Chapter 4 - The Driver They Couldn’t Buy
“Answer it,” Marco whispered.
Dominic snapped, “No.”
Beatrice ignored him.
She picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
Evan Mercer laughed.
Four years disappeared from her face.
Dominic saw it happen.
The confident driver vanished for one second.
In her place was a younger woman who had once spent too many nights waiting for a husband who came home smelling of whiskey and desperation.
“Hello, Bea.”
Dominic’s eyes hardened.
“Where are you?”
Evan laughed again.
“Still taking orders from rich men?”
Beatrice looked at the timer.
00:12.
“What happens at zero?”
“Nothing.”
Dominic looked at Sal.
Sal mouthed, Keep still.
The timer hit zero.
Nothing happened.
No explosion.
No alarm.
Only silence.
Then Evan said, “I needed you all to listen.”
Beatrice’s expression turned cold.
“You set the ambush.”
“I helped.”
“Why?”
“Because Rossi owes people.”
Dominic leaned toward the phone.
“Mercer.”
“Oh, the king himself.”
“If you touch her—”
“You still think this is about threatening her?”
Evan’s tone changed.
“This is about her choosing the wrong man twice.”
Beatrice flinched.
Dominic noticed.
He hated Evan for noticing it too.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“The ring.”
Dominic looked down at his father’s ring.
“And the ledger,” Evan continued.
“You don’t have it,” Beatrice said.
“No. But your boss is going to find it for me.”
The line went dead.
Sal disabled the pressure switch.
It had been fake.
Marco was freed.
Dominic stood beside him.
“You knew Evan?”
Marco nodded reluctantly.
“Not personally.”
“Then explain.”
“Venturi used him to move money through gambling clubs.”
“How long?”
“Years.”
“And you didn’t tell me Beatrice’s ex-husband was connected?”
“I didn’t know she was Beatrice Clark until tonight.”
Dominic stared.
“Her name is on every payroll document.”
“Evan called her Beatrice Mercer.”
Beatrice spoke quietly.
“I changed my name back.”
Marco nodded.
“I never made the connection.”
Dominic’s anger cooled by one degree.
Not enough.
“Who is behind him?”
Marco looked tired.
“Victor Venturi.”
Nico swore.
Victor was sixty-two.
Old-school.
Patient.
Dangerous.
And losing money.
Dominic had been taking legitimate construction contracts from Venturi for three years.
If Victor possessed the ledger, he could blackmail judges, politicians, businesses, and old Rossi allies.
He could rebuild his power without firing another shot.
“He needs the rings,” Dominic said.
Marco nodded.
“Or someone who knows the sequence.”
“Do you?”
“Part of it.”
Dominic looked toward the safe embedded in the old chapel wall.
“Open it.”
Marco hesitated.
“Open it.”
The safe required Dominic’s ring.
The black stone pressed against a shallow indentation.
A mechanism clicked.
Inside was not a ledger.
Only an envelope.
Dominic opened it.
A photograph.
Six men standing beside his father.
On the back were six numbers.
Beatrice noticed something else.
“There’s handwriting under the corner.”
Dominic tilted it.
One name.
CHARLES CLARK.
Beatrice stopped breathing.
“That’s my father.”
Dominic stared at her.
“Your father knew mine?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
Marco looked at the photograph.
Then at Beatrice.
“Maybe he never told you.”
“My father was a truck mechanic.”
“What kind of trucks?” Marco asked.
Beatrice glared.
“What kind of question is that?”
“The Rossi family used freight companies.”
Beatrice took the photograph.
Her father looked twenty years younger.
Standing behind Dominic’s father.
Wearing grease-stained coveralls.
He was not smiling.
Ray had lied.
Or maybe Beatrice’s father had.
She folded the photograph.
“I’m going home.”
Dominic stopped her.
“Not alone.”
“I need answers.”
“You’ll get them.”
“From my uncle.”
