Chapter 6
Emma laughed.
It was a terrible sound.
“Me?”
Luke looked away.
I didn’t.
“Why?”
“They think your father gave you the ledger.”
“I was twelve.”
“They don’t care.”
Her face went white.
“I don’t have it.”
“I believe you.”
She turned on me.
“That doesn’t help if they don’t.”
“No,” I said. “But I do.”
She stared.
“What does that mean?”
“It means they don’t get to bargain with your body.”
Luke crossed his arms.
“Danny, Bellaro says if we don’t hand her over, he releases proof that your own people helped set up the shooting.”
The room went cold.
For two years, I had hunted the sniper’s trail.
Money.
Guns.
Vehicles.
All led back to Bellaro.
But there had always been a gap.
Someone inside my operation had opened my route.
Someone close enough to know which SUV I would take.
I looked at Luke.
His jaw tightened.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“I’m looking at everyone like that.”
Emma whispered, “This is because of me.”
I rolled toward her.
“No.”
“You said the ledger might name your traitor.”
“And your father died for it.”
She wiped her face.
“I don’t know where it is.”
“Then we find it.”
“How?”
I looked at her.
“What did your father leave behind?”
“Nothing. Alan sold everything.”
“Everything?”
She thought.
Then her face changed.
“My mother’s music box.”
Luke frowned.
“Music box?”
“She kept it even after the house was emptied. It’s at Lakeview in storage.”
We drove there before dawn.
Rose’s belongings were in three plastic bins.
Clothes.
Photos.
Old blankets.
And a wooden music box with a cracked ballerina inside.
Emma’s hands shook as she opened it.
It played a slow, broken tune.
Nothing inside.
She cried silently.
I looked at the bottom.
“Give it to me.”
She did.
I turned it over.
The base was slightly raised.
Luke handed me a knife.
I pried it open.
A folded strip of paper fell out.
Not a ledger.
A bank locker key.
And a note.
For Emma, when the wolves come.
Her knees buckled.
I caught her wrist before she fell.
She stared at the note.
“My dad knew.”
“Yes.”
Her voice broke.
“He knew they’d come for us.”
Luke looked at the key number.
“Downtown Federal. Box 884.”
By morning, we had lawyers, police contacts, and a court order forged by legitimate fear instead of criminal convenience.
Inside the box was a flash drive.
A ledger.
And one photo.
Me, two years ago, leaving a charity event.
May you like
Beside my SUV stood Luke.
And beside Luke stood my brother, Marco.
