At 10:18, Michael returned with new information.
“Enzo used one of the old waterfront offices twenty minutes ago.”
“Which?”
“Pier Forty-One.”
“Still there?”
“No.”
“What was he doing?”
Michael placed a printed security image on the table.
Enzo.
Getting into a dark sedan.
Beside him—
Dr. Pritchard.
Very much not retired in Arizona.
Luca stared.
Then another image.
A woman entering the same car.
I did not recognize her.
Salvatore did.
His entire body stiffened.
He reached for the cards so quickly he knocked half onto the floor.
I gathered them.
“What?”
He pointed to the woman.
Then to my mother’s photograph.
Then to me.
I stared.
“Someone connected to Mom?”
Yes.
“Family?”
Yes.
I felt cold.
“My aunt?”
Three taps.
No.
“Sister?”
No.
Then Salvatore pointed at the card for child.
And at me.
I stopped breathing.
“My mother had another child?”
Salvatore’s eyes filled.
Two taps.
Yes.
Luca stared at me.
I whispered:
“I don’t have a sister.”
Salvatore looked toward the security photograph.
According to him—
May you like
I did.
And she had just climbed into Enzo Carbone’s car.
