Chapter 2 - The Name Inside the Envelope
Dominic drew the pistol from beneath his jacket.
Maria stared at it.
“You have a gun in my kitchen?”
“I’ve had a gun everywhere you’ve ever served me coffee.”
“That is not comforting.”
“Stay behind me.”
The knocking stopped.
Dominic moved toward the dry-storage room.
The sound had come from beneath that section of the floor.
Anthony and Stefano entered behind him.
“Boss?”
“Lock the front.”
Anthony obeyed.
“Luis, check the alley.”
Luis disappeared.
Peter remained by the diner entrance.
Dominic crouched.
The black-and-white tile floor looked ordinary.
Old.
Scratched.
Grease-darkened at the grout.
Maria knelt beside him.
“My father replaced these tiles himself.”
“When?”
“Maybe fifteen years ago.”
Dominic ran his fingers across one tile.
“No.”
Maria frowned.
“No what?”
“This one’s newer.”
She leaned closer.
It looked the same.
Dominic pressed on one corner.
Nothing.
Then Maria remembered the key.
She held it up.
Dominic examined the floor.
A thin gap ran beneath a stainless storage rack.
They moved it together.
Behind it was a small brass lock set into the baseboard.
Maria’s breathing changed.
“I’ve worked here eleven years.”
Dominic took the key.
“You’ve never seen this?”
“No.”
He inserted it.
It fit.
The baseboard released.
A narrow panel opened.
Behind it was a metal lever.
Dominic pulled.
A section of tiled floor shifted with a mechanical click.
Maria stepped backward.
A rectangular hatch rose half an inch.
Anthony whispered, “What the hell?”
Dominic lifted it.
Concrete stairs descended into darkness.
Maria stared.
“My father knew about this?”
Dominic turned on his phone light.
“He built around it.”
“What is it?”
Dominic recognized the construction.
Not exactly.
But enough.
“Old smuggling tunnel.”
“Under a diner?”
“This neighborhood was different seventy years ago.”
They descended.
Anthony followed.
Maria came too.
Dominic glanced back.
“I told you to stay upstairs.”
“It’s my diner.”
“This might be dangerous.”
“My niece is nine.”
Dominic didn’t argue again.
The passage smelled of damp concrete.
Ten feet down, the stairs opened into a narrow room.
Old shelves.
Dust.
Wooden crates.
A steel desk.
And one chair in the middle.
Empty.
Rope lay on the floor beside it.
Freshly cut.
Maria put both hands over her mouth.
“Someone was here.”
Dominic touched the rope.
Still warm from friction.
Anthony drew his weapon.
There was another door on the far side.
Dominic opened it.
A tunnel stretched toward Mercer Street.
Wet footprints disappeared into the darkness.
Marco’s footprints, Dominic thought.
Or whoever Marco had released.
Maria spotted something beneath the chair.
A pink plastic bracelet.
She grabbed it.
Tiny silver letters spelled EMILY.
Her knees gave way.
Dominic caught her.
“No.”
Maria clutched the bracelet.
“No, no, no.”
Dominic looked at Anthony.
“Find Daniel Bell. Now.”
Anthony was already dialing.
Maria shook so badly Dominic had to guide her into the chair.
“They had her here.”
“We don’t know that.”
“She wears this every day.”
“Maria.”
“They had my niece under my diner while I was upstairs serving pancakes.”
Dominic’s expression hardened.
The thought did something to him.
Not because he knew Emily.
He didn’t.
Not because children were entirely protected in his world.
He wished he could claim that.
But there were rules.
Old ones.
Lines even violent men did not cross.
Families were off-limits.
Children were untouchable.
Businesses belonging to civilians were not taken through kidnapping.
Whoever had done this had used Dominic’s name while breaking every rule the Rinaldi organization supposedly lived by.
That meant one of two things.
Either someone wanted Dominic blamed.
Or Dominic no longer controlled his own empire.
Anthony ended the call.
“Daniel Bell’s phone goes straight to voicemail.”
Maria stood.
“His apartment.”
“I’ve sent people.”
“No.”
She turned toward Dominic.
“You sent your people before.”
Dominic understood.
“Anthony comes with us.”
Maria looked at Anthony.
“How do I know he isn’t part of it?”
Anthony flinched.
Dominic almost smiled.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was fair.
“You don’t.”
“Then he stays.”
Anthony looked offended.
“Boss—”
“She’s right.”
Dominic handed Anthony the envelope.
“Find out where this paper came from.”
Then he and Maria climbed upstairs.
The diner remained locked.
