Chapter 5 - The Name Behind the Ambush
Beatrice stared at her uncle.
“Ray?”
His face looked broken.
“Put the case down.”
Dominic moved slightly in front of Beatrice.
Ray lifted the weapon.
“Don’t.”
Dominic stopped.
The second man remained behind Ray.
Older.
Tall.
Gray hair.
A scar beside his mouth.
Dominic knew the face from childhood photographs.
“Frank D’Angelo.”
The supposedly dead sixth ring holder smiled.
“Your father always said you remembered faces.”
Dominic’s body became still.
Frank D’Angelo had disappeared eighteen years earlier.
Officially killed in a boating accident.
No body recovered.
Dominic’s father had ordered a memorial.
Dominic had attended.
“Victor Venturi?” Dominic asked.
Frank laughed.
“Victor is a useful idiot.”
Beatrice looked at Ray.
“You’re working with him?”
Ray’s eyes filled with pain.
“No.”
“You’re pointing a gun at me.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“By doing exactly what he says?”
Frank sighed.
“Families. Always dramatic.”
Dominic’s gaze never left him.
“You arranged the ambush.”
“Yes.”
“Evan?”
“Employee.”
“Victor?”
“Investor.”
“And the ledger?”
“Mine.”
Dominic almost smiled.
“If it were yours, you wouldn’t need us.”
Frank’s expression hardened.
That was confirmation.
He needed Beatrice.
Or the ring.
Probably both.
“Open the case,” Frank ordered.
Beatrice looked down.
Dominic said, “Don’t.”
Frank nodded at Ray.
Ray’s hand shook.
“Please.”
Beatrice stared at the man who had taught her to ride a bicycle.
The man who attended every school play after her father died.
The man who took her to lunch after signing her divorce papers.
“Why?”
Ray swallowed.
“He has Lena.”
Beatrice went pale.
Her cousin.
The garage manager.
The woman who had unknowingly helped them escape earlier.
Frank smiled.
“Now we understand each other.”
Beatrice opened the metal case.
Inside the cassette recorder lay a second compartment.
Under it was a strip of paper covered in numbers.
Frank’s eyes lit.
“There.”
Dominic looked.
Coordinates?
Bank numbers?
Beatrice studied them.
Then she laughed.
Frank’s smile disappeared.
“What?”
“My father didn’t write this.”
“How do you know?”
“He hated seven.”
Frank blinked.
“What?”
“He said seven looked like a broken chair.”
Dominic stared at the sheet.
Beatrice continued.
“He always crossed his sevens.”
These were uncrossed.
“A decoy,” Dominic said.
Frank’s face tightened.
Beatrice picked up the cassette.
“This is the real clue.”
Frank pointed toward her.
“Play it.”
The old recorder clicked.
Static.
Then Charles Clark’s voice filled the corridor.
Beatrice covered her mouth.
She had not heard her father’s voice in nine years.
“If Bea is hearing this, I failed to keep her away from all of you.”
Dominic looked at her.
Tears stood in her eyes.
Charles continued.
“The ledger is not money. It is not power. It is proof.”
Frank’s jaw clenched.
“It contains enough evidence to destroy men who believe fear makes them untouchable.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
The recording continued.
“Frank D’Angelo tried to buy it. Pietro Rossi refused.”
Dominic froze.
His father had refused Frank.
“Frank arranged Pietro’s death.”
Dominic’s world stopped.
Frank reached toward the recorder.
Dominic moved.
Fast.
He knocked Frank’s hand aside.
Ray lowered his gun deliberately and turned it toward Frank.
“Enough.”
Frank smiled.
“You think Lena survives if I don’t call?”
Ray’s face collapsed.
Frank pulled a phone from his pocket.
Before he could dial, Beatrice drove her shoulder into him.
Frank staggered.
Dominic grabbed his wrist.
Ray shouted.
The phone hit the floor.
Nico and Sal rushed from the stairwell.
Frank’s men appeared behind them.
Chaos erupted.
No graphic violence.
Only bodies colliding, shouting, weapons kicked away, concrete echoing with footsteps.
Beatrice grabbed the phone.
A video call remained open.
Lena appeared tied to a chair inside what looked like an office.
Beatrice froze the image.
“Dominic!”
He came over.
“Look at the window.”
