Chapter 4 - The Crest
Roman Caruso’s board dinner took place inside the Russo Maritime headquarters overlooking East Harbor.
I insisted on going.
Dante said no.
I said yes.
We repeated those positions for nearly an hour.
Finally Gabriel muttered, “I’d rather face an armed dock strike than listen to another ten minutes of this.”
Dante glared at him.
Gabriel left.
“I am not taking you into a room with Roman.”
“You don’t have to take me.”
“He specifically asked for you.”
“Which means he expects you to hide me.”
“Yes.”
“So we do the opposite.”
“No.”
“Your strategy seems extremely repetitive.”
Dante came closer.
“This isn’t a restaurant, Eleanor.”
“I’m aware.”
“You got lucky once.”
“I noticed something.”
“You could have died.”
“So could you.”
“That is different.”
My temper snapped.
“Why?”
“Because I chose this life.”
“And apparently my father chose part of mine for me.”
Dante went silent.
I continued.
“Everyone keeps deciding what protects me. Dad did it. You’re doing it. Roman did it by threatening him.”
“I am not Roman.”
“Then don’t make my choices for me.”
The words landed.
Dante looked away.
When he spoke again, his voice was quieter.
“What do you want?”
“I want to go.”
“Why?”
“Because Roman believes I’m frightened.”
“You are frightened.”
“Yes.”
That seemed to surprise him.
I stepped closer.
“Courage isn’t being calm, Dante. Courage is being terrified and deciding terror doesn’t get the final vote.”
Something changed in his face.
“Your father said something similar.”
“What?”
“The night he came to see me.”
I had been waiting for that story.
“Tell me.”
Dante sat.
Three days before Dad died, he had called Russo Maritime headquarters and requested a private meeting.
Somehow he knew Dante had rejected the crest.
Dad arrived weak, carrying oxygen.
He told Dante Sebastian was alive.
He told him Roman’s network had never completely stopped.
“He asked me to promise something,” Dante said.
“What?”
“That if Roman ever learned Sebastian survived, I would keep you away from the company.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Dad really underestimated me.”
“No.”
Dante looked directly at me.
“He described you as the bravest person he knew.”
My eyes burned.
“Then why hide everything?”
“Because bravery does not make someone disposable.”
That silenced me.
“What did you tell him?”
“I promised.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m breaking it.”
The dinner began at eight.
I wore a black dress Monica lent me.
She had stared when I told her where I was going.
“You went from serving tiramisu to attending Russo board dinners in forty-eight hours.”
“It’s been a strange week.”
“That’s one phrase.”
Before I left, Monica grabbed my hand.
“Be careful.”
Her voice sounded genuinely afraid.
“Why?”
“Because Paul is missing.”
Our manager.
“Since when?”
“Didn’t show today. Phone disconnected.”
Dante’s investigation had already raised questions about Paul’s glance toward Marco.
Now he was gone.
“Tell Ruiz.”
“I did.”
At headquarters, silver crests gleamed on six jackets around the boardroom table.
Roman Caruso wore his on the lapel of a navy suit.
He looked exactly like powerful old men always looked in charity photographs.
Silver hair.
Warm smile.
Perfect posture.
He rose when I entered.
“Eleanor Hart.”
Hearing my name from him made my skin crawl.
“Mr. Caruso.”
“I knew your father.”
“So I’ve learned.”
His eyes brightened.
“He was a good man.”
“You threatened to make his daughter disappear.”
For the first time, the room stopped breathing.
Dante stood beside me.
Roman’s smile remained.
“I’m afraid grief has brought you some strange stories.”
“Sebastian Vale told one of them.”
Adrian watched Roman.
There.
A flicker.
Tiny.
Real.
Roman recovered.
“Sebastian has been dead for decades.”
“Are you sure?”
Roman looked at Dante.
“Is this why you brought her? Theater?”
Dante sat.
“I brought her because she asked.”
That mattered more than he probably knew.
Dinner continued.
Roman played innocent.
The board discussed security failures.
Marco was described as a rogue employee.
Paul’s disappearance was treated as coincidence.
Then I noticed something.
Roman drank sparkling water.
Every time a server approached, he covered his glass with two fingers until he saw the bottle opened.
Fear of contamination.
Interesting.
