Chapter 10 - THE DEAD MAN’S DEBT
The driver’s real name was not Daniel Pierce.
That was the first thing Nico discovered.
The man who had driven Rosa and Clara into the ambush had worked for the Marino security company for only eleven days.
His credentials were perfect.
Too perfect.
Social Security record.
Military background.
Previous employment.
References.
All fabricated.
His actual name was Leonard Kessler.
Fifty-three.
Former driver and private security contractor for Salvatore Marino.
Dante remembered him.
Barely.
“Kessler disappeared after my father died.”
Nico nodded.
“According to records, he moved to Nevada.”
“Apparently not.”
Julian placed another file on the table.
“He received monthly payments for four years.”
“From Carlo?”
“No.”
Dante looked up.
“Then who?”
Julian hesitated.
“A trust established by Salvatore.”
Matteo frowned.
“Our father was paying him after death?”
“Automated transfers.”
“For what?”
“No description.”
Dante leaned back.
Clara had been moved to a private recovery suite.
She was stable.
Angry that doctors would not let her stand.
Rosa was recovering nearby.
Carlo was in federal custody.
Everything should have been calming.
Instead, Salvatore’s shadow grew larger by the hour.
Dante opened the trust documents.
His father had created it six months before dying.
Twelve beneficiaries.
Some legitimate.
Former employees.
A housekeeper.
An old family attorney.
Others were men Dante recognized from darker parts of the Marino organization.
One name appeared beside the largest payment.
VICTOR SANTORO.
Matteo stared at it.
“No.”
Dante knew the name too.
Victor had been their father’s closest friend.
Godfather to Gabriel.
Honorary uncle to all three boys.
He had disappeared from New York after Salvatore’s funeral.
Dante had believed he retired to Sicily.
Nico shook his head.
“He lives in Connecticut.”
“Find him.”
This time Clara agreed.
Not kidnap.
Find.
Through legal records.
By afternoon, they had an address.
Victor Santoro lived alone in a quiet lake house two hours north of the city.
Dante wanted to go.
Clara wanted him not to.
“You’re recovering from being shot five times,” Dante told her.
“And you’re emotionally recovering from discovering everyone over fifty in your childhood was apparently lying.”
“That is not a medical condition.”
“It should be.”
He stood beside her hospital bed.
Clara looked pale.
A sling supported her injured shoulder.
Machines were gone now.
Only monitoring leads remained.
“You don’t have to solve everything today.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“Because I want this finished before you leave the hospital.”
Her expression softened.
“You’re planning to keep me in a bubble afterward, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Armored bubble.”
“No.”
“Private security.”
“No.”
“Two guards.”
“Dante.”
“One.”
She stared.
He stared back.
Clara sighed.
“We’ll negotiate.”
He smiled slightly.
“Good.”
Then she became serious.
“Promise me something.”
“What?”
“If Victor tells you something you hate, you come back.”
Dante looked at her.
“Where else would I go?”
“You know what I mean.”
He did.
“No revenge.”
His jaw tightened.
“Clara.”
“Promise.”
Dante looked away.
“Dante.”
He finally nodded.
“I promise I come back.”
“That is suspiciously specific.”
“It’s what you asked.”
“It is not.”
He kissed her forehead.
“Rest.”
“Coward.”
“Yes.”
Victor Santoro opened the lake house door before Dante knocked.
He looked older.
Smaller.
But his eyes were the same.
“Dante.”
Nico remained ten feet behind him.
“You knew I was coming.”
Victor nodded.
“I’ve been waiting four years.”
“For what?”
“For Salvatore’s sins to reach his sons.”
Dante stepped inside.
The living room contained no guards.
No weapons visible.
Only old furniture and photographs.
One showed Gabriel fishing.
Dante stopped.
Victor noticed.
“He loved this place.”
“You were his godfather.”
“Yes.”
“And Carlo killed him.”
“Yes.”
“You knew.”
Victor closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Dante’s hands curled.
Clara.
Promise me.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because your father ordered me not to.”
“My father protected Carlo?”
Victor laughed bitterly.
“No.”
“He ordered Gabriel’s death too?”
“No.”
Dante stared.
Victor poured coffee.
“Sit.”
“I’m not here for coffee.”
“No. You’re here because you think every secret is another knife.”
Victor looked at him.
“Some are.”
Dante remained standing.
