Chapter 4 - THE GHOST FROM NAPLES
Sera didn't cry.
That frightened Raffaele more than tears would have.
She simply stared at the photograph until the gala disappeared around her.
"Let's go," he said.
"I need air."
"Sera."
"Five minutes."
He followed her onto the terrace.
Cold night air moved across Manhattan.
She gripped the stone railing.
"My father was dead."
Raffaele stayed beside her.
"I saw the coffin."
"Were you allowed to see him?"
"No."
The answer came too quickly.
"I was nine. Domenico said the injuries were too severe."
Raffaele looked at the photograph again.
"Could the date be fabricated?"
"Yes."
"Then we verify it."
Sera laughed once, without humor.
"You make everything sound simple."
"No. I make everything sound solvable."
She looked at him.
"And if Domenico lied?"
"Then we find out why."
"And if he murdered my father?"
Raffaele didn't answer immediately.
"Then being dead won't protect his reputation."
Sera studied him.
For once there was no arrogance in his face.
Only certainty.
She whispered, "Why are you helping me?"
"You're my wife."
"Contractually."
"I am beginning to dislike that word."
Before she could respond, the terrace door opened.
Luca.
"I hope I'm not interrupting."
"You are," Raffaele said.
Luca smiled.
"I found something."
He held up his phone.
The photograph's metadata had been authenticated.
Taken in Naples.
Seven years ago.
Sera's father had apparently survived six years beyond his official death.
Sera swayed slightly.
Raffaele caught her elbow.
Luca noticed.
His eyes dropped to Raffaele's hand.
Interesting.
They traveled to Naples the following morning.
Raffaele insisted on security.
Sera insisted on visiting the cemetery first.
Her father's grave sat beneath a cypress tree.
ANTONIO CONTI.
Beloved Father.
Loyal Friend.
1974–2013.
Sera touched the stone.
Raffaele stood several feet away.
"I used to write him letters," she said.
Raffaele said nothing.
"I buried them here every birthday."
"Why?"
"Because Domenico said the dead receive what the living can't carry."
Raffaele looked at the grave.
"My uncle said that?"
"He wasn't always the man you knew."
"Neither am I."
Sera looked at him.
"No."
The single word carried something neither explored.
They opened the grave that afternoon.
The coffin contained no body.
Only bricks.
Lorenzo joined them at the Naples villa that evening.
When he saw the empty-coffin photographs, the old consigliere sat down.
"You knew," Sera said.
Lorenzo looked twenty years older.
"I knew Antonio survived the warehouse."
Raffaele slammed his palm onto the table.
"You let her believe her father was dead?"
"Domenico ordered it."
"Why?"
"Protection."
"From whom?"
Lorenzo looked at Sera.
"Your father discovered someone inside the Ferrara organization was selling information to federal investigators and rival families simultaneously."
"Who?"
"I never knew."
"You're lying."
"No."
Sera stepped closer.
"Where did my father go?"
"Domenico moved him under another identity."
"And six years later?"
Lorenzo hesitated.
"He disappeared."
Sera's face emptied.
"Disappeared?"
"We lost contact."
"When?"
"Seven years ago."
The date of the photograph.
Raffaele asked, "Vault Seven?"
Lorenzo's head snapped toward him.
That was answer enough.
"What is it?"
Lorenzo stood.
"Something Domenico should have destroyed."
Sera blocked his path.
"Where?"
Lorenzo looked at her.
"Your father created it."
"What is it?"
"A contingency archive."
Raffaele understood.
"Evidence."
"Everything," Lorenzo said. "Payments. murders. judges. politicians. rival organizations. Ferrara operations going back twenty-five years."
"Where?"
"I don't know."
Sera studied him.
"But Luca does."
Silence.
Raffaele turned.
"What makes you think that?"
"Because the Naples debt makes no sense unless he needs enormous liquid capital quickly."
"For what?"
"To buy something."
Lorenzo whispered, "Vault Seven."
That night, Raffaele found Sera on the villa balcony.
She wore one of his shirts over her nightdress.
He stopped.
She looked over.
"Your housekeeper gave it to me."
"I wasn't complaining."
Her cheeks warmed.
Raffaele walked beside her.
Below them, Naples glittered against black water.
"Can't sleep?"
"No."
He leaned against the railing.
"Neither can I."
For several minutes they said nothing.
Then Sera asked, "Did you really think I was ugly?"
Raffaele turned.
"What?"
She smiled faintly.
"People talked."
"People are idiots."
"That isn't an answer."
He considered lying.
Instead:
"I didn't think about you enough to decide."
She absorbed that.
"Somehow worse."
"I know."
"And now?"
Raffaele's eyes moved over her face.
Slowly.
"Now I think not noticing you may be the stupidest thing I've ever done."
Sera stopped breathing.
He lifted a hand.
A loose strand of hair moved against her cheek.
His fingers almost touched it.
Almost.
Then a red laser dot appeared on Sera's chest.
Raffaele saw it.
He tackled her to the floor.
The balcony door shattered behind them.
Gunfire erupted.
Security shouted below.
Raffaele covered her body with his.
"Sera?"
"I'm fine."
Another shot struck the stone wall.
Then Raffaele felt warmth spreading beneath his shirt.
Sera's eyes widened.
"Raffaele?"
May you like
He looked down.
Blood was pouring from his side.