During dessert, the lights flickered.
Only once.
Roman looked immediately toward the security camera.
Not the door.
Not the windows.
The camera.
I whispered to Dante.
“He knows something about the surveillance.”
Dante did not look at me.
“Why?”
“Because normal people look at exits when lights fail. He looked at the camera.”
Gabriel left quietly.
Ten minutes later, he returned.
He whispered into Dante’s ear.
Dante’s eyes sharpened.
The camera system had been remotely accessed during Marco’s attempted attack.
From inside headquarters.
Using an executive credential.
Roman’s?
No.
Paul Dempsey’s.
Our restaurant manager had a Russo Maritime security credential.
I stared at the information.
“That makes no sense.”
Roman smiled across the table.
“Something wrong, Eleanor?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He dabbed his mouth with a napkin.
“Your father hated uncomfortable dinners too.”
Dante’s hand tightened beneath the table.
I touched his fingers.
The same way I had at La Stella.
Keep still.
He understood.
After dinner, Roman approached me alone near the windows.
Dante was only ten feet away.
“What did Thomas leave you?”
I looked at him.
“A ceramic cup.”
Roman’s smile faded.
“What?”
“And a terrible recliner.”
He stepped closer.
“You think this is amusing.”
“No.”
I met his eyes.
“I think you spent twenty-seven years frightening people into silence.”
His face changed.
Only slightly.
“You know nothing about what your father did.”
“I know he protected Sebastian.”
“Sebastian destroyed families.”
“Whose?”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“He stole.”
“You’re still using the same lie.”
His voice lowered.
“Your father made a mistake once.”
“No. He made one for twenty-seven years.”
“And what mistake was that?”
“Believing you were more powerful than the truth.”
Roman stared at me.
Then he smiled again.
“Careful, Eleanor. Your father’s bravery cost him dearly.”
Dante appeared beside me.
“Enough.”
Roman looked between us.
Understanding dawned.
That frightened me more than anger.
“Oh,” he said softly.
Dante’s voice went cold.
“Don’t.”
Roman smiled.
“Now I understand.”
He walked away.
That night, Adrian disappeared.
His phone stopped transmitting at 11:14.
His vehicle was found beside Dock Eight.
Driver’s door open.
Blood on the seat.
Not enough to prove he was dead.
Enough to terrify us.
Then Detective Ruiz received a video.
Adrian sat tied to a chair.
Alive.
A man behind the camera spoke.
“Bring the original Harbor Ledger.”
Dante watched without expression.
“Midnight tomorrow. Pier Twenty-Two.”
The speaker continued.
“And bring Eleanor Hart.”
The video ended.
Gabriel punched the wall.
I stared at the frozen image of Adrian.
Something bothered me.
“What?”
Dante looked at me.
“The chair.”
“What about it?”
“I’ve seen it.”
I zoomed in.
Metal legs.
Red vinyl seat.
A torn corner.
Then I remembered.
La Stella’s basement.
Six months ago, Paul had ordered old banquet chairs moved downstairs.
That exact style.
“They’re holding Adrian at the restaurant.”
Gabriel looked at me.
“How sure?”
“Enough.”
Ruiz organized the raid.
Paul was found in the basement.
Dead?
No.
Terrified.
Bound in a storage closet.
Adrian was tied in the wine cellar.
Alive.
The blood in his vehicle had been animal blood.
The kidnapping had been staged.
Paul finally told us everything.
Roman had controlled him through debt.
Marco too.
Paul had provided employee schedules.
Access badges.
Camera codes.
But he swore he had not planned the syringe attack.
“There was someone else,” Paul whispered.
“Who?” Ruiz asked.
“I never met them.”
“Male? Female?”
“Woman.”
The room shifted.
Paul continued.
“She knew everything about Dante. Everything about the company.”
Dante went pale.
“What did she call herself?”
Paul hesitated.
“Sofia.”
Dante stopped breathing.
His sister’s name.
The woman who had supposedly died nine years ago.
A name carved inside the diamond ring he carried.
Paul began crying.
“She said Roman stole her life.”
May you like
Dante stared into the darkness beyond the cellar door.
And for the first time since I had met him, he looked less like a feared businessman than a little brother who had just been told the dead might not be dead at all.
