Chapter 15 - DINNER WITH THE DEVILMatteo arrived at Giovanni’s at exactly eight.
Alone.
Dominic did not believe that for a second.
Neither did Victor.
Federal agents occupied three nearby buildings.
Clara sat at the corner booth.
Dominic beside her.
Helen across from them.
Matteo stopped when he saw his daughter.
For a moment, he looked like an ordinary father.
That was the dangerous part.
“Helena.”
“My name is Helen.”
He sat.
Clara poured water.
Dominic looked at the pitcher.
“Not now.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking about it.”
Matteo watched them.
“You really changed him.”
Clara put the pitcher down.
“He changed himself.”
Matteo looked disappointed.
“You defend a Russo.”
“I defend my husband.”
“His father murdered your family.”
“His father isn’t sitting here.”
Matteo looked at Dominic.
“Convenient.”
Dominic remained calm.
“What do you want?”
Matteo’s eyes shifted toward Helen.
“My daughter.”
“No,” Helen said.
“My granddaughter.”
“No,” Clara said.
“My great-granddaughter.”
“Definitely no,” Dominic replied.
Matteo smiled.
“Then perhaps you should understand what I’m offering.”
He placed a document on the table.
Clara opened it.
Property deeds.
Bank accounts.
Companies.
Hundreds of millions in assets.
“I don’t want your money.”
“You haven’t heard the amount.”
“I don’t care.”
Matteo studied her.
“You truly are Thomas’s daughter.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve said.”
His face softened.
“I respected Thomas.”
“You hunted him.”
“No.”
Silence.
Clara stared.
“What?”
“I never killed Thomas Jenkins.”
“Gallagher did.”
“No.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“Arthur confessed.”
“Arthur confessed to what federal prosecutors could prove.”
Matteo removed another envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Thomas Jenkins.
Alive.
Dated four months after his supposed murder.
Clara stopped breathing.
Helen grabbed the photograph.
“No.”
Dominic stared.
“This could be fabricated.”
“It isn’t.”
Clara looked at Matteo.
“My father died when I was fifteen.”
“Yes.”
“Police identified his body.”
“No.”
Helen whispered:
“I identified him.”
Matteo looked at her.
“You identified his wedding ring.”
Helen’s face collapsed.
Clara felt the restaurant tilt.
“Where is my father?”
Matteo leaned back.
“Now we can negotiate.”
Dominic moved.
Clara’s hand landed on his arm.
“No.”
Her voice shook.
She looked at Matteo.
“You want something from me?”
“Yes.”
“Then say it.”
Matteo smiled.
“Come with me.”
Dominic’s chair scraped backward.
“No.”
Matteo ignored him.
“Forty-eight hours, Clara.”
“Where?”
“You won’t know until we arrive.”
“No weapons. No Dominic. No federal agents.”
Dominic laughed once.
Cold.
“Impossible.”
Matteo looked at Clara.
“Then you never learn whether Thomas Jenkins is alive.”
Clara’s eyes burned.
“You’re lying.”
“Maybe.”
Matteo stood.
“You have until tomorrow.”
He walked toward the door.
Clara called after him.
“Wait.”
He stopped.
“If he’s alive…”
Her voice broke.
“Why didn’t he come home?”
Matteo turned.
For the first time, there was no triumph in his face.
Only something almost like pity.
“Because Thomas Jenkins made a choice.”
“What choice?”
Matteo looked at Dominic.
“The same choice every man eventually makes when loving someone becomes dangerous.”
Clara stood.
“What does that mean?”
But Matteo walked away.
Dominic immediately turned to her.
“You are not going.”
Clara laughed through tears.
“Wrong opening sentence.”
His face changed.
He knew it.
He closed his eyes.
Then tried again.
“Please don’t go.”
Clara stared at him.
That was worse.
Because Dominic Russo almost never said please when he was afraid.
She touched his face.
“I need to know.”
“We’ll find another way.”
“What if there isn’t one?”
“There is always another way.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
He pressed his forehead against hers.
“I don’t.”
Clara closed her eyes.
For several seconds they simply breathed.
Then Victor approached.
“I may have another way.”
Dominic turned.
Victor placed a tablet on the table.
Matteo’s car had been tracked.
Not by federal agents.
By Sofia.
Dominic stared at his sister.
She smiled.
“What?”
“You put a tracker on him?”
“He hugged me at the church.”
“When?”
“Before you arrived.”
“And you didn’t mention it?”
“I’m a Russo. Emotional communication isn’t our strongest skill.”
Clara nearly laughed.
Victor enlarged the map.
Matteo’s vehicle was heading south.
Toward an old airfield.
Then the signal stopped.
Sofia frowned.
“What happened?”
Victor stared at the screen.
“The tracker didn’t fail.”
“Then?”
“The car stopped.”
A new signal appeared.
Moving rapidly.
Dominic recognized the route.
O’Hare.
Victor looked up.
“He’s leaving Chicago.”
Clara’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
Matteo’s voice filled the speaker.
“Forty-eight hours became two.”
“Why?”
“Because Thomas just learned you’re looking for him.”
Clara’s heart stopped.
Then another voice came through the phone.
Older.
Weak.
But unmistakable.
May you like
“Clara?”
She dropped the phone.
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