Chapter 5 - The Name Mateo Tried to Bury
Dante and Mateo had not fled together.
That became clear forty minutes later.
Security footage showed Mateo being forced into a car.
Dante entered voluntarily.
That distinction saved Mateo’s life.
Perhaps.
Lucian watched the footage three times.
Meline stood beside him.
Victor remained under guard.
Carlo froze the image.
Dante opened the rear door.
Mateo was already inside.
A hand gripped Mateo’s collar.
The person holding him remained outside camera range.
Lucian said, “Dante knew.”
Meline looked at him.
“Maybe.”
“His signature is on the old account.”
“Maybe.”
“He left with whoever took Mateo.”
“Maybe.”
Lucian turned toward her.
“You always this difficult?”
“Yes.”
He almost smiled.
Then it disappeared.
“My uncle raised me after my father died.”
Meline softened.
“Dante?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t decide what he is before we know.”
Lucian looked back at the frozen footage.
“That advice is easier when it isn’t family.”
“I know.”
He looked at her.
Of course she did.
Her own mother had become a stranger and a hero within the same night.
By sunrise, they found Mateo.
His phone had pinged near an old Russo warehouse on the South Side.
Lucian wanted Meline nowhere near it.
Meline went anyway.
This time with him.
“Compromise,” she said.
“This is not compromise.”
“I’m in the armored car.”
“You’re still here.”
“So are you.”
Lucian stared forward.
Carlo whispered from the passenger seat, “I’m staying out of this.”
The warehouse appeared empty.
Inside, they found Mateo tied to a chair.
Alive.
Barely conscious.
Dante was nowhere.
Carlo cut Mateo loose.
Lucian crouched.
“Who took you?”
Mateo’s eyes opened.
He looked at Meline.
Then Lucian.
“My father.”
Nobody spoke.
Lucian leaned closer.
“Your father is dead.”
Mateo laughed weakly.
“So was Victor.”
Meline’s stomach dropped.
Sal Russo.
Alive.
Mateo coughed.
“He’s been alive eighteen years.”
Lucian stood.
“You knew?”
Mateo closed his eyes.
“For three.”
Meline stared.
That was the secret.
Not theft.
Not exactly.
Loyalty.
Fear.
Blood.
Mateo had discovered his father alive three years earlier.
Sal had contacted him secretly.
Claimed he had been framed.
Claimed Victor and Elena had stolen Bellini money and blamed him.
Mateo believed him.
At first.
He began moving small amounts of money to accounts Sal controlled.
The transfers grew.
By the time Mateo realized his father had lied, he was trapped.
“You stole the money,” Lucian said.
Mateo shook his head.
“I moved it.”
“That is stealing.”
“I planned to put it back.”
Meline almost laughed.
Every guilty accountant’s favorite sentence.
Mateo looked at her.
“I didn’t authorize the last two million.”
“Victor’s access?”
“Yes.”
“Your father had it?”
“Yes.”
“Why humiliate me?”
Mateo’s face twisted.
“Because I knew exactly what you would find.”
“So you tried to fire me.”
“Yes.”
“You threatened me.”
“Yes.”
“And the photographs?”
“No.”
“Anonymous messages?”
“No.”
“Fake recruiter?”
Mateo looked confused.
“No.”
Meline believed him.
Lucian did not look forgiving.
“You protected Sal.”
“He’s my father.”
“He killed Meline’s father.”
Mateo’s eyes shifted toward her.
“I didn’t know until last night.”
“Do you believe it now?”
Mateo looked down.
“Yes.”
Meline expected hatred.
She had every right.
Instead she felt tired.
Mateo had been cruel.
Arrogant.
Cowardly.
But he had also been manipulated by the man whose approval he had probably chased his entire life.
Understanding was not forgiveness.
But it prevented hatred from becoming simple.
“Where is Dante?” Lucian asked.
Mateo looked toward the dark end of the warehouse.
“My father took him.”
“Why?”
“Because Dante has the original evidence.”
“What evidence?”
Mateo swallowed.
“The recording.”
Meline frowned.
“What recording?”
Mateo looked at her.
“Your mother’s statement.”
Her heart stopped.
“Elena recorded everything the night your father died.”
Lucian’s face hardened.
“Where?”
“Dante kept it.”
“Why didn’t he give it to police?”
