Chapter 4 - What Daniel Hayes Died Protecting
At nine o’clock, eleven men sat around Vittorio Russo’s old dining table.
Dominic stood at the head.
Beatrice was not there.
That had been Dominic’s decision.
She had objected.
He had ignored her.
“I don’t need protecting,” she had said.
“This isn’t protection.”
“What is it?”
“Strategy.”
“You think your captains will behave differently because I’m a woman?”
“I think half of them will underestimate you.”
Beatrice had smiled.
“Like you did?”
Dominic had looked at her for a long moment.
“Yes.”
That answer had ended the argument.
Now Dominic faced the men who controlled every important branch of the Russo organization.
His uncle Angelo sat to the right.
Matteo Vieri, who ran trucking, sat near the window.
Louis D’Amico controlled construction unions.
Peter Russo handled restaurants and cash businesses.
Carlo Moretti stood against the wall, arms folded.
Nobody spoke.
Dominic placed a folder on the table.
“Four-point-two million dollars is missing from the family relief fund.”
Murmurs erupted.
Angelo slammed a palm against the table.
“Impossible.”
“No.”
Dominic looked around the room.
“It happened.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know yet.”
That caused another wave of voices.
Dominic waited.
Then he said one word.
“Enough.”
Silence returned.
Peter Russo leaned forward.
“We got messages saying you took it.”
Dominic looked at him.
“I know.”
“The transfers used your authorization.”
“I know.”
“Then give us a reason not to believe it.”
Carlo shifted against the wall.
Dominic noticed.
He removed the receipt Beatrice had written on.
He placed it on the table.
“I didn’t authorize those transfers.”
Angelo picked up the receipt.
“What is Alder Shore?”
“A shell company.”
“Yours?”
“No.”
“Whose?”
“That’s what I’m finding out.”
Matteo leaned back.
“This woman at Bellandi gave you this?”
Carlo had told them.
Dominic looked toward him.
Carlo’s expression did not change.
Dominic filed that away.
“Yes.”
Angelo frowned.
“Beatrice Hayes?”
“You know her?”
“I knew her father.”
The room changed.
Older men looked down.
Younger men looked confused.
Dominic caught every reaction.
“What do you know about Daniel Hayes?”
Angelo’s voice became cautious.
“He stole from Vittorio.”
“That’s the story.”
“That’s what happened.”
“Are you certain?”
His uncle bristled.
“I was there.”
“Where?”
“When your father discovered it.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“Tell me.”
Angelo looked around the table.
“This was family business before you were old enough to shave.”
“And now it’s my business.”
A long pause.
Finally Angelo spoke.
“Daniel handled legitimate accounts. He found discrepancies. Claimed somebody was moving money through the harbor.”
“Who?”
“He never said.”
“Why?”
“He disappeared before your father could question him.”
“He died.”
“After.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
“After what?”
Angelo realized too late that he had said too much.
Dominic leaned forward.
“After what?”
Angelo stared at him.
“After he met with Salvatore Moretti.”
Every eye in the room moved toward Carlo.
Carlo unfolded his arms.
“My uncle’s been dead twelve years.”
Dominic looked at Angelo.
“Why have I never heard this?”
“Your father shut it down.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You never asked?”
Angelo laughed bitterly.
“You knew Vittorio. When he said something was finished, you stopped digging unless you wanted to join the dead.”
Dominic turned toward Carlo.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“No.”
“Your uncle met Daniel Hayes before Hayes died.”
“I said I didn’t know.”
Dominic watched him.
Then Carlo pushed away from the wall.
“This is insane.”
He pointed at the receipt.
“Some woman writes numbers on paper, and suddenly everybody who spent twenty years proving loyalty is a suspect?”
“You’re not a suspect because of paper.”
Carlo went still.
“You’re a suspect because you knew what my father wrote before I told you.”
“I guessed.”
“You told the captains Beatrice gave me the evidence.”
“I had to explain why you were acting like this.”
“I didn’t authorize you to explain anything.”
Carlo stepped toward the table.
“You’re losing control.”
Dominic’s eyes went cold.
“Careful.”
“No. Somebody needs to say it.”
Carlo looked around the room.
“He’s letting an outsider accuse all of us while millions disappear under his signature.”
Angelo stood.
“Sit down, Carlo.”
Carlo ignored him.
“You want to know what I think?”
“No.”
“I think Beatrice Hayes fabricated everything.”
Dominic laughed once.
Carlo stared.
“What?”
“You call her Beatrice now.”
Silence.
Carlo’s expression changed.
Dominic continued.
“I never told you her first name.”
Carlo stopped breathing.
Nobody moved.
Then Carlo smiled.
Slowly.
“Bellandi employees know her.”
“Maybe.”
Dominic approached him.
“But you said you’d never heard of her when we left the shop.”
Carlo’s smile disappeared.
Dominic was two feet away now.
“Which version do you want to keep?”
A phone rang.
Not Dominic’s.
Angelo’s.
He glanced at the screen.
Then answered.
“What?”
His face drained.
“Where?”
Every man at the table watched him.
