Chapter 12 - The Man Mateo Couldn’t Kill
Mateo wanted Samuel Novak immediately.
Luca wanted evidence first.
I wanted Sarah alive.
For once, nobody got what they wanted.
Sarah’s phone disappeared from the network.
Grant remained missing.
And Commissioner Samuel Novak appeared on television that afternoon promising the public that his department was “committed to dismantling organized crime in Chicago.”
Mateo threw the remote against the wall.
Rosa stared at the broken television.
“You’re buying another.”
Mateo looked almost embarrassed.
Even I laughed.
For ten seconds, the world felt normal.
Then Luca entered.
“Novak wants a private meeting.”
“Where?”
“Old Union Station mail tunnel.”
Mateo stood.
“No.”
I blocked him.
He stared.
“You are not going alone.”
“I’m not taking you.”
“I didn’t say me.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I was.”
“No.”
“Mateo.”
“No.”
His voice softened.
“Harper, Novak watched your father for years. He may have watched you. You are not going near him.”
I hated when his orders were reasonable.
Mateo met Novak beneath the city.
Luca went with him.
I stayed at the house.
Two hours passed.
Then three.
No calls.
At the fourth hour, I broke Mateo’s rule.
I tracked Luca’s vehicle using the security tablet I had watched him use earlier.
Rosa caught me leaving.
“You’re going after him.”
“Yes.”
She handed me a coat.
“You need warmer shoes.”
I stared.
“You’re not stopping me?”
“I’ve known Mateo since he was five.”
She smiled sadly.
“No one has ever stopped a Valente from doing something foolish for someone they love.”
My breath caught.
“We’re not—”
“I didn’t say which one of you.”
I left.
The mail tunnel smelled like rust and wet concrete.
I found Luca first.
Unconscious but alive.
Then Mateo.
Standing ten feet from Samuel Novak.
Mateo held a gun.
Novak was unarmed.
“You killed my mother,” Mateo said.
“No.”
“Robert Jenkins?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Novak smiled.
“Your uncle.”
Mateo’s finger tightened.
I stepped from the shadows.
“Don’t.”
Both men turned.
Mateo’s face transformed.
“Harper?”
Novak laughed.
“The catering girl.”
I hated him instantly.
Mateo walked toward me.
“What are you doing here?”
“Stopping you.”
“You shouldn’t—”
“If you shoot him, everything he knows dies with him.”
Novak smiled.
“She’s smarter than you.”
Mateo struck him.
Once.
Hard.
Novak fell.
Mateo didn’t shoot.
That mattered.
Novak wiped blood from his lip.
“You want truth?”
“Yes,” I said.
He laughed.
“There is no truth. There are only people who survive long enough to write the version everyone believes.”
“Try me.”
Novak looked toward Mateo.
“Anthony Caruso ordered Elena killed.”
Mateo went rigid.
“Dominic tried to stop it.”
“What?”
“He warned her.”
“Then why did Robert blame him?”
“Because I changed the evidence.”
My skin crawled.
“Why?”
“Anthony owned me.”
“And my father?”
“Robert discovered I falsified Elena’s case.”
“So you killed him.”
“No.”
Novak’s smile disappeared.
“That was Dominic.”
Mateo raised the gun again.
I grabbed his arm.
“Wait.”
Novak continued.
“Dominic killed Robert because Robert discovered Dominic had restarted the cargo operation after Anthony died.”
Mateo whispered, “Anthony died eight years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Then who has been leading the Carusos?”
Novak’s smile returned.
“That is the question nobody asked.”
Footsteps sounded behind us.
A man stepped into the tunnel.
Vincent Caruso.
He carried no weapon.
“I can answer that.”
Mateo aimed.
Vincent ignored him.
“My father wasn’t Anthony’s biological son.”
Everyone stared.
Vincent continued.
“My father was Dominic Valente.”
Silence.
Mateo looked physically sick.
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it?”
Vincent smiled bitterly.
“Your uncle had an affair with Anthony Caruso’s wife.”
Suddenly the entire twelve-year war looked different.
Not two enemy families.
One family tearing itself apart.
Vincent looked at me.
“Robert discovered it.”
“And Dominic killed him?”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“I believe so.”
Mateo stared at him.
“You’ve spent years trying to kill me.”
“No.”
“Men attacked my hotel.”
“Not mine.”
“The Caruso name—”
“Easy to use.”
Novak started backing away.
I noticed.
So did Vincent.
“He’s leaving.”
Mateo turned.
Novak ran.
A gunshot echoed.
Novak fell.
Not from Mateo’s weapon.
From somewhere deeper in the tunnel.
The shooter disappeared.
Novak was still alive.
Barely.
He grabbed my sleeve.
His final words were:
“Dominic isn’t protecting a secret.”
He coughed.
May you like
“He’s protecting Harper.”
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