“Then we go together.”
Nico objected.
“Boss, we should move Marco.”
“Sal handles Marco.”
“Victor knows her family.”
“That is exactly why I’m going.”
Beatrice’s uncle Ray was waiting at the gym.
When he saw the photograph, his shoulders fell.
“So you found it.”
Beatrice stared at him.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You told me Dad fixed delivery trucks.”
“He did.”
“For the Rossis?”
“Sometimes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because your father wanted you nowhere near this life.”
Beatrice laughed bitterly.
“That worked.”
Ray sat.
“Your father wasn’t a gangster.”
Dominic said nothing.
Ray looked at him.
“He was a mechanic. But he was also very good with numbers.”
Beatrice frowned.
“What?”
“He noticed invoices didn’t match cargo. Payments didn’t match routes.”
“The ledger,” Dominic said.
Ray nodded.
“Your father helped create the code.”
Beatrice looked sick.
“So Evan married me because of Dad?”
“No.”
Ray hesitated.
“At least, I don’t think so.”
That hesitation was enough.
“Uncle Ray.”
“Evan started asking questions after your father died.”
Beatrice remembered.
The strange interest.
The old boxes.
Evan volunteering to help clear her father’s garage.
She had thought he was trying to be supportive.
He had been searching.
“For the sequence?”
“Yes.”
Beatrice looked toward Dominic.
“This started before I ever worked for you.”
Dominic understood.
Evan had not targeted Beatrice because she drove Dominic.
He had encouraged circumstances that put her near Dominic because she was useful.
“How did Beatrice get hired?” Dominic asked.
She turned sharply.
“What are you implying?”
“Who referred you?”
“A staffing company.”
“What company?”
“Northline Executive Services.”
Dominic looked at Nico.
Nico immediately took out his phone.
Two minutes later he had an answer.
“Northline was purchased eighteen months ago by a holding company.”
“Owner?”
Nico’s face tightened.
“Venturi Hospitality.”
Beatrice sat down.
The truth landed hard.
Her job.
The salary that saved her sister’s house.
The position she believed she had earned.
Someone had arranged it.
Dominic crouched in front of her.
“Look at me.”
She didn’t.
“Beatrice.”
Her eyes lifted.
“You earned every mile you drove for me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“You hired who they put in front of you.”
“I kept you because you were the best driver I had.”
Silence.
Nico looked away.
Dominic continued.
“You saved my life tonight because you were better than everyone who laughed at you.”
Nico lowered his head.
Beatrice’s eyes became glassy.
She blinked the emotion away.
“Don’t make this sentimental.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m stating facts.”
Ray smiled faintly.
Dominic stood.
“We find the ledger before Victor.”
“How?”
Ray answered.
“Your father left a second clue.”
He opened a drawer.
Inside was an old brass key.
Beatrice stared at it.
“What does it open?”
“Your father’s storage locker.”
“I emptied that after he died.”
“Not that locker.”
Ray handed her a receipt.
Union Station.
Locker 318.
Paid in advance for twenty years.
Dominic looked at Beatrice.
“Let’s go.”
They reached Union Station after midnight.
Locker 318 stood in a forgotten lower corridor beside decommissioned baggage storage.
Beatrice inserted the key.
It turned.
Inside was a small metal case.
Her hands trembled as she opened it.
No ledger.
A cassette recorder.
An old photograph.
And a sealed letter addressed to her.
BEATRICE.
She opened it.
Sweetheart,
If you are reading this, someone found the photograph.
You must not trust the man wearing the sixth ring.
Beatrice stopped.
Dominic leaned closer.
“Keep reading.”
She did.
The sixth ring belonged to the man your uncle still believes is dead.
A sound came from the corridor.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Dominic turned.
A man stepped into the light.
He held out his hand.
On his finger was a black-stone Rossi ring.
May you like
Ray Clark stood behind him.
And Ray was holding a gun.