Angelo looked at Dominic.
“Bellandi Imports is on fire.”
Dominic was moving before Angelo finished the sentence.
He reached the street in seconds.
Carlo followed.
“Dominic!”
Dominic turned.
“If you come with me, I’ll put you in a car trunk myself.”
Carlo stopped.
Dominic got behind the wheel of his own SUV.
He called Beatrice.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
The drive took nine minutes.
It felt like an hour.
He saw smoke two blocks away.
Fire engines blocked the street.
Orange light pulsed across brick buildings.
Dominic left the SUV in the intersection.
A firefighter shouted at him.
He ignored him.
“Beatrice!”
The front windows of Bellandi Imports had shattered.
Smoke poured into the street.
Flames glowed somewhere near the rear.
Dominic pushed toward the entrance.
A firefighter grabbed him.
“You can’t go in!”
“There’s a woman—”
“Everybody’s out!”
Dominic stopped.
“What?”
“Owner and employee got out through the alley.”
“Where?”
The firefighter pointed.
Dominic ran.
He found Beatrice sitting on the rear bumper of an ambulance.
Her face was streaked with soot.
A blanket covered her shoulders.
Lucia Bellandi, a tiny seventy-year-old woman with silver hair, sat beside her arguing with a paramedic in Italian.
Dominic stopped several feet away.
Beatrice looked up.
Something in his chest released.
“You’re alive.”
She blinked.
“That’s usually how sitting works.”
He almost laughed.
Instead he walked toward her.
“What happened?”
“Somebody threw a bottle through the back window.”
“Molotov?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see them?”
“No.”
Lucia did.
She pushed the paramedic away and pointed at Dominic.
“You.”
Dominic looked at her.
Lucia spoke rapid Italian.
“You are Vittorio’s boy?”
“Yes.”
“You grew too much.”
Beatrice closed her eyes.
“Lucia—”
“You bring trouble.”
Dominic nodded.
“Yes.”
That surprised both women.
Lucia narrowed her eyes.
“At least you admit it.”
Beatrice stood.
“What happened at the meeting?”
Dominic looked at the firefighters.
“Not here.”
“My files—”
“Were they inside?”
“Some.”
Beatrice moved toward the building.
Dominic caught her elbow.
“No.”
“My father’s records.”
“The building is burning.”
“I can see that.”
“And I’m not letting you walk into it.”
She looked at his hand.
Dominic released her.
She crossed her arms.
“Don’t order me around.”
“Fine. I strongly recommend you not die retrieving paperwork.”
“Better.”
A firefighter approached.
“Ma’am, there’s something you should know.”
Beatrice turned.
“We found evidence of accelerant in the stockroom.”
She frowned.
“The bottle hit the kitchen.”
“Yes.”
Dominic’s gaze sharpened.
“What are you saying?”
“The rear fire may have been a distraction. Somebody started a second fire inside.”
Beatrice went pale.
“Inside?”
“Looks that way.”
Dominic looked toward the burning shop.
Someone had entered before the attack.
Someone who knew where records might be kept.
He turned to Beatrice.
“What did they take?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think.”
She stared at the flames.
Then her eyes widened.
“The old blue ledger.”
“What ledger?”
“My father’s.”
“Wasn’t that the notebook you showed me?”
“No. That was his address book. The ledger was hidden beneath the floor panel in the office.”
“You kept original evidence in the shop?”
“Nobody knew.”
“Somebody did.”
Her face hardened.
“Yes.”
Lucia suddenly said something.
Beatrice turned.
“What?”
Lucia repeated herself.
Dominic understood enough Italian.
“She said a man came in this afternoon.”
Beatrice looked at Lucia.
“What man?”
“Asked about old wines. Went to the bathroom twice.”
“Description?”
Lucia thought.
“Tall. Gray coat. Burn on his hand.”
Dominic froze.
He knew a man with a burn across his right hand.
A man who had worked for his father for twenty-six years.
“Who?” Beatrice asked.
Dominic looked at her.
“My uncle Angelo’s driver.”
Beatrice’s eyes widened.
Dominic called Angelo.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then his phone buzzed.
A text.
Unknown number.
One photograph.
Angelo Russo sat tied to a chair.
Blood ran from his mouth.
Behind him was a concrete wall.
Beneath the photograph were seven words.
STOP DIGGING OR HE DIES BEFORE MIDNIGHT.
Beatrice read it over Dominic’s shoulder.
Lucia crossed herself.
Dominic stared at the picture.
His father’s warning returned.
The enemy would already have a key.
But now Dominic understood something else.
The person behind the theft did not only have access to accounts.
They had access to homes.
Drivers.
Captains.
And Dominic’s every move.
Beatrice looked at him.
“What are you going to do?”
Dominic put the phone away.
“Find my uncle.”
“How?”
“By making the person who took him believe we’re afraid.”
Beatrice held his gaze.
“And are we?”
Dominic looked at the burning remains of Bellandi Imports.
“Yes.”
That was the first time he had admitted fear in years.
May you like
Then he looked back at her.
“But fear doesn’t mean we stop.”
