Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO RAISED THE MAFIA BOSS KNEW WHAT HAPPENED TO MY BROTHER—AND SOMEONE TRIED TO SILENCE HIM BEFORE HE COULD CONFESS
Enzo Baron had worked for the Ferrara family for thirty-eight years.
He had changed Santino’s diapers.
Buried Santino’s father.
Managed the estate.
Organized funerals.
Weddings.
Meetings.
Secret negotiations.
He knew which politicians drank too much.
Which judges had mistresses.
Which Ferrara employees could be trusted with money.
And which could be trusted with blood.
If Enzo wanted Santino dead, he had enjoyed a thousand easier opportunities.
That was the first thing Emily said.
Santino looked at her.
“You’re defending him?”
“No.”
“Sounds like it.”
“I’m saying the evidence is too convenient.”
Rafe nodded.
“I agree.”
Santino looked irritated.
“Excellent. My secretary and security chief have formed an alliance.”
Emily ignored him.
“The account sent anonymous instructions from Enzo’s computer?”
“Yes.”
“Then anyone with access could have done it.”
“His office is locked.”
“Who has keys?”
Santino and Rafe exchanged a look.
Emily sighed.
“That many?”
“Family,” Santino said.
“Meaning Victoria.”
“Yes.”
“And you.”
“Yes.”
“Rafe?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone else?”
Santino hesitated.
“Three senior household employees.”
Emily crossed her arms.
“Then we know nothing.”
Santino stared.
She stared back.
Finally he smiled faintly.
“You enjoy disagreeing with me.”
“I enjoy being correct.”
Rafe coughed into his hand.
Santino looked at him.
“Something?”
“No.”
They brought Enzo in.
He looked tired.
Not frightened.
When Santino showed him the account, Enzo adjusted his glasses.
“That isn’t mine.”
“It originated from your computer.”
“Then someone used my computer.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
Santino leaned forward.
“Enzo.”
The old man met his eyes.
“If I wanted you dead, Santino, I would not push you into a swimming pool.”
Emily blinked.
Rafe looked away, hiding a smile.
Santino did not.
“How comforting.”
“I raised you. I know you swim poorly.”
“I don’t swim at all.”
“Exactly.”
Emily watched Enzo.
“You tried to transfer me.”
He looked at her.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To protect you.”
“From whom?”
Enzo looked toward Santino.
Then Victoria entered.
Perfect timing.
Too perfect.
“What is this?” she asked.
Nobody answered.
Victoria saw the screen.
Her expression hardened.
“You think Enzo did it?”
“We’re asking,” Santino said.
“You’re interrogating an old man who spent his life serving us.”
Emily noticed something.
Serving us.
Not loving us.
Victoria’s language was always precise.
Santino looked at his sister.
“Where were you at 8:40 yesterday morning?”
Victoria stared.
“You’re asking me for an alibi?”
“Yes.”
“At the hospital board breakfast.”
“Witnesses?”
“Thirty.”
Emily watched Victoria’s hands.
No shaking.
No anger.
Then Victoria looked at Emily.
“This started when she arrived.”
Santino’s face changed.
“Careful.”
Victoria ignored him.
“Three years she applied for Ferrara jobs.”
Emily went cold.
Victoria knew.
“She lied to us.”
“I withheld personal information.”
“You came here because of Nathan.”
“Yes.”
Victoria smiled without warmth.
“And now my brother nearly dies.”
Emily stepped forward.
“You know Nathan’s name.”
Silence.
Santino turned.
Victoria realized her mistake.
“Of course I know it now.”
“No,” Emily said. “You said Nathan. Santino never told you his first name.”
Victoria’s face changed.
Rafe straightened.
Santino’s voice became quiet.
“How do you know Nathan Taylor?”
Victoria looked at her brother.
Then at Enzo.
Enzo closed his eyes.
“Tell him,” he whispered.
Victoria snapped:
“Shut up.”
Santino froze.
Emily’s heart pounded.
Enzo looked at her.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I should have told you years ago.”
“Where is my brother?”
Enzo’s eyes filled.
“Alive.”
Emily stopped breathing.
The room vanished.
“What?”
Santino turned sharply.
“You told me you didn’t know.”
“I lied.”
“Where is he?”
Enzo looked at Victoria.
She moved.
Fast.
Her hand entered her purse.
Rafe reached for his gun.
A shot exploded.
