Chapter 2 - The Waitress Thought She Had Escaped Her Abusive Husband—Until the Mafia Boss Revealed Why Raymond Had Been Searching for Her for Three YearsAmelia left hospital the following afternoon.
She refused Vincent's offer of private doctor.
Refused his car.
Refused security.
Then discovered Raymond had been photographed outside her apartment six hours earlier.
She accepted security.
“Temporary,” she said.
Vincent nodded.
“Your decision.”
“You're enjoying this.”
“No.”
“You look pleased.”
“I naturally look pleased.”
“You look terrifying.”
“People have mentioned it.”
Angela drove Amelia to Vincent's brownstone in Brooklyn Heights because her apartment was no longer safe.
Vincent lived differently than she expected.
No gold.
No marble statues.
No armed men standing visibly in corners.
Dark wood.
Books.
Old photographs.
Kitchen that appeared used.
Angela left after threatening Vincent with bodily harm if Amelia felt uncomfortable.
He seemed amused.
Amelia wasn't.
“Tell me everything.”
Vincent poured coffee.
She didn't touch it.
He sat opposite.
“Your brother Nicholas started working for me thirteen years ago.”
“Doing what?”
“Logistics.”
“Illegal?”
“Some.”
“Don't give me sanitized version.”
Vincent nodded.
“He moved money, coordinated shipments, and occasionally carried messages I didn't want traced electronically.”
“You were a criminal.”
“Yes.”
“Are.”
Pause.
“Yes.”
She appreciated answer more than expected.
“Nicky hated people like you.”
“He hated me too.”
“Then why work for you?”
“Money.”
Vincent's expression darkened.
“Your father had gambling debt.”
Amelia looked away.
That part she knew.
Nicholas always fixed things.
Their father's debts.
Mother's medication.
Amelia's tuition.
Everyone's emergencies.
“He thought he'd work six months,” Vincent said. “He stayed longer.”
“Why?”
“He became good at it.”
“And Raymond?”
“Your brother introduced him.”
Amelia almost laughed.
Of course.
She met Raymond through Nicky.
Raymond was charming then.
Patient.
Protective.
He remembered her coffee order and opened doors.
He didn't start with fists.
Men like Raymond rarely did.
They started with concern.
Where are you?
Who are you with?
Why didn't you answer?
That dress attracts wrong attention.
Your friends don't respect our marriage.
Your brother is bad influence.
Control arrived wearing love's coat.
“What happened to Nicholas?”
“Eight years ago he discovered manifests didn't match cargo.”
“Women.”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“We eventually identified thirty-four.”
Amelia closed eyes.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“How can you own organization and not know?”
Vincent accepted accusation.
“Because criminal systems reward people for hiding profitable crimes from men above them.”
“That sounds convenient.”
“It is not excuse.”
She looked at him.
“Then what did you do?”
“I shut route down.”
“How?”
His expression told her she didn't want details.
“Legally?”
“Some.”
“Illegally?”
“Yes.”
She stood.
“I can't do this.”
Vincent did not stop her.
At doorway she turned.
“You hurt people too.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe not women in trucks. Maybe not what Raymond did. But you hurt people.”
“Yes.”
“So why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn't.”
Answer stopped her.
“What?”
“Not because I ask.”
Vincent leaned back.
“Trust evidence. Trust Angela. Trust police records. Trust what you see. But don't trust me because I have expensive house and calm voice.”
Raymond used calm voice.
Vincent knew.
Maybe that's why he said it.
Amelia sat again.
“What happened to Nicholas?”
“He copied evidence.”
“Then?”
“He planned to meet federal investigator.”
“Did Raymond find out?”
“Yes.”
“And killed him?”
“I don't know.”
“Why not?”
“Because Nicholas disappeared before meeting.”
“Raymond told me Nicky died in crash.”
“Body in that crash wasn't Nicholas.”
Amelia stared.
“DNA?”
“Dental records were falsified.”
“How do you know?”
“I paid independent pathologist two years later.”
“You knew for six years?”
“Yes.”
“And never told me?”
“I didn't know you.”
“But when I started working at diner?”
“I wasn't certain you were his sister.”
“You investigated.”
“Yes.”
“Then you knew.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Vincent looked at hands.
“Because you were rebuilding.”
“That wasn't your choice.”
“No.”
He didn't defend.