Behind Lena was a neon sign.
Only part visible.
MERC—
Dominic recognized it.
“Mercury Casino.”
An old Venturi property.
They had Lena.
And likely Evan.
Frank laughed from the floor.
“You’re too late.”
Dominic crouched beside him.
“Maybe.”
Frank smiled.
“You still don’t know where the ledger is.”
Beatrice replayed the cassette.
Charles’s final words:
“Bea, the thing you always hated cleaning is the thing you need.”
She stared.
Dominic asked, “What?”
Her eyes widened.
“My father’s toolbox.”
Ray looked at her.
“The red one?”
“Yes.”
“You donated it.”
“No.”
Ray frowned.
“I watched them take it.”
“I switched boxes.”
“Why?”
Beatrice almost laughed through tears.
“Because Dad carved my height marks inside the lid. I couldn’t throw it away.”
“Where is it?”
“My apartment.”
Everyone went silent.
Evan knew her apartment.
Dominic was already dialing.
No answer from the building superintendent.
He called another number.
A guard he had quietly placed near Beatrice’s building two months earlier after a stalker incident involving another employee.
The guard answered.
“Mr. Rossi?”
“Apartment 4C. Anyone enter?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
Dominic’s blood chilled.
“When?”
“About twenty minutes ago.”
“Who?”
“Male. Said he was her husband.”
Beatrice whispered, “Evan.”
They left Frank under Sal’s control.
Dominic, Beatrice, Nico, and Ray drove to her building.
The apartment door was open.
Drawers pulled out.
Closet emptied.
Her bedroom torn apart.
Beatrice ran to the kitchen pantry.
A red steel toolbox sat behind bags of flour.
Still there.
She exhaled.
“He missed it.”
Dominic shut the door.
“Open it.”
Beatrice lifted the lid.
Inside were old wrenches.
Photographs.
A grease pencil.
She removed the tray.
Nothing.
Then remembered the recording.
The thing she hated cleaning.
Not the toolbox.
Something inside it.
She picked up her father’s old socket wrench.
Grease always collected inside the hollow handle.
She twisted the base.
A tiny metal tube dropped into her palm.
Inside was a microfilm strip.
Dominic stared.
“The ledger.”
“Maybe.”
Ray whispered, “Charles, you clever bastard.”
Beatrice looked at Dominic.
“We have leverage.”
Dominic nodded.
“And they have Lena.”
A phone rang.
Her landline.
Nobody moved.
Then Beatrice answered.
Evan.
“I knew you’d find it.”
“Where’s Lena?”
“Alive.”
“For how long?”
“That depends on you.”
Dominic moved beside Beatrice.
Evan continued.
“Bring the microfilm to Mercury Casino.”
“When?”
“Now.”
“Who comes?”
“You.”
“No.”
Evan laughed.
“Beatrice comes alone.”
Dominic took the receiver.
“That isn’t happening.”
Evan’s voice became delighted.
“Dominic Rossi. I wondered when you’d stop pretending she was just the help.”
Dominic said nothing.
Evan continued.
“You care about her.”
Still nothing.
“That makes this much easier.”
Dominic’s face changed.
Beatrice saw it.
Not fear.
Decision.
“Touch her,” Dominic said quietly, “and you won’t have a city left to hide in.”
He hung up.
Beatrice stared.
“That was dramatic.”
“I meant it.”
“That’s the problem.”
Dominic looked at the microfilm.
“We’re not giving him the original.”
“What are we giving him?”
“A copy.”
Ray shook his head.
“He’ll test it.”
“Then we give him enough truth to believe.”
Beatrice looked at Dominic.
“And then?”
“We get Lena.”
“And Frank?”
“Frank talks.”
“And Victor?”
“He falls.”
“And Evan?”
Dominic looked at her.
“That decision belongs to you.”
For the first time, someone powerful had not decided her future for her.
Beatrice held his gaze.
Then Nico’s phone vibrated.
He looked down.
His expression changed.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“Frank escaped.”
Dominic stared.
“How?”
“Sal says someone inside our security team released him.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
Nico turned the phone around.
There was one more message.
Security footage.
The person opening Frank’s holding-room door stepped into frame.
Dominic recognized him immediately.
May you like
Anthony Rossi.
His own cousin.
