Chapter 5 - ROCCO CALLED ME FROM A PHONE THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN BURIED WITH MY FATHER
The body was Gregory Shaw.
Sixty-three.
Retired controller for Vale Port Holdings.
Cause of death not immediately released.
Police took over the vehicle.
Good.
Dante complained.
I told him to get used to it.
Then, at 2:17 the next morning, a phone rang inside my father’s old study.
Not my phone.
Not Elena’s.
A landline hidden behind a locked cabinet.
I had not heard it ring in fifteen years.
My father called it the red line.
Only three people ever had the number.
My father.
Rocco.
Marcus.
My father had been dead eleven years.
I answered.
Silence.
Then:
“Dominic.”
Rocco.
Every muscle in my body hardened.
“Where are you?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It will.”
“Listen first.”
“I’ve been listening to you for thirty-two years.”
He exhaled.
“I did not poison you.”
“Emma saw you outside Elena’s house.”
“I know.”
“You ran my search while knowing where they were.”
“Yes.”
The honesty cut.
“You lying son of a—”
“I kept them alive.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“Marcus wanted location confirmation.”
“He already had it.”
“Because I gave him the wrong street for months.”
Silence.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I expect you to check.”
Rocco sounded tired.
Older than I remembered.
“You found the drive.”
My stomach tightened.
“How do you know?”
“Because Naomi hid it better than I expected.”
“You knew about Naomi.”
“Yes.”
“Did you kill her?”
“No.”
“Gregory?”
“No.”
“Lydia?”
Silence.
“ROCCO.”
“No.”
But that answer came differently.
Too late.
“What do you know?”
“More than I can say on this line.”
“Then meet me.”
“No.”
“Coward.”
“Yes.”
That surprised me.
“I became one a long time ago.”
I gripped the receiver.
“Why did Elena run?”
“Because I told her to.”
“You also knew Lydia died.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because Marcus ordered surveillance on her.”
There.
“Why not tell me?”
“Because I was already trapped.”
“In what?”
“The accounts.”
“Marcus?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Since your father.”
My chest tightened.
“My father knew?”
“No.”
“Do not lie.”
“He knew money moved.”
“He thought it was political money.”
“Bribes?”
“Influence funds.”
“Same dirt, different suit.”
“What was it really?”
“Marcus was building an independent treasury.”
“For what?”
“Succession.”
My breathing slowed.
“He planned to take over.”
“Eventually.”
“From Dad?”
“At first.”
“Then me.”
“Yes.”
“Why help?”
Rocco went quiet.
“Because thirty years ago, I owed him.”
“For what?”
“He kept me out of prison.”
“How?”
“Destroyed evidence.”
“What evidence?”
“I killed a man.”
There.
No romantic excuse.
No misunderstanding.
Rocco had killed someone long before I became boss.
Marcus buried it.
Then owned him.
“He used it.”
“For thirty-two years.”
“Yes.”
“Why not come to my father?”
“I was twenty-seven and terrified.”
“You were thirty years older later.”
“I know.”
Shame.
Real.
Not absolution.
“What did you do for Marcus?”
“Signed transfers.”
“Moved cash.”
“Approved fake vendors.”
“Watched people.”
“Threatened?”
“Yes.”
“Killed?”
Long silence.
“One.”
My stomach turned.
“Who?”
“Not Lydia.”
“Then?”
“A dock foreman twenty years ago.”
I closed my eyes.
“Gregory?”
“No.”
“Naomi?”
“No.”
“Who killed Lydia?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you suspect?”
“Yes.”
“Marcus?”
“I think he ordered it.”
“Who carried it out?”
“Maybe Simon Crane.”
I knew Simon.
Head of transport operations.
Forty-six.
Quiet.
Loyal to Marcus.
“Why didn’t you tell me when Elena found the accounts?”
“Because Marcus had already started succession planning.”
“With Matteo.”
“Yes.”
“What was his plan?”
Rocco exhaled.
