Chapter 3 - Pier SeventeenRosa Delgado woke with blood in her mouth.
Her head throbbed.
Cold air moved across her skin.
She opened her eyes and saw rusted steel beams, stacked shipping containers and black water beyond a broken loading dock.
A warehouse.
She knew immediately where she was.
The waterfront.
The rope around her wrists cut into her skin.
A man stood ten feet away wearing a dark coat and leather gloves.
She recognized him.
Carlo Duca.
Vivian’s older brother.
Rosa’s stomach dropped.
Carlo smiled.
“Good. You’re awake.”
Rosa said nothing.
Her English was good, but fear had removed words from her.
“Your daughter is very observant.”
Rosa’s blood turned cold.
“Where is Lily?”
“Safe. For now.”
“If you touch her—”
“I’m not interested in children.”
He crouched.
“I’m interested in what you saw.”
Rosa forced herself to breathe.
“I saw nothing.”
Carlo laughed.
“Smart.”
He grabbed her chin.
“But not smart enough.”
Rosa turned her face away.
“You saw my sister and Romano.”
She remained silent.
Carlo slapped her.
The chair nearly tipped.
“You saw.”
Rosa tasted blood.
“Yes.”
“Did you tell Moretti?”
“No.”
“The child did.”
Rosa’s heart stopped.
“No.”
“Oh, yes.”
Carlo straightened.
“Your deaf little girl walked onto that terrace and told Alessandro exactly what Vivian put in his wine.”
Rosa closed her eyes.
Lily.
Brave, impossible Lily.
Carlo continued.
“Now Alessandro is coming.”
Rosa looked up.
“Why?”
“Because he thinks he can save everyone.”
Carlo smiled.
“He always did.”
At the mansion, Alessandro ignored Luca’s thirty-second voicemail.
Where are you? Call me.
The message sounded concerned.
It sounded convincing.
Alessandro had spent half his life teaching men to hide fear.
Now he could hear deception in every breath.
Marco loaded a pistol.
“You’re not going alone.”
“The message says I am.”
“And since when do we obey kidnappers?”
“Since Rosa’s tied to a chair.”
Marco glanced toward Lily.
The child sat beside Mrs. Whitcomb, clutching Hopper.
Alessandro crouched before her.
He signed slowly.
I find Mama.
Lily stared at him.
Bring Mama home?
“Yes.”
He signed.
I promise.
She reached out.
Her tiny palm touched the scar above his eyebrow.
Then she signed something that surprised him.
Be careful.
Alessandro stood.
Marco followed him toward the garage.
“You made the kid a promise.”
“I know.”
“You haven’t made promises in years.”
“That’s because adults know how to break them.”
At Pier 17, midnight wind came off the water sharp enough to cut through wool.
Alessandro parked fifty yards from the warehouse.
He stepped from the car alone.
His pistol remained hidden.
A light switched on inside.
“Come in.”
Carlo’s voice echoed.
Alessandro entered.
Rosa sat in the center of the floor.
Bruised.
Bleeding.
Alive.
Relief passed through him so quickly no one would have noticed unless they knew where to look.
Carlo stood behind her.
Two armed men guarded the exits.
“Where’s the girl?” Carlo asked.
“Not here.”
Carlo’s smile vanished.
“The instructions were simple.”
“I don’t trade children.”
“You trade everything.”
“Not children.”
Carlo lifted his gun toward Rosa.
“Then perhaps we start removing pieces of her mother.”
Rosa flinched.
Alessandro did not.
“You kill her, you lose leverage.”
Carlo nodded.
“True.”
He lowered the weapon.
“You’ve always been good at this.”
“Where’s Vivian?”
Carlo smiled again.
“My sister?”
“Where is she?”
“Funny. An hour ago, she was your beloved fiancée.”
“An hour ago, your sister tried to poison me.”
Carlo shrugged.
“Families change.”
Alessandro’s jaw tightened.
“And Luca?”
Carlo’s eyes sparkled.
“Ask your brother.”
“He isn’t my brother.”
“He was until tonight.”
The words landed harder than Alessandro wanted.
Carlo circled Rosa.
“You think this is about Vivian sleeping with Romano?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Carlo leaned closer.
“Because that’s almost the least interesting part.”
Alessandro’s hand stayed near his coat.
“What is this about?”
“Your father.”
Silence filled the warehouse.
Alessandro’s father, Vittorio Moretti, had been dead nine years.
