Chapter 4 - The Brother Who Knew Too Much
Marco disappeared before sunrise.
His apartment was empty.
His car remained in the garage.
His passport was gone.
So was $400,000 from a personal account.
Adrian blamed himself.
I blamed Marco.
We were both wrong.
At 8:43 a.m., Marco called me.
Not Adrian.
Me.
“Elena.”
His voice sounded different.
No arrogance.
Only fear.
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Then why call?”
“Because you think I stole that money.”
“You did.”
“Some of it.”
That answer surprised me.
“How much?”
“Three million.”
“And the rest?”
“Salvatore.”
I looked across Adrian’s office.
He watched me.
I put the call on speaker.
Marco cursed.
“Is Adrian there?”
“Yes.”
“Of course he is.”
Adrian stepped closer.
“Where are you?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“Marco.”
“You don’t understand. Uncle Sal has people everywhere.”
“What did you do?”
Marco breathed heavily.
“I got into debt.”
“With whom?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It matters eighteen million dollars’ worth.”
Marco explained.
He had begun moving company money two years earlier to cover gambling losses and private investments.
Salvatore discovered it.
Instead of exposing him, he offered protection.
Then the amounts grew.
Marco signed invoices.
Salvatore created companies.
Money disappeared.
“You let him use you,” Adrian said.
“I thought I was using him.”
“That may be the most Marco sentence you’ve ever spoken.”
Even terrified, Marco sounded offended.
Then I asked the important question.
“What happened twelve years ago?”
Silence.
“Marco?”
“I was twenty-one.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I heard an argument.”
“Between?”
“Dad and Uncle Sal.”
Adrian stiffened.
“What did they say?”
“Dad knew Vittorio found the accounts. He wanted Salvatore out.”
My throat tightened.
“And Salvatore?”
“He said family problems should be handled inside the family.”
“What happened next?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
Marco breathed.
Then:
“I saw Uncle Sal leave that night.”
“What night?”
“The night Vittorio died.”
Adrian closed his eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“I was scared.”
“Twelve years, Marco.”
“I KNOW!”
The shout broke into static.
Then Marco lowered his voice.
“I was a coward.”
For once, nobody contradicted him.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“I’m coming in.”
“Where?”
“I’ll text you.”
The line went dead.
Thirty seconds later, an address appeared.
An abandoned parking structure near the river.
Adrian wanted to go himself.
I refused to stay behind.
We arrived twenty minutes later.
Marco’s rented sedan was there.
Driver’s door open.
Engine running.
Marco wasn’t.
His phone lay smashed on the concrete.
Beside it was blood.
Not much.
Enough.
Adrian stared into the empty garage.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A calm older voice said:
“Elena Russo.”
I knew immediately.
Salvatore.
“You’ve caused a great deal of trouble.”
“Apparently accounting frightens you.”
He chuckled.
“You have your father’s mouth.”
“And you have his blood on your hands.”
Silence.
Then:
“Bring me the ledger.”
“Why?”
“Because Marco would like to go home.”
Adrian stepped closer.
I shook my head.
Salvatore continued.
“Midnight. Come alone.”
“You know I won’t.”
“I know.”
His voice became colder.
“That’s why I prepared for Adrian too.”
The call ended.
A photograph arrived.
Marco tied to a chair.
Alive.
Behind him stood a wall I recognized.
The old Moretti meatpacking warehouse on Fulton Street.
Adrian recognized it too.
He reached for his phone.
I stopped him.
“What?”
“He expects force.”
“So?”
“So we give him numbers.”
Adrian stared.
I opened my laptop.
“Salvatore thinks the ledger is his biggest problem.”
“It is.”
“No.”
I looked at the eighteen-million-dollar network.
“His biggest problem is that money leaves fingerprints.”
May you like
And by midnight, I intended to make every one of them visible.
---