Four men.
No Marco.
Dominic checked Marco’s location through the family tracking system.
Phone disabled.
Predictable.
Santino answered on the fourth ring.
“Brother.”
Dominic said nothing.
Santino chuckled.
“You awake?”
“Where are you?”
“Home.”
Dominic looked at the clock.
2:36.
“You sure?”
“Unless someone moved my house.”
“Santino.”
Silence.
Dominic lowered his voice.
“Did you send an envelope to Bell’s Diner?”
Another pause.
Too long.
“What envelope?”
Dominic stared at Maria.
She had heard.
“You wrote on it.”
“Dominic, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Dominic’s grip tightened.
“Then someone has your handwriting.”
Santino laughed.
It sounded forced.
“Go home, Dom. You sound tired.”
The call ended.
Maria whispered, “That was him?”
“My brother.”
“He lied.”
“Yes.”
“You know that?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Dominic looked at the word written beneath the flap.
“Because he asked what envelope.”
Maria frowned.
“So?”
“I never said there was writing on it.”
Her face changed.
Dominic called his driver.
No answer.
He tried again.
Nothing.
“Keys,” he said.
Maria stared.
“To what?”
“Your car.”
“I take the bus.”
Dominic looked toward his five-million-dollar security network, his armed men, his cameras, his drivers.
Then at Maria Bell, who had no car.
“Of course you do.”
A key ring jingled.
Peter held it up.
“My sedan.”
Dominic took it.
“Thank you.”
Peter looked almost proud.
Dominic and Maria left through the kitchen.
Rain soaked them before they reached the car.
Maria climbed into the passenger seat.
“You know how to drive?”
Dominic stared at her.
“What kind of question is that?”
“You have drivers.”
“I’m a criminal, Maria. Not royalty.”
“You said that very casually.”
He started the engine.
She gave directions.
Daniel Bell lived twelve minutes away in a narrow brick apartment building near St. Agnes School.
Dominic made it in seven.
The front door stood open.
Maria ran.
“Daniel!”
Third floor.
Apartment 3C.
Door cracked.
Dominic caught her arm.
“Behind me.”
He entered first.
Living room.
Lamp broken.
Chair overturned.
No blood.
Maria rushed toward the bedrooms.
“Emily!”
A small bedroom door opened.
Maria gasped.
Emily Bell stood there in purple pajamas.
Alive.
Terrified.
Maria dropped to her knees and pulled her close.
“Oh, baby.”
Emily sobbed into her shoulder.
Dominic searched the rest of the apartment.
Kitchen empty.
Bathroom empty.
Master bedroom—
Blood on the carpet.
Not much.
But enough.
Daniel was gone.
Maria found Dominic staring at it.
Her face collapsed.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
Emily appeared behind them.
“Aunt Maria?”
Maria turned.
Emily held out a folded piece of paper.
“The man said to give you this.”
Dominic crouched.
“What man?”
Emily looked at him.
“The bald one.”
Marco.
“When?”
“He came after Daddy left.”
“Where did Daddy go?”
“He said somebody called about you.”
Maria closed her eyes.
Dominic opened the paper.
A printed address.
No message.
Industrial docks.
Warehouse 17.
Maria whispered, “Is Daniel there?”
Dominic stared at the address.
“I don’t know.”
His phone buzzed.
A photograph arrived from an unknown number.
Daniel Bell sat tied to a chair.
Behind him stood Marco.
Beside Marco stood Santino Rinaldi.
And in Santino’s hand was a gasoline can.
Dominic’s phone rang.
He answered.
His brother’s voice came through.
“Three o’clock, Dom.”
Dominic checked the time.
2:48.
“What do you want?”
Santino laughed softly.
“The thing Dad should have given me twenty years ago.”
Dominic glanced at Maria.
“What thing?”
Santino answered with one word.
“The diner.”
Then the line went dead.
Maria whispered, “Why would your brother kidnap Daniel for a diner?”
Dominic slowly looked toward Emily’s bracelet.
Then toward the old photograph on Daniel’s wall.
In it, Maria’s father stood outside Bell’s Diner twenty years earlier.
Beside him was Dominic’s father.
Salvatore Rinaldi.
And between them stood a third man Dominic had spent half his life believing was dead.
Dominic stepped closer.
Maria followed his gaze.
“Who is that?”
Dominic’s blood ran cold.
“That’s the man who started the war that killed my mother.”
The apartment door creaked behind them.
Dominic turned.
A shadow moved in the hallway.
May you like
Someone whispered his name.
And the voice belonged to his father.