Heart attack.
Private funeral.
No autopsy.
Carlo watched his face.
“You really don’t know.”
“Know what?”
“Why your father died.”
Alessandro’s gaze hardened.
“Choose your next sentence carefully.”
Carlo laughed.
“Still threatening people when you don’t understand the room.”
He reached into his pocket.
Removed a photograph.
Threw it onto the floor.
Alessandro looked down.
His father stood beside Miguel Delgado.
Rosa’s missing husband.
The photograph had been taken at this exact pier.
Rosa stared.
“No.”
Her voice broke.
“No, no…”
Alessandro picked up the photograph.
Date stamp.
Eighteen months ago.
Impossible.
Vittorio had been dead nine years.
Except the man in the photograph was unmistakably him.
Older.
Thinner.
Alive.
Alessandro’s mind resisted what his eyes saw.
“That’s fake.”
Carlo grinned.
“Is it?”
Rosa stared at Miguel.
Her husband had disappeared eighteen months earlier.
The construction accident.
The closed casket.
The settlement.
All of it suddenly looked different.
“What did Miguel know?” Alessandro asked.
“Enough.”
Carlo raised his gun.
“That’s why he disappeared.”
Rosa surged against the ropes.
“My husband is alive?”
Carlo’s expression changed.
For the first time, sympathy almost appeared.
“No.”
Rosa broke.
A sound came from her that Alessandro would remember for years.
Carlo continued.
“He was alive long enough to make copies.”
“Copies of what?”
“Records.”
“Whose records?”
“Your father’s.”
Alessandro stepped closer.
“What records?”
Carlo smiled.
“The kind that prove half your empire never belonged to you.”
A gunshot exploded outside.
Carlo spun.
Marco’s men crashed through the side doors.
Chaos erupted.
Alessandro drew his weapon.
One of Carlo’s men fired.
Alessandro shot him in the shoulder.
Rosa screamed.
Carlo grabbed her chair and dragged her backward.
“Stop!”
Alessandro aimed.
Carlo placed the barrel beneath Rosa’s jaw.
“Drop it.”
Alessandro froze.
Then a second shot came from the rafters.
Carlo jerked.
Blood appeared across his sleeve.
He stumbled.
Alessandro lunged.
He crossed the floor, hit Carlo with his shoulder and sent both men crashing into a stack of crates.
Marco cut Rosa free.
“Move!”
Alessandro struck Carlo once.
Twice.
Then pressed him against the concrete.
“Where is Vivian?”
Carlo spat blood.
“Too late.”
“Where?”
“She’s gone.”
“And Luca?”
Carlo laughed.
“You still think Luca works for Vivian?”
Alessandro tightened his grip.
Carlo whispered.
“She works for him.”
Alessandro stopped.
That changed everything.
Carlo smiled through broken teeth.
“Romano planned the whole thing.”
“What thing?”
“Your engagement. The poison. Miguel. Your father.”
Alessandro’s expression went blank.
Carlo leaned close.
“Luca didn’t betray you tonight.”
His whisper became almost gentle.
“He’s been betraying you for fifteen years.”
A bullet tore through Carlo’s chest.
His body jerked.
Alessandro spun.
A sniper round had come through the high warehouse window.
Carlo collapsed.
Dead.
“Down!” Marco shouted.
Everyone hit the floor.
Another shot shattered concrete.
Alessandro crawled toward cover.
Across the warehouse, Rosa held the photograph against her chest.
Miguel.
Vittorio.
Pier 17.
The sniper disappeared before Marco’s men reached the roof.
Ten minutes later, Alessandro stood over Carlo’s body.
His phone rang.
Luca.
Alessandro answered.
“Where are you?”
Luca sounded breathless.
“At the mansion. What the hell is happening?”
Alessandro stared at the dead man.
“You tell me.”
Silence.
Then Luca spoke.
“Vivian disappeared.”
“I know.”
“I think she’s involved.”
“Do you?”
“What does that mean?”
Alessandro looked at Rosa.
“Nothing.”
Luca exhaled.
“Come home. We need to figure this out together.”
Together.
The word nearly made Alessandro laugh.
He looked toward the black water.
“I’m on my way.”
He ended the call.
Marco stared at him.
“You believe him?”
“No.”
“Then why go back?”
May you like
Alessandro slid the photograph into his coat.
“Because Luca thinks I do.”
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