Victor sighed.
“Gabriel discovered Carlo was stealing money. He told Salvatore.”
“What did my father do?”
“Nothing.”
Dante went still.
“Why?”
“Because Carlo knew something about Salvatore.”
“What?”
Victor looked toward the window.
“Your father had been cooperating with a federal task force.”
Dante stared.
“No.”
“Secretly.”
“That’s impossible.”
“He wanted out.”
Dante almost laughed.
“Salvatore Marino?”
“Yes.”
Victor looked older suddenly.
“Your mother nearly left him. Gabriel hated him. Matteo was already talking about moving away. Your father realized the empire he built would cost him every person he cared about.”
Dante said nothing.
“So he began trading information.”
“On who?”
“Politicians. Smugglers. Other organizations.”
“And Carlo found out.”
“Yes.”
“Carlo blackmailed him.”
“Yes.”
“Then killed Gabriel.”
Victor nodded.
“Salvatore knew Carlo did it within a week.”
Dante’s voice became quiet.
“And still did nothing.”
“He did something worse.”
“What?”
“He blamed another family.”
Dante already knew that part.
Victor continued.
“Then he made you believe revenge was your responsibility.”
Dante felt sick.
“My father created the war.”
“Yes.”
“How many people died?”
Victor looked down.
“Too many.”
Dante turned away.
His entire adulthood had been built on a lie.
Every decision.
Every enemy.
Every act done in Gabriel’s name.
Victor spoke quietly.
“Salvatore regretted it.”
“Good for him.”
“He tried to dismantle things before he died.”
“He failed.”
“Yes.”
Dante looked back.
“Why was Kessler paid?”
Victor’s expression changed.
“Protection.”
“For who?”
Victor walked toward a cabinet and removed a small metal box.
Inside were letters.
One addressed to Dante.
Another to Matteo.
One to Rosa.
Dante stared.
“Your father gave me these.”
“Why?”
“To deliver when Carlo was no longer a threat.”
“He’s in prison.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did Kessler attack us?”
Victor looked confused.
“Attack?”
Dante watched him carefully.
“Don’t.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Dante told him.
The SUV.
The shooting.
Kessler’s words.
Tell Salvatore his debt is paid.
Victor’s face drained.
“No.”
“What?”
Victor walked rapidly toward the desk.
He opened another drawer.
Empty.
“What was there?”
“A ledger.”
Dante’s pulse increased.
“What ledger?”
“Names Salvatore gave federal agents.”
“Who had access?”
“No one.”
“Victor.”
The old man closed his eyes.
“My son.”
Dante stared.
Victor’s only child.
Anthony Santoro.
Dante remembered him.
Older than Dante by six years.
Sent away after a conflict with Salvatore.
“What did Salvatore do to Anthony?”
Victor sat slowly.
“He sent him to prison.”
“For what?”
“A murder he didn’t commit.”
Dante felt the answer before hearing it.
“Why?”
“To protect you.”
The room became silent.
“What did Anthony supposedly do?”
Victor looked at him.
“He took responsibility for the shooting that made you head of the organization at twenty-four.”
Dante remembered.
A rival had tried to kill him.
One man died.
Anthony confessed.
Dante had never questioned it.
Victor whispered, “Salvatore arranged everything.”
“Where is Anthony now?”
Victor’s face filled with fear.
“He was released three months ago.”
Dante immediately reached for his phone.
Clara.
The hospital.
Nico was already calling.
No answer.
Then Dante’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A man’s voice spoke.
“Dante.”
Dante recognized it.
Anthony Santoro.
“You finally learned the truth.”
“Where are you?”
Anthony laughed.
“Your father stole fourteen years from me.”
“Where are you?”
“He took my life to protect yours.”
Dante’s heart hammered.
“If you touch Clara—”
“Oh.”
Anthony became quiet.
“So the rumors are true.”
Dante closed his eyes.
He had given Anthony the weapon.
Clara mattered.
“Whatever you want is with me.”
“Yes.”
Anthony’s voice hardened.
“It always was.”
The call ended.
A message arrived.
A photograph.
Clara’s hospital bed.
Empty.
Dante stared at it.
Then another image appeared.
Clara sitting in a wheelchair inside an unknown room.
Alive.
Terrified.
May you like
Across the bottom were five words.
YOUR FATHER OWED ME A LIFE.
