Chapter 5
I read my father’s words three times before they became real.
Do not trust Francesca.
The chapel felt suddenly too small.
Santino stood beside me, his face gray.
Agent Pierce put on gloves and took photographs before touching anything.
Maeve remained in the doorway, one hand pressed to the old wood as if standing was an effort.
I did not blame her.
Her mother’s voice had just risen from the grave.
My father’s handwriting had followed.
And between them stood my sister.
The will was sealed in a plastic sleeve, but the first page was enough to make my life split open.
Patrick Castellano had changed his estate plan two weeks before he died.
Control of the club and charity trust stayed with me.
But Francesca was removed from all financial authority.
Dominic was barred from management until age thirty-five and only after independent oversight.
There was also a private letter attached.
Pierce looked at me.
“Do you want to read it now?”
No.
Yes.
I did.
The letter began with my name.
Rocco,
If you are reading this, I failed to come home.
My hands tightened.
Santino looked away.
My father wrote that Francesca had been moving charity funds through shell vendors.
Small amounts at first.
Then larger.
When he confronted her, she cried.
Then threatened to tell the board he was losing his mind.
He wrote that she had surrounded herself with men who told her she deserved more.
Judge Halverson.
Victor Bell.
Two names I knew from the club.
Two men still drinking my whiskey while smiling at my tables.
Then the line that made my blood turn to ice.
If I am killed, Francesca will blame the O’Donnells. She has already prepared the lie.
I lowered the letter.
For eighteen years, I had carried my father’s murder like a stone in my chest.
I had blamed the O’Donnells.
I had let that hatred shape decisions.
Alliances.
Punishments.
Silence.
And all along, the knife may have come from my own house.
Maeve whispered, “My mother told the truth.”
I looked at her.
Her eyes were full of tears, but her chin was lifted.
“Yes,” I said. “She did.”
Something shifted in her face.
Not relief.
Not yet.
Relief was too far away.
But a small piece of shame left her.
The shame of a child taught her blood was guilty.
I knew that shame too.
Different blood.
Same poison.
We returned upstairs with the evidence.
Francesca was gone.
So was Dominic.
Vince was unconscious near the staff entrance.
Not badly hurt.
Drugged.
Santino cursed.
Pierce called it in.
I looked at the empty doorway.
My sister had run.
Dominic had run with her.
That answered more than any confession.
Maeve swayed.
I caught her before she fell.
She tried to pull away.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“I have to get my son.”
The words cut through everything.
“Where is he?”
“With my neighbor. But Dominic knows where I live.”
I turned to Santino.
“Car. Now.”
Pierce stepped in.
“We need officers with you.”
“You can follow.”
“I’m not asking.”
I looked at him.
Then at Maeve.
Fear was breaking through her control now.
Not for herself.
For her child.
I nodded once.
“Fine. Follow fast.”
Maeve’s apartment was twenty minutes away in a worn brick building above a laundromat.
She ran up the stairs before the car fully stopped.
I followed with Santino and two officers.
Her neighbor, Mrs. Ruiz, opened the door holding a baseball bat.
When she saw Maeve, she almost cried.
“Thank God.”
“Where’s Noah?”
“Asleep. He’s okay.”
Maeve rushed inside.
A small boy lay curled on the couch under a dinosaur blanket.
Four years old.
Dark hair.
Thin arms.
An inhaler on the table beside him.
Maeve dropped to her knees and pressed her hand to his back.
“Noah,” she whispered.
He stirred.
“Mommy?”
“I’m here.”
His eyes opened.
Then he saw me and shrank back.
Maeve pulled him into her arms.
“It’s okay. He’s helping.”
Noah looked doubtful.
Smart child.
I stayed by the door.
Mrs. Ruiz glared at me.
“You better be helping after what your family did.”
I did not defend myself.
“I am trying.”
She snorted.
“Try harder.”
I liked her immediately.
Maeve gathered Noah’s medicine, clothes, and one small backpack.
Her apartment was clean but bare.
A mattress in one room.
A tiny kitchen.
Nursing textbooks stacked beside bills.
On the fridge was a drawing of Maeve and Noah holding hands under a yellow sun.
I saw the hospital bill on the counter.
The amount was less than Dominic spent on one bottle of wine.
I felt sick.
Santino came in quietly.
“Boss.”
He held up a small black device from beneath the kitchen table.
Maeve went still.
“What is that?”
“Tracker,” Santino said.
Her face drained.
Dominic had not just known where she lived.
He had been watching.
Noah began to cry.
Maeve held him tighter.
I looked at the officers.
“Can you secure the building?”
One nodded.
“We’ll search.”
Maeve looked at me.
“I can’t stay here.”
“No.”
“I don’t have anywhere else.”
“You do now.”
Her eyes narrowed despite her fear.
“I won’t be bought.”
“I’m not buying you.”
“I won’t be hidden either.”
I respected that.
“You and Noah can stay in the family guest house tonight. Separate entrance. Guards outside. You choose tomorrow.”
She looked at Mrs. Ruiz.
The older woman studied me like she was deciding whether to hit me with the bat.
Finally, she said, “Take the help. But keep the bat.”
Maeve almost smiled.
Noah whispered, “Can Mr. Dino come?”
Maeve kissed his hair.
“Yes, baby.”
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Francesca’s voice came through, breathless and furious.
“You opened something you cannot close.”
I stepped into the hallway.
“Come back.”
“No.”
“Dominic with you?”
Silence.
Then she said, “My son deserves what your father stole from him.”
“My father barred him because he knew what you were making him.”
“You always got everything.”
“And you chose murder?”
Her voice cracked.
“I chose my child.”
I looked through the doorway at Maeve holding Noah.
“No,” I said. “You used him.”
Francesca went quiet.
Then she whispered, “Ask Maeve what her mother did with the other ledger.”
The line died.
I turned slowly.
Maeve stood behind me.
She had heard.
Her face was pale.
“What other ledger?” I asked.
Her lips parted.
Then, from the couch, Noah said sleepily, “The red book?”
Maeve froze.
I looked at her.
May you like
Noah rubbed his eyes.
“The one under Grandpa’s floor.”
