Chapter 5 - The Grave Without a Body
Damiano returned to the estate before dawn.
Sofia refused to let anyone carry her except him.
Even Elena.
Even Marco, if Marco had been there.
But Marco was gone.
Taken by Vincent.
Or following Vincent.
Damiano could not know.
He carried Sofia upstairs.
She rested her head against his shoulder.
“You’re shaking,” she whispered.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Damiano almost smiled.
“You’re very observant.”
“What’s that?”
“It means you notice things.”
“I notice you’re sad.”
He stopped walking.
Children were dangerous in ways guns were not.
They asked questions no adult dared ask.
“I’m tired.”
“That’s different.”
Damiano looked at her.
She looked back.
He surrendered.
“Yes.”
“Because Marco is gone?”
“Yes.”
She touched his cheek.
“He comes back.”
“You don’t know that.”
“He promised.”
Damiano thought of his own promise.
Always.
“Then we’ll believe him.”
Sofia slept in his bed again.
The gun was removed.
Damiano placed it in the safe.
For twenty years, he had considered it the last thing he needed before sleep.
That night he realized he did not want Sofia waking beside it.
He sat in the chair near the window until her breathing settled.
Then went to Elena.
She was in the kitchen.
Waiting.
“You knew he was not buried where I visit.”
Elena’s face collapsed.
“Vincent told you.”
“He told me to ask you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I am tired of that phrase.”
Elena nodded.
“Then I’ll give you truth.”
Salvatore’s funeral had been closed casket.
Damiano remembered.
They told him the wounds were too severe.
He had believed them.
Why wouldn’t he?
He was twenty-two.
His father was dead.
His uncle handled everything.
“Where is he?”
Elena whispered, “Under St. Michael’s chapel.”
Damiano stared.
The chapel belonged to the Vitale family.
Small stone structure at the back of the estate.
His mother had prayed there.
His father never had.
“Why?”
“Salvatore asked Marco to hide him if anything happened.”
“Before he died?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He feared Vincent would search the body.”
“For what?”
Elena looked toward the hall.
“I don’t know.”
Damiano retrieved Matteo.
They entered the chapel at sunrise.
Behind the altar was an old trapdoor.
Damiano had never noticed it.
Stone steps descended.
A crypt.
Four old coffins.
One newer steel casket.
No name.
Damiano stood before it.
Twenty years collapsed.
Matteo remained near the stairs.
“You want me to leave?”
“No.”
Damiano opened the casket.
Salvatore Vitale had become bone and cloth.
Damiano stared.
The dead made all powerful men equal.
A signet ring remained on one skeletal hand.
Not the original.
A cheap replica.
Vincent had taken the real one.
Damiano searched the clothing.
Inside the jacket lining, sewn beneath the fabric, he found a small brass key.
Stamped with one number.
Matteo looked at it.
“Bank box?”
“Maybe.”
Elena entered behind them.
“I know that number.”
Damiano turned.
“Where?”
“Grand Central Terminal.”
“What?”
“Old luggage lockers. Before renovation.”
“Those were removed.”
“Salvatore used a private storage company nearby. Locker 117.”
The company still existed.
Different name.
Different ownership.
But old records showed locker 117 had been transferred to a secure facility in Yonkers.
Damiano went personally.
The brass key worked.
Inside were two boxes.
One contained family documents.
The other contained a VHS tape.
And a letter addressed:
DAMIANO.
His hands shook opening it.
Son,
If you are reading this, then either Marco failed to keep the truth from you or Vincent finally forced it into the light.
Damiano sat.
He read every word.
Salvatore admitted everything.
Gabriella.
Vincent.
The ledger.
His plan to leave the criminal life.
The betrayal.
And one final instruction.
Do not avenge me.
Damiano laughed bitterly.
Of course his father would ask for the impossible.
The letter continued.
If you kill Vincent for me, then I still own your future from the grave. If you choose a different life, then you become something I never managed to be.
Free.
Damiano folded the letter.
Matteo said nothing.
They watched the VHS tape at the estate.
Salvatore appeared on screen.
Alive.
Forty-eight years old.
Tired.
He looked directly at the camera.
Then Vincent entered the frame.
The date stamped in the corner was two days before Salvatore died.
The argument began.
Vincent demanded the ledger.
Salvatore refused.
Vincent threatened Gabriella.
Salvatore stood.
The tape ended.
But it was enough.
Proof of motive.
Not murder.
Still, with Costa alive and the ledger intact, Damiano now had leverage.
They turned everything over to a state investigator Damiano trusted from outside the family network.
For the first time in his life, Damiano used evidence instead of intimidation.
It felt strangely more powerful.
By afternoon, Costa agreed to talk.
Vincent had ordered Salvatore’s murder.
Vincent had staged the car ambush.
Vincent had spent twenty years cleaning anyone who knew.
And Marco?
Alive.
Costa believed Vincent had taken him to the old riverside cannery.
Damiano stood.
Matteo reached for his coat.
“We go.”
Before they could leave, Sofia entered.
She held the rabbit.
“Damiano.”
He crouched.
“I have to go.”
“To get Marco?”
“Yes.”
“I come.”
“No.”
Her lip trembled.
“You said always.”
His chest tightened.
“I said I would always come for you. Not that you come with me.”
She considered this carefully.
“Okay.”
He kissed her forehead without thinking.
The room went silent.
Elena saw.
Matteo saw.
Damiano realized what he had done.
He did not take it back.
He left.
The cannery stood on the Hudson.
Broken windows.
Rusting tanks.
They entered from two sides.
No gunfire.
No guards.
Too quiet.
Damiano found Marco tied to a chair.
Alive.
Barely conscious.
He rushed forward.
“Marco.”
Marco lifted his head.
“Don’t.”
Damiano stopped.
“Bomb.”
Matteo froze.
Marco’s eyes dropped.
A wire ran beneath the chair.
Timer.
02:11.
Damiano’s blood went cold.
“Matteo.”
“I see it.”
Marco whispered, “Vincent left ten minutes ago.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
Damiano looked at the timer.
01:54.
Matteo crouched.
“Pressure release.”
“What does that mean?”
“If we cut him free, it triggers.”
Damiano’s phone rang.
Vincent.
He answered.
“You found him,” Vincent said.
Damiano looked at the timer.
01:31.
“What do you want?”
Vincent laughed.
“Nothing from you anymore.”
“Then why call?”
“To say goodbye.”
The timer reached one minute.
Marco looked at Damiano.
“Go.”
“No.”
“Your father told you not to become him.”
“Shut up.”
“Damiano.”
“No.”
Thirty seconds.
Matteo found a wire junction.
“Red or white.”
“You’re asking me?”
“I’m telling you I have one chance.”
Damiano stared.
Ten seconds.
Then his phone vibrated again.
A security alert from the estate.
Front gate breach.
Damiano opened the camera feed.
A black SUV raced toward the house.
May you like
Toward Sofia.
And the timer beside Marco reached five seconds.
