Chapter 3 - The Diner That Was Never Just a Diner
Dominic raised his pistol.
“Show yourself.”
An elderly man stepped slowly into the apartment.
Not Salvatore.
Father Michael Donnelly.
The retired priest who had buried Dominic’s mother twenty-three years earlier.
Dominic lowered the weapon slightly.
“You have five seconds to explain why you sounded like my father.”
Father Michael looked at Emily.
“Not in front of the child.”
Maria tightened her arm around her niece.
“You know what’s happening?”
“I know enough.”
“Where is my brother?”
Father Michael looked at Dominic.
“Warehouse Seventeen.”
Maria lunged toward the door.
Dominic caught her.
“You’ll get him killed.”
“He’s already tied to a chair!”
“And running into Santino’s warehouse won’t help.”
Father Michael said, “It isn’t Santino’s warehouse.”
Dominic turned.
“Whose?”
“Your father’s.”
Dominic stared.
“My father has been dead seventeen years.”
Father Michael’s expression was tired.
“Salvatore left more behind than money.”
Dominic hated riddles.
“Speak plainly.”
Father Michael looked toward Emily again.
Maria understood.
She took Emily to Mrs. Alvarez across the hall.
When she returned, Dominic was standing at the window.
Rain streaked the glass.
Father Michael sat in the overturned chair Maria had righted.
“Twenty-four years ago,” the priest began, “your father and Joseph Bell entered an agreement.”
Maria froze.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“About what?”
“Evidence.”
Dominic laughed once.
Coldly.
“You’re telling me my father kept evidence inside a diner?”
“I’m telling you Joseph Bell helped him hide it.”
“Evidence against whom?”
Father Michael looked at Dominic.
“The Rinaldi family.”
Dominic went silent.
Maria stared.
“That makes no sense.”
“It does if you understand who Salvatore became near the end.”
Dominic remembered his father differently depending on the day.
Some mornings he remembered the man who taught him chess.
Other nights he remembered blood.
Salvatore Rinaldi had built half of Greyhaven’s criminal economy and destroyed the other half.
Then, suddenly, three years before his death, he changed.
He banned narcotics near schools.
Stopped trafficking operations on the docks.
Cut ties with men he had worked beside for decades.
Enemies called him weak.
Dominic had always assumed age had softened him.
Father Michael was saying something else.
“Your father wanted out,” the priest said.
Dominic shook his head.
“No.”
“He wanted the organization dismantled.”
“That’s not true.”
“He came to confession every Thursday for eleven months.”
Dominic’s face hardened.
“You’re violating confession.”
“Salvatore gave me permission before he died.”
Maria whispered, “What did he hide?”
“A ledger.”
Dominic looked at her.
Her father’s key.
The tunnel.
The diner.
Father Michael continued.
“Names. Accounts. Judges. Contractors. Police. Politicians. Businesses. Every hidden relationship the Rinaldi organization had built.”
Dominic felt sick.
Not frightened.
Not yet.
But something close.
“If that ledger exists, half the city would burn.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t my father use it?”
“He planned to.”
“What stopped him?”
Father Michael looked directly at him.
“He died.”
Dominic’s expression did not change.
“My father had a heart attack.”
Father Michael said nothing.
Dominic understood.
“No.”
Maria stared between them.
“Are you saying someone killed him?”
Father Michael folded his hands.
“The night before Salvatore died, he met Joseph Bell at the diner.”
Maria covered her mouth.
“My father told me he knew Mr. Rinaldi.”
“They were closer than that.”
Father Michael looked at Dominic.
“Joseph saved your father’s life twice.”
Dominic thought of the old photograph.
The third man.
“Who is he?”
Father Michael’s eyes shifted toward the picture.
“Carlo Vescari.”
Dominic’s stomach tightened.
Carlo had been the Rinaldis’ chief rival during the Greyhaven dock wars.
Officially killed in a warehouse explosion.
Unofficially rumored to have escaped.
“My father blamed Carlo for my mother’s death.”
“Yes.”
“Did he do it?”
Father Michael looked away.
That was answer enough.
Dominic’s voice turned quiet.
“Who did?”
The priest met his eyes.
“Someone inside your family.”
Santino.
The thought came immediately.
Dominic rejected it immediately.
Santino had been fourteen when their mother died.
Impossible.
“What does this have to do with my brother?”
“Everything.”
Father Michael stood.
“Joseph believed someone would eventually come for the ledger. So he split the access.”
Maria frowned.
“Access?”
“The key opens the tunnel. But the ledger is behind a second lock.”
“What opens that?”
Father Michael looked at Dominic.
“Something Salvatore gave his sons.”
Dominic touched his chest unconsciously.
Beneath his shirt hung a silver Saint Christopher medallion.
Santino had one too.
Their father had given them matching medals at their mother’s funeral.