Enzo fell.
Emily screamed.
Victoria was not holding a gun.
The shot came through the window.
Rafe shoved Santino down.
Emily dropped beside Enzo.
Blood spread across his shirt.
“Pressure,” she shouted.
She pressed both hands over the wound.
Santino was on the floor beside his overturned wheelchair.
He dragged himself toward them using his arms.
“Santino, stay down!”
He ignored her.
Rafe shouted into his radio.
Security flooded the floor.
The shooter was gone.
Enzo struggled to breathe.
Emily leaned close.
“Where is Nathan?”
His lips moved.
She lowered her ear.
“St. Matthew.”
“What?”
“St. Matthew.”
Then:
“Ask... Father Luca.”
Enzo lost consciousness.
He survived surgery.
Barely.
St. Matthew was a church in Bristol.
Father Luca Moretti was seventy-one.
He looked at Santino and immediately knew why they had come.
“Nathan.”
Emily nearly collapsed.
“You know him?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Father Luca led them downstairs.
Not to Nathan.
To a box.
Inside were letters.
All addressed to Emily.
Never sent.
She opened the first.
Em,
If you’re reading this, something went wrong.
I found evidence of trafficking through Ferrara containers. Not drugs. People.
Emily’s hands shook.
Santino went cold.
His family’s absolute rule.
No trafficking.
Nathan continued.
I went to Santino because I believed he didn’t know. I was right.
But Victoria knows more than she admitted.
I saw her meeting a man named Marcus Vale.
Santino knew the name.
Marcus Vale controlled a criminal organization in Boston.
Rival.
Enemy.
Deadly.
Emily read on.
I think someone inside Ferrara Maritime is letting Vale use containers in exchange for money.
If they find out I copied the manifests, I’m dead.
Father Luca explained.
Nathan came to him the night after meeting Santino.
He needed somewhere safe.
Then disappeared again.
“Where?”
Father Luca shook his head.
“He didn’t tell me.”
“But he was alive?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“I received letters for eleven months.”
“Then?”
“They stopped.”
Emily cried.
Santino remained beside her.
Not touching.
Waiting.
She eventually reached for his hand.
Only then did he hold hers.
The final letter contained coordinates.
A warehouse in Maine.
They went.
Inside they found evidence Nathan had lived there.
Clothes.
Books.
Photographs.
A wall covered in shipping records.
And one newer photograph.
Nathan.
Timestamp:
Three weeks ago.
Emily gasped.
Alive.
He was alive three weeks ago.
Then Santino noticed another photograph.
Himself.
At the pool.
Taken before the accident.
Written beneath it:
THEY’RE GOING TO KILL SANTINO NEXT.
Emily looked at him.
“My brother knew.”
“Yes.”
On the table sat a burner phone.
One saved voicemail.
Nathan’s voice.
“If Emily gets close to the Ferraras, keep her away from Victoria. Santino isn’t the one she needs to fear.”
The message ended.
Emily looked at Santino.
Then the warehouse lights went out.
Gunfire shattered the windows.
Rafe yelled.
“DOWN!”
Santino pulled Emily behind a steel desk.
Men entered.
Rafe’s team returned fire.
Santino looked at Emily.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Stay here.”
“You can’t even—”
He smiled grimly.
“Finish that sentence carefully.”
Despite terror, she almost laughed.
He pulled a compact handgun from beneath his jacket.
Emily stared.
“You carry that in the wheelchair?”
“I’m disabled, Emily. Not optimistic.”
The attackers retreated when police sirens approached.
One was captured.
He worked for Marcus Vale.
But Vale had died two years earlier.
So who controlled the network now?
The captured man gave them a name.
Victoria Ferrara.
Emily refused to believe it immediately.
So did Santino.
Evidence mattered.
Not fear.
They returned to Newport.
Victoria was gone.
Her accounts emptied.
Her phone abandoned.
Then Santino received a video.
Victoria appeared.
Behind her sat Nathan Taylor.
Alive.
Bearded.
Thin.
Bruised.
Emily screamed his name.
Nathan lifted his head.
“Em?”
Victoria smiled into the camera.
“You wanted your brother.”
She looked directly at Santino.
“I want mine.”
Santino’s expression hardened.
“What do you want?”
“The Ferrara empire.”
May you like
Victoria smiled.
“And if you don’t sign it over by midnight, Emily gets her brother back in a coffin.”
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