Chapter 4 - The Night of the Boat
“What did you do?” Serena asked.
Damiano stared toward the dark storefront.
“Not now.”
“That means something happened.”
“Serena.”
“You want my trust while keeping your secrets?”
A crash sounded outside.
Damiano pulled her down.
A bullet shattered the glass display case.
Serena gasped.
Damiano covered her body with his.
“Stay down.”
His security men rushed through the rear entrance.
Within seconds, the street filled with movement.
The shooter vanished.
When Damiano finally allowed Serena to stand, powdered sugar floated through the air like dust.
Her beautiful display case was destroyed.
Cupcakes lay beneath broken glass.
She stared.
Damiano expected fear.
Instead she said, “That case cost four thousand dollars.”
He almost laughed.
Wrong moment.
Wrong woman.
But something inside him loosened.
“I’ll replace it.”
“No.”
“You were shot at because of my family.”
“And somehow that means you own my display case?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She retrieved the envelope.
Damiano didn’t touch it.
“You asked about Marco.”
“Yes.”
He leaned against the steel counter.
“The night he supposedly died, we fought.”
“About?”
“Our father.”
Marco had accused Carlo of being a criminal.
Damiano had defended him.
At sixteen, Damiano worshipped his father.
Marco begged Damiano to come with him.
Damiano refused.
Worse, he told Carlo that Marco planned to run.
“That was the last time I saw him,” Damiano said.
Serena’s anger softened.
“You were sixteen.”
“I knew he was afraid.”
“You were a kid.”
“I betrayed him.”
“You made a mistake.”
“He died because—”
“He didn’t die.”
Damiano looked at her.
It was obvious, but nobody had said it like that.
Serena opened the envelope.
Inside was a flash drive and a letter.
My Serena,
If you are reading this, the Vercellis have found their way back into your life.
Do not judge the children for the sins of their fathers.
Lucia taught me that before she died.
Trust actions, not names.
The evidence on this drive can destroy what remains of Carlo’s organization.
But there is one person you must find first.
Marco.
He knows where the original ledger is.
Love, Mom
Damiano read over her shoulder.
“Do not judge the children for the sins of their fathers,” Serena repeated.
Her gaze met his.
He looked away first.
They loaded the drive onto an offline laptop.
Files appeared.
Payments.
Companies.
Judges.
Police officers.
Politicians.
Serena felt overwhelmed.
Damiano recognized several names.
One surprised him most.
Victor Hale.
His family attorney.
The man who had handled Carlo’s estate.
The man currently attending Mia’s wedding reception.
Damiano called Mia.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Nathan answered.
“Where’s Mia?”
“Dancing with Rosa. Why?”
“Find Victor Hale. Don’t let him leave.”
A pause.
“He left twenty minutes ago.”
“With whom?”
“Your grandmother.”
Damiano’s blood chilled.
“What?”
Nathan corrected himself.
“No—sorry. Rosa went upstairs. Hale left alone.”
Damiano exhaled.
“Keep eyes on Nonna.”
They returned to the venue.
Rosa was safe.
Victor Hale was gone.
In his hotel room they found a burned photograph and an empty ring box.
The black signet ring.
Hale had been one of Carlo’s lieutenants.
The security footage showed him leaving through the service entrance.
Serena found something else.
A bakery box.
Sweet Mercy.
“I didn’t make this.”
Inside was one untouched slice of chocolate cake.
Under it was a note.
SERENA KNOWS THE RECIPE.
Damiano called security.
Then Serena’s phone rang.
Leo.
She answered immediately.
“Leo?”
“Miss Serena?”
His voice shook.
“Where are you?”
“At the wedding.”
“Where’s your mom?”
“She went downstairs.”
“Stay with her.”
“I can’t.”
Serena’s heart stopped.
“Why?”
“Because a man came.”
Damiano took the phone.
“Leo, listen carefully. Hide somewhere and tell me what you see.”
Silence.
Then whispering.
“He has gray hair.”
“What is he wearing?”
“A suit.”
“Anything on his hand?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“A black ring.”
Damiano signaled his men.
“Leo, hide.”
“I am.”
“Good.”
“He’s talking to Mom.”
“What is he saying?”
Leo went silent.
Then:
“He said Marco is coming tonight.”
Damiano froze.
“Did he say where?”
“He said the old church.”
Elena screamed in the background.
The call disconnected.
Damiano and Serena reached the apartment minutes later.
Empty.
Elena gone.
Leo gone.
On the kitchen table was a black signet ring.
Beneath it:
MIDNIGHT. ST. AGNES.
BRING THE DRIVE.
COME ALONE.
Serena read it.
“We’re going.”
“No.”
She looked at Damiano.
“Try stopping me.”
At 11:57 p.m., they stood outside the abandoned church.
Damiano carried an empty flash drive.
Serena carried the real one hidden inside her bra.
“You put it where?”
“You searched my purse once. I learned.”
Despite everything, Damiano smiled.
Then the church bell rang.
The doors opened.
A man stepped into the candlelight.
Dark wavy hair.
Vercelli eyes.
A scar across his jaw.
Damiano stopped.
The man looked at him.
For eighteen years, Damiano had imagined what he would say if he could apologize to his brother.
Now he could say nothing.
The man smiled.
“Hello, Dami.”
Only one person had ever called him that.
Damiano whispered:
“Marco?”
May you like
The man raised a gun.
And from behind the altar, Victor Hale dragged Leo into view.
