Chapter 5 - The Lie Raymond BoughtRaymond Fletcher woke with a pistol pressed against his cheek.
Not immediately.
He told himself it was because she had a concussion.
Because she needed rest.
Because fear would accomplish nothing.
The truth was uglier.
He was afraid the symbol meant exactly what he thought it meant.
A narrow crown above three vertical lines.
The insignia of the Santoro crew.
A name that had mostly disappeared from New York’s criminal landscape after a violent collapse two decades earlier.
Mostly.
Lucian stood in the locked office beneath Bellini House while Carlo Romano placed the photograph under a desk lamp.
“You’re sure?” Carlo asked.
Lucian stared at the mark.
“I watched my mother draw it for the detective after my father died.”
Carlo exhaled.
“Victor Sanz isn’t Santoro.”
“No.”
“Then someone wants us thinking he is.”
“Maybe.”
Carlo leaned against the desk.
“Or Santoro never disappeared.”
Lucian looked toward the wall safe.
Inside it was a folder he had not opened in eleven years.
His father’s case.
Police photographs.
Witness statements.
Newspaper clippings.
And one handwritten ledger page discovered inside the old service tunnel after the murder.
Lucian opened the safe.
Carlo watched.
“I thought you burned that.”
“So did I.”
“You told your mother you did.”
“I lied.”
“That tends to be hereditary.”
Lucian ignored him.
He removed the folder.
The ledger page showed columns of numbers and initials.
Most meant nothing.
One had haunted him.
V.S.
At the time, everyone assumed it belonged to Vincent Santoro.
But Vincent died in prison.
Victor Sanz had been fourteen.
Coincidence, Lucian had always believed.
Tonight, he wasn't sure.
Upstairs, Amelia refused to stay in bed.
When Lucian returned, she was sitting at the kitchen table with Detective Ortiz.
“You told her?” Lucian asked.
Amelia’s eyes narrowed.
“She told me.”
Ortiz folded her arms.
“Threatening material related to my assault investigation doesn’t disappear into your private security system, Mr. Castellano.”
Lucian almost smiled.
“Noted.”
Amelia pointed to the symbol.
“What is it?”
Lucian sat.
“A mark used by an old criminal organization.”
“The mafia.”
“Yes.”
“Your mafia?”
“No.”
“Your rival?”
“Twenty years ago, maybe.”
“Now?”
“I don’t know.”
Detective Ortiz studied him.
“Try harder.”
Lucian looked at Amelia.
This was exactly what he had wanted to avoid.
Still, she deserved the truth.
“My father was murdered twenty-two years ago.”
Amelia nodded.
“Kevin told me.”
His expression tightened.
“Kevin talks too much.”
“He cares.”
Lucian conceded the point.
“The bullet recovered from my father’s body had that symbol scratched into the casing.”
Amelia stared at the photograph.
“So whoever sent this knows about your father.”
“Yes.”
“Could Raymond know?”
“No.”
“Victor?”
“Yes.”
Detective Ortiz leaned forward.
“Why?”
“Because Victor’s uncle was investigated in connection with the murder.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing they could prove.”
“And now Victor wants your building.”
“Yes.”
Amelia rubbed her temples.
“So Raymond finds me. Victor’s people show up. Someone photographs me through this window. And suddenly your father’s murder is part of it.”
Lucian nodded.
“That’s what it looks like.”
“What aren't you saying?”
He admired that she noticed.
“There’s a tunnel beneath Bellini House.”
Ortiz raised an eyebrow.
“An illegal tunnel?”
“An old commercial service passage.”
“Used for?”
Lucian met her gaze.
“Smuggling.”
Amelia went quiet.
“By your father?”
“Yes.”
Lucian continued before either woman interrupted.
“Alcohol decades earlier. Then cigarettes. Electronics. Stolen goods. Eventually, things I refused to be involved with.”
Ortiz’s stare sharpened.
“What things?”
“Drugs.”
Amelia’s face changed.
