Chapter 7
They had my son in the old greenhouse.
Elena’s greenhouse.
The place where she had hidden the truth.
The place where Leo had found it.
I walked across the garden with Elena’s notebook in one hand and rage in the other.
Marco wanted to follow.
I told him no.
Then I gave him the look that meant follow anyway, but unseen.
The greenhouse door stood open.
Inside, Leo sat in a chair with his wrists tied loosely in front of him.
Loosely.
That mattered.
They wanted fear, not evidence of harm.
Victor Bellini stood behind him in a gray suit.
Beside him was Councilman Russo, one of my father’s oldest men.
The same man who kissed my son’s forehead at Elena’s funeral.
“Let him go,” I said.
Victor smiled.
“Give me the notebook.”
I held it up.
“This?”
Leo’s eyes locked on mine.
I needed him brave for ten more seconds.
Only ten.
“Dad,” he whispered.
“It’s okay, son.”
Russo sighed.
“Elena should have stayed quiet.”
“She was my wife.”
“She was a problem.”
I took one step closer.
“She was Leo’s mother.”
Victor’s smile vanished.
“And that is why she had to go.”
The words hung in the air.
Clear.
Recorded.
Because Leo was not crying now.
He was staring at the little silver birdhouse Elena had hung above the lemon tree.
Inside it was a camera Marco had installed years ago.
Victor did not know.
Elena had known.
Maybe that was why she hid the notebook here.
I threw the notebook at Victor’s feet.
He bent.
Leo kicked backward hard, just like I had taught him.
The chair tipped.
I moved.
Marco’s men crashed through the glass side door.
Russo reached for Leo.
I got there first.
I pulled my son behind me and faced the men who had hunted my family.
Then police sirens screamed beyond the gates.
May you like
Grace had not just filed papers.
She had called the FBI.