Dominic pulled his out.
Maria stared.
“No.”
“Yes.”
Dominic looked toward the clock.
2:53.
Seven minutes.
He called Anthony.
“Bring everyone you trust to Warehouse Seventeen.”
Anthony answered, “How many?”
“Not Marco.”
A pause.
“Understood.”
“And Anthony?”
“Yes?”
“If Santino calls you, don’t answer.”
Another pause.
Longer.
Then:
“Understood.”
Dominic hung up.
Maria grabbed her coat.
“No.”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
“My brother is there because of me.”
“He’s there because of my family.”
“That doesn’t make him less my brother.”
Dominic stared at her.
Maria stepped closer.
“You think telling me no works because everyone around you is afraid of you.”
“That usually helps.”
“I’m still coming.”
Dominic almost argued.
Then stopped.
“Stay behind me.”
“You already said that once.”
“You didn’t listen.”
“I probably won’t this time either.”
Despite everything, Dominic nearly smiled.
They drove toward the docks.
Father Michael remained with Emily.
At 2:58, Warehouse Seventeen appeared.
No lights.
Dominic parked one block away.
Maria stared at the enormous metal structure.
“How many men?”
“Inside?”
“Yes.”
“If Santino planned properly, twelve.”
“And if he didn’t?”
“Twenty.”
Maria looked at him.
“You’re very calm about that.”
“I’m not calm.”
“You look calm.”
“That’s different.”
He checked the pistol.
Then removed the Saint Christopher medal.
Maria noticed.
“You’re giving him what he wants?”
“I’m giving him what he thinks he wants.”
They approached from the river side.
A door stood open.
Too easy.
Dominic hated it.
Inside, Daniel Bell sat tied to a chair beneath a hanging work light.
Blood darkened one side of his face.
Maria gasped.
“Daniel.”
His eyes opened.
“Maria?”
Santino stepped from behind a shipping container.
Younger than Dominic by six years.
Similar dark hair.
Similar eyes.
But where Dominic’s face usually seemed carved from control, Santino always looked as though he was one insult away from enjoying himself.
“Welcome.”
Dominic stopped twenty feet away.
“Let him go.”
Santino smiled.
“Medallion.”
“Daniel first.”
“Dom.”
“Santino.”
The brothers stared at each other.
Maria looked at Daniel.
He shook his head subtly.
Don’t.
Santino noticed.
He slapped Daniel.
Maria surged forward.
Dominic caught her.
“Touch him again,” Dominic said, “and there’s no deal.”
Santino sighed.
“You’ve gotten sentimental.”
“You kidnapped a civilian.”
“I solved a problem.”
“You threatened a child.”
“I created leverage.”
“That’s not how we operate.”
Santino laughed.
“That’s exactly how we operate. You just like prettier words.”
Dominic said nothing.
That hurt because part of him knew it was true.
Santino held out his hand.
“The medal.”
Dominic tossed it.
Santino caught it.
Smiled.
Then pulled his own from his shirt.
Two halves of a mechanism.
Maria stared.
Santino gestured toward Marco.
“Bring him.”
Marco dragged Daniel’s chair toward a small concrete office built inside the warehouse.
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
“The ledger isn’t at the diner.”
Santino grinned.
“Of course not.”
Father Michael had lied.
Or didn’t know.
Santino opened the office.
Inside stood an old steel safe.
He pressed both medallions into two circular slots.
Click.
The safe opened.
Empty.
Santino’s smile vanished.
Dominic stared.
A single envelope lay inside.
Santino ripped it open.
One page.
Four words.
YOU CHOSE THE WRONG BROTHER.
Santino looked at Dominic.
Dominic hadn’t written it.
Maria hadn’t.
Daniel hadn’t.
Then the warehouse lights came on.
Every overhead lamp.
All at once.
Men appeared along the upper catwalk.
Not Dominic’s.
Not Santino’s.
Older.
Armed.
At the center stood a white-haired man with a cane.
Dominic recognized him from the photograph.
Carlo Vescari smiled down at them.
“Salvatore always was theatrical.”
Santino raised his gun.
Carlo laughed.
Then Maria saw who stood beside him.
Marco.
She turned toward the man holding Daniel’s chair.
He was not Marco.
Same shaved head.
Same suit.
But different face.
A decoy.
Dominic realized it at the same moment.
Carlo pointed toward Maria.
“Joseph Bell’s daughter.”
Then toward Dominic.
“Salvatore Rinaldi’s eldest son.”
His smile widened.
“Exactly where your fathers wanted you.”
A steel door slammed shut behind them.
Bolts locked.
Carlo lifted a remote control.
Dominic heard liquid rushing through pipes beneath the floor.
Maria smelled gasoline.
May you like
Carlo pressed one button.
And every exit sealed.