“I was wrong.”
Amelia hated how quickly those words disarmed anger.
Raymond never said them without but afterward.
Vincent did not add but.
She asked:
“Why is Raymond after me?”
Vincent removed another folder.
Nicholas had opened safety-deposit box under Amelia's maiden name eleven years ago.
He placed something inside.
“What?”
“We don't know.”
“Then why hasn't Raymond opened it?”
“Biometric authorization.”
Amelia frowned.
“The bank requires both key and authorized identity.”
“Where's key?”
Vincent looked at her.
“Raymond thinks you have it.”
“I don't.”
“Maybe you do without knowing.”
Amelia thought childhood belongings.
Duffel bag.
Mother's jewelry.
Old books.
Nothing.
Then remembered.
“Nicky's watch.”
Vincent looked up.
“What?”
“He gave me watch before he supposedly died.”
Old mechanical watch.
Broken.
Raymond hated it.
Tried repeatedly to convince her throw it away.
She refused because it belonged to Nicky.
“Where is it?”
“My apartment.”
Vincent stood.
“We'll send—”
“No.”
He stopped.
“I'm going.”
“I don't recommend that.”
“It's mine.”
“Yes.”
“And my apartment.”
“Yes.”
“You can come.”
Vincent's expression changed.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
“Good enough.”
Police accompanied them.
Apartment had been searched.
Drawers emptied.
Mattress cut.
Kitchen cabinets open.
Amelia stood doorway shaking.
Three years of ordinary life violated in minutes.
Vincent remained behind her.
He did not touch.
“Nicky's watch.”
She crossed bedroom.
Raymond knew jewelry box.
So she had hidden watch elsewhere.
Inside old flour tin in kitchen.
Still there.
Vincent watched as she opened back plate.
A tiny brass key fell into palm.
Amelia began crying.
“Nicky.”
Next morning they visited bank with federal investigator.
Safety-deposit box contained flash drive.
Ledger.
Photographs.
Passport.
And video.
Nicholas appeared on screen.
Alive.
Older.
Exhausted.
“Amelia, if you're watching this, I'm sorry.”
She covered mouth.
“I wanted to keep you out.”
Vincent looked down.
Nicholas continued.
“Raymond isn't who you think.”
“He's using Castellano freight routes to move women.”
“I told Vincent.”
Amelia looked at him.
“He believed me.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
Video continued.
“But Raymond has someone inside Vincent's organization.”
Amelia froze.
“I don't know who.”
Nicholas leaned closer.
“If I disappear, don't trust anyone who says I'm dead unless you see me yourself.”
Tears ran down Amelia's face.
Then final sentence.
“And Vin—if you're watching with her, you owe me.”
Vincent went still.
Nicholas smiled faintly.
“Protect my sister by telling her truth for once.”
Video ended.
Amelia looked at Vincent.
“What did he mean, you owe him?”
Vincent did not answer.
“Vincent.”
His face changed.
“Nicholas saved my life.”
“When?”
“The night he disappeared.”
“How?”
“He took a bullet meant for me.”
Amelia stood.
“You told me you didn't know what happened.”
“I don't.”
“After he was shot?”
“He survived initial wound.”
“Then?”
“Ambulance transporting him never reached hospital.”
Her stomach dropped.
“What?”
“It was found abandoned.”
“Who knew route?”
“Six people.”
“Who?”
Vincent listed five.
Then sixth.
“My younger brother.”
Amelia stared.
“Your brother?”
“Marco Castellano.”
“Where is he now?”
Vincent's expression became grim.
“He runs half my organization.”
At that exact moment Vincent's phone rang.
Marco.
Vincent answered on speaker.
“Brother.”
Marco sounded relaxed.
“I heard you found Nicholas's box.”
Amelia stopped breathing.
Vincent's face became stone.
“How?”
Marco laughed softly.
“Because Raymond is sitting across from me.”
Then Raymond's voice came through phone.
“Hello, Millie.”
Amelia dropped coffee.
Nobody in Brooklyn called her Millie.
Only Raymond.
“Did you miss me?”
Her hands began shaking.
Vincent stepped toward her.
Stopped himself.
Amelia saw.
Then she did something neither man expected.
She picked up phone.
“No.”
Raymond went quiet.
Amelia swallowed fear.
May you like
“I didn't miss you at all.”
And hung up.
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