Mateo laughed bitterly.
“Because it implicates half the old organization.”
Meline stepped closer.
“Does it prove Sal killed my father?”
“Yes.”
“Where is Dante?”
“I don’t know.”
A sound came from behind the warehouse wall.
Carlo raised his weapon.
Lucian pulled Meline back.
A hidden door opened.
Dante stumbled out.
Blood stained his sleeve.
Lucian rushed toward him.
“Uncle.”
Dante nearly collapsed.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shot.”
“Grazed.”
Meline stared at the hidden passage.
“Sal?”
“Gone.”
Dante looked at Mateo.
“Your father is preparing for tonight.”
“The gala?”
“Yes.”
Lucian’s jaw tightened.
“Assassination?”
Dante nodded.
“But Lucian isn’t the only target.”
He looked at Meline.
“You are.”
Meline felt suddenly cold.
“Why me?”
“Because Elena’s statement names Sal.”
“That doesn’t explain me.”
“You’re her daughter.”
“So?”
Dante closed his eyes.
“Your mother left a second copy.”
Meline stared.
“Where?”
“With you.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I would know.”
Dante shook his head.
“She hid it in something you’d never throw away.”
Meline thought of her mother’s belongings.
Clothes.
Photographs.
Recipe cards.
Jewelry.
Then she remembered.
A battered black calculator.
Her mother’s old accounting calculator.
The one Meline had kept because Elena had taught her multiplication on it when she was eight.
The one sitting in a cardboard box beneath her bed.
Mateo looked at her.
“What?”
Meline whispered, “I know where it is.”
Lucian immediately called Carlo.
“Send a team to her apartment.”
Meline grabbed his wrist.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“If Sal knows my mother made a second copy, he knows where I live.”
“Exactly.”
“He may already be there.”
“Exactly.”
“So your team walks into a trap.”
Lucian’s eyes narrowed.
“You have a better idea?”
“Yes.”
Two hours later, Meline entered her own apartment building wearing a hidden vest and an earpiece.
Lucian hated the plan.
He had said so eleven times.
Meline counted.
“You’re enjoying this,” he said through the earpiece.
“A little.”
“That worries me.”
She reached her apartment.
The door was open.
Her stomach tightened.
“Lucian.”
“I see it.”
“You’re watching the hallway feed?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t come in unless I say.”
“Meline—”
“I mean it.”
She pushed the door.
Inside, nothing seemed disturbed.
She walked toward the bedroom.
The box was beneath the bed.
She pulled it out.
Old photos.
A scarf.
Her mother’s recipe book.
And the black calculator.
Meline picked it up.
The battery compartment felt loose.
She opened it.
Inside was a small memory card.
Her breath caught.
“Found it.”
Lucian exhaled in her ear.
“Leave.”
Meline turned.
A man stood in the bedroom doorway.
Gray hair.
Expensive coat.
Mateo’s eyes.
Sal Russo.
He smiled.
“You look exactly like Elena when she was angry.”
Meline’s hand tightened around the calculator.
Sal raised a gun.
“Give me the card.”
Meline stared at him.
“No.”
His smile disappeared.
“You’re braver than your father.”
Her blood went cold.
“Say his name.”
“What?”
“My father.”
Sal’s eyes narrowed.
“Daniel Alles.”
Meline swallowed.
“Did you kill him?”
Sal lifted the gun.
“He should have stayed out of business that didn’t concern him.”
Lucian’s voice exploded through Meline’s earpiece.
“DOWN!”
Meline dropped.
The bedroom window shattered.
Carlo’s team breached from the hallway.
Sal fired.
Meline crawled behind the bed.
Shots thundered.
Then silence.
When she looked up, Sal was gone.
A rear fire escape window hung open.
Lucian rushed into the room.
He crossed straight to her.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
He checked anyway.
Hands on her shoulders.
Her face.
Her arms.
“Meline.”
“I’m okay.”
He closed his eyes for one second.
Then pulled her against him.
She froze.
So did he.
But neither let go.
Not immediately.
Then Carlo shouted from the hall.
“Boss!”
Lucian released her.
Carlo held up a phone Sal had dropped.
The screen showed a live feed.
The Bellini charity gala ballroom.
Hundreds of guests were already arriving.
May you like
And in the center of the image stood Dante.
A red targeting dot moved slowly across his chest.