“Your family moved drugs?”
“My father refused.”
“But someone wanted him to.”
“Yes.”
“And he was killed.”
Lucian nodded.
The implications settled heavily across the kitchen.
Detective Ortiz asked, “Who wanted the tunnel?”
“Vincent Santoro.”
“Victor’s uncle?”
“No. Different family.”
Lucian rubbed his jaw.
“That’s the complication.”
“Explain.”
“Victor Sanz’s uncle, Rafael, worked with Santoro.”
Ortiz opened her notebook.
“Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Amelia looked at Lucian.
“And Bellini House?”
“My father sealed the tunnel after refusing to cooperate.”
“Why not destroy it?”
“Historic foundation. City permits. Complicated.”
“Convenient.”
Lucian almost smiled despite himself.
“Yes.”
Ortiz’s phone buzzed.
She read the message and stood abruptly.
“What?”
She looked at Amelia.
“Your ex violated the order.”
Amelia froze.
“How?”
“He called your old number eleven times.”
“That phone is off.”
“He left voicemails.”
“From jail?”
“He made bail two hours ago.”
Lucian stood.
“Where is he?”
“We’re locating him.”
“Detective—”
“I know what you're thinking.”
“You don’t.”
“I do.”
She pointed at him.
“Do not find Raymond Fletcher before we do.”
Lucian’s expression remained calm.
“I wasn't planning to.”
Carlo, standing in the doorway, coughed.
Ortiz looked at him.
“Your face says otherwise.”
Carlo shrugged.
“My face has been misunderstood for years.”
Ortiz turned back to Amelia.
“I want you somewhere secure.”
“She is,” Lucian said.
Ortiz shook her head.
“Someone photographed this apartment.”
Good point.
Within an hour, Amelia was moved.
Not to one of Lucian’s houses.
Not to a hidden mansion.
To the safest place Detective Ortiz could arrange quickly: a private floor inside a women’s transitional residence operated by St. Bridget’s Foundation.
Amelia initially protested.
“I’m not going into hiding again.”
Ortiz answered, “This isn't hiding. It’s evidence protection.”
Lucian agreed.
Amelia glared at him.
“You agree with everything when it gets me away from your world.”
“Yes.”
“At least you’re consistent.”
He drove behind the police vehicle carrying her.
At the residence, Amelia stopped before going inside.
“You don't have to stay.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it keeps being true.”
She studied him.
“Why do you care?”
The question landed harder than she expected.
Lucian looked toward the old brick church across the street.
“Because I was sixteen when my father died on a sidewalk.”
Amelia said nothing.
“People stood around him,” he continued. “Some were afraid. Some didn't want trouble. Some convinced themselves someone else would help.”
His jaw tightened.
“I remember thinking how strange it was that a person could be dying in the middle of a crowded neighborhood and still be alone.”
Amelia’s anger softened.
“When I walked into Bellini House and saw you on that floor…”
He stopped.
“You weren't going to be alone.”
She looked at him for a long time.
Then whispered, “Thank you.”
Lucian nodded.
He turned to leave.
“Lucian.”
He looked back.
“Don't do anything stupid to Raymond.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“Define stupid.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“Let the police handle him.”
Lucian considered the request.
Then nodded.
“All right.”
She seemed surprised.
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
He meant it.
At least, he meant it then.
Because fifteen minutes later, Carlo called.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We found Raymond.”
Lucian gripped the steering wheel.
“Where?”
“In the tunnel.”
Lucian went silent.
Carlo continued.
“And he’s not alone.”
“Victor?”
“No.”
“Who?”
Carlo swallowed audibly.
“A man claiming to be Vincent Santoro’s son.”
Lucian stared through the windshield.
Vincent Santoro had never had a son.
At least not one anyone knew about.
“What does he want?”
Carlo’s answer chilled him.
“He says Bellini House was promised to his family twenty-two years ago.”
May you like
A pause.
“And he says Amelia Hayes is the reason your father died.”
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