“Make Elena look unstable.”
“Separate you.”
“Then?”
“If you refused to sign restructuring documents, create a crisis.”
“What crisis?”
“I don’t know.”
“Poison?”
“I didn’t know until tonight.”
I looked toward the hospital bracelet still around my wrist.
“Who poisoned me?”
“I think Marcus.”
“How?”
“Rocco.”
I heard breathing.
Then:
“Your wine glass.”
“Yes.”
“Who touched it?”
“You did.”
Silence.
My grip tightened.
“Explain.”
“I slipped something into your wine.”
Elena entered the study behind me.
She heard.
Her face went white.
“What?”
Rocco continued quickly.
“Not arsenic.”
“What?”
“A harmless marker.”
I stared.
“What marker?”
“A food-safe fluorescent tracer.”
“Why?”
“To prove the bottle was being switched.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I suspected cellar tampering.”
“So you contaminated my glass?”
“With something harmless.”
“Without telling me.”
“Yes.”
“You’re insane.”
“Yes.”
“Then someone added arsenic after?”
“I think so.”
“How?”
“I left the room.”
“You were standing still when I collapsed.”
“Because I realized what happened.”
“Why not help?”
“I did.”
“No.”
“Dante reached you first.”
“I moved Matteo away from the broken glass.”
I did not remember.
Maybe.
My consciousness had been collapsing.
“Why run?”
“Because Marcus knew the tracer plan.”
“How?”
“He was watching me.”
“You were watching him.”
“He was watching you.”
Everyone watching everyone.
Empire.
Paranoia turned architecture.
Rocco continued.
“Dominic, listen.”
“There is a ledger beneath your father’s desk.”
I looked down instinctively.
“Where?”
“Third floorboard under the left leg.”
“What ledger?”
“The original.”
“Original what?”
“The money.”
“Marcus’s?”
“All of it.”
“Why here?”
“Your father found it before he died.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“He confronted me.”
“When?”
“Six weeks before his heart attack.”
“Dad knew?”
“He knew there was theft.”
“Did he know Marcus?”
“He suspected.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I lied.”
Rocco’s voice broke.
“He died still believing maybe his own brother robbed him.”
“You let him die with that.”
“Yes.”
I wanted to smash the phone.
Instead:
“What happened to the ledger?”
“I hid it after the funeral.”
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
“Against Marcus?”
“Yes.”
“Against me?”
“Yes.”
At least honest.
“What do you want now?”
“To live.”
I laughed.
“Then surrender.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Marcus has my granddaughter.”
Silence.
Rocco had one granddaughter.
Sofia.
Nineteen.
College student in Boston.
“Since when?”
“Yesterday.”
My rage shifted.
“Proof?”
“He sent a photograph.”
“Send it to Dante.”
“I will.”
“Then police.”
“No.”
“Rocco.”
“He’ll kill her.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know Marcus.”
“So do I.”
“No.”
Rocco’s voice lowered.
“You know the uncle he wanted you to see.”
Then he hung up.
I stood in silence.
Elena stared.
“You believe him?”
“Parts.”
“What parts?”
“He poisoned my glass with something.”
“Harmless, supposedly.”
“Yes.”
“He watched us.”
“Yes.”
“He helped Marcus steal.”
“Yes.”
“He betrayed your father.”
“Yes.”
“And now you want to save his granddaughter.”
I looked at her.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she is nineteen.”
Elena’s face softened.
“She is not responsible for him.”
“No.”
Then we lifted my father’s desk.
Third floorboard.
Left leg.
A hidden cavity.
Inside:
A leather ledger.
Old.
Handwritten.
My father’s initials on the first page.
And across the top, in his handwriting:
MARCUS / BELLINI — FOLLOW THE MONEY BEFORE YOU FOLLOW THE BLOOD.
My father had known enough to leave me a warning.
May you like
I had spent my entire life thinking he died from a heart attack.
For the first time, I wondered whether that was true.
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