Chapter 3 - The Silver Signet Ring
The silver ring felt heavy and cold in my palm.
"Where did you get this?" Marco stammered, his eyes darting toward the exits.
"It was at the hospital," Hector sobbed, wiping his face. "The nurse said the man who dropped off the cash looked terrified. He dropped it on the counter and ran when the police walked into the lobby. I found the ring on the floor by the billing desk."
Bruno’s growl shifted into a sharp, aggressive bark. The dog stepped forward, his teeth bared, closing the distance between the coffin and my treacherous underboss.
"Sit, Bruno," I commanded softly. The dog dropped to his haunches instantly, but his eyes never left Marco.
"You weren't moving product," I said, stepping directly into Marco's personal space. "You were carrying cash. My cash. You hit the girl, panicked, and tried to pay the hospital to keep her alive so I wouldn't investigate a murder."
"Boss, please," Marco begged, tears finally spilling over his cheeks. "I didn't want her to die! I tried to fix it!"
"Why were you going to Hector's restaurant?" I demanded. "Answer the question, or Bruno gets his dinner early."
Marco swallowed hard, looking at the massive dog. "I wasn't going to collect from Hector. I was going to the alley behind his kitchen. I was meeting a supplier."
"We don't use back alleys," Tony interjected, his voice laced with disgust. "We use the warehouses."
"It wasn't our supplier," Marco confessed, his voice dropping to a terrified whisper. "It was the Russians. I... I owe them money, boss. A lot of money. They told me to bring the cash to Vasquez's alley, or they’d send pieces of my wife to my front door."
The first mystery was solved. Marco was stealing from me to pay off a gambling debt to a rival syndicate. But the puzzle was far from complete.
"You hit Elena," I said, tracing the timeline in my head. "You dropped the cash at the hospital. Which means the Russians never got paid."
Marco nodded frantically. "They’re hunting me. That’s why I’ve been staying close to you. I thought if I was in your shadow, they wouldn't touch me."
I looked at Hector. The poor man was trembling, caught in the middle of a mafia interrogation while his daughter lay in a box five feet away.
"Hector," I said gently. "Did you see any Russians near your restaurant three nights ago?"
Hector shook his head, looking bewildered. "No. But... Elena did."
The room went dead silent.
"Elena?" I asked.
"She was drawing on the back stoop," Hector wept, looking at the white coffin. "She came running inside, terrified. She said bad men in a black car were waiting in the alley. She... she drew a picture of their car."
"Where is the drawing?" Tony asked urgently.
"It’s in her coffin," Hector whispered, his voice breaking. "She loved that drawing. I tucked it inside her favorite book."
I turned to the coffin. Bruno was still guarding it, his massive body pressed against the wood.
"Bruno. Move," I said firmly.
The dog whined, a heartbreaking sound of protest, but he slowly stepped aside, keeping his head lowered.
I approached the white casket. Looking down at the innocent face of the seven-year-old girl made my chest ache. I gently reached into the casket, pulling a folded piece of construction paper from beneath the stuffed bunny.
I unfolded the drawing.
It was a child's crayon sketch of a black sedan. But Elena was observant. She hadn't just drawn a car; she had drawn the license plate.
RZN-882.
I handed the drawing to Tony. "Run the plate. Now."
Tony typed furiously on his phone. A moment later, all the color drained from his face.
"Boss," Tony breathed, looking up at me in sheer horror. "The car isn't registered to the Russians."
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"Who is it registered to?" I demanded.
"It’s registered to a shell company owned by your brother, Carlo," Tony said. "And the GPS tracker confirms that car was parked in Hector's alley three nights ago."
