Chapter 6 - Paula Reyes Came Back from the Dead
Pier 19 smelled like river water, rust, and old diesel.
Stefano hated every second of it.
I could tell because his jaw had not relaxed since eleven thirty.
“You stay in the vehicle.”
“We discussed this.”
“I agreed to bring you.”
“You agreed—”
“I did not agree to stupidity.”
“You run organized crime.”
“And therefore recognize stupidity professionally.”
I almost laughed.
Almost.
Then I saw her.
Paula stood beside a shuttered warehouse.
Twenty yards away.
Alone.
Her brown hair had gone mostly silver.
She was thinner.
Older.
But when she turned toward our SUV, I saw the girl who had once stolen cigarettes from her brother and made me swear never to tell.
I opened the door.
Stefano caught my arm.
“Mara.”
“That’s her.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
His expression gave away too much.
“You’ve seen recent photographs.”
He released me.
Another secret.
Another incomplete truth.
I stepped out.
“Mara!”
Paula ran.
So did I.
We collided halfway across the cracked pavement.
For one second, nineteen years disappeared.
She smelled like rain and cheap soap.
She held my face.
“Oh God.”
Then she started crying.
“You look like Rose.”
I slapped her.
The sound cracked across the dock.
Paula froze.
So did Stefano’s men.
“I deserved that,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
Then I hugged her again.
That was the problem with loving someone.
Anger and relief can occupy the same body.
“Why did you disappear?”
She looked behind me.
At Stefano.
Fear entered her face.
“Not here.”
Stefano approached.
Paula stepped backward.
“You.”
“Paula.”
“You still look like Salvatore.”
“You still run.”
“I learned from your family.”
His expression tightened.
“Enough,” I said.
They both looked at me.
“Everyone has spent two days telling me partial truths because apparently I’m a child who cannot be trusted with my own life.”
Neither argued.
“So we’re doing this now.”
We entered the warehouse.
Stefano’s security spread through the building.
Paula sat on an overturned crate.
I remained standing.
“Start with Mom.”
She looked down.
“Rose found the first fake invoices.”
“What were they?”
“Construction grants. St. Bridget’s had received money to renovate low-income housing.”
“I remember that project.”
“Half the money vanished.”
“Barone?”
“Yes.”
Paula rubbed her hands together.
“Vittorio Barone was moving money through charities. But that wasn’t the worst part.”
“What was?”
“The buildings.”
I waited.
“They were being deliberately condemned.”
My stomach turned.
“Why?”
“To buy the properties cheap. Families were forced out. Fires happened. Inspections were falsified. Then Barone companies bought entire blocks.”
Stefano’s face darkened.
“My father discovered that.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t Rose go to police?”
Paula laughed without humor.
“She did.”
Stefano went still.
“To whom?”
“Captain Daniel Harker.”
Anthony swore quietly.
I looked at him.
“Who is Harker?”
“Deputy police commissioner now.”
Of course he was.
Paula continued.
“Two days after Rose spoke to him, Salvatore died.”
She looked at Stefano.
“Your father wasn’t killed because he was a Mafia boss.”
Stefano’s eyes narrowed.
“He was killed because he was going to become a witness.”
Silence.
I watched those words hit him.
For nineteen years, Stefano had apparently carried his father’s murder as mob inheritance.
A son continuing a war.
Now Paula was telling him his father had been trying to end it.
“What about Carlo?” I asked.
Paula’s face changed.
“He knew about the meeting.”
“Did he betray Salvatore?”
“I don’t know.”
Stefano spoke sharply.
“My father told Rose his name.”
“Yes.”
“That tape—”
“Rose suspected Carlo.”
“That is not what she said.”
“Your cassette was incomplete.”
Stefano stared.
Paula’s voice softened.
“There was more.”
“What?”
“Rose made two recordings.”
My pulse jumped.
“Where is the second?”
“I gave it to someone.”
“Who?”
Before she could answer, glass exploded above us.
Stefano moved first.
He tackled Paula and me behind a concrete barrier.
Gunfire erupted from the catwalk.
His men returned fire.
I pressed both hands over my ears.
Paula screamed.
Stefano shouted orders.
A figure ran across the upper walkway.
Anthony fired.
The figure disappeared.
Then a second shooter emerged from behind a steel column much closer.
His gun pointed directly at Stefano.
I saw it.
Stefano didn’t.
“Down!”
I grabbed his coat.
The shot fired.
Stefano twisted.
Paula jerked beside me.
Blood appeared across her blouse.
“No!”
I caught her as she fell.
The world became noise.
Stefano fired twice.
The shooter collapsed.
Then he was beside us.
“Paula.”
Her eyes fluttered.
Blood spread below her shoulder.
“Pressure,” Stefano ordered.
I pressed both hands against the wound.
Paula gasped.
“Hospital.”
Stefano shouted for Anthony.
Paula grabbed my wrist.
“No.”
“Stop talking.”
“Mara.”
“You’re not dying after making me wait nineteen years.”
A faint smile.
“You always were bossy.”
“Paula.”
She looked at Stefano.
“Carlo didn’t kill your father.”
Stefano froze.
“Who did?”
Paula coughed.
“Harker pulled the trigger.”
The deputy police commissioner.
My hands shook.
“But Carlo…”
She struggled for breath.
“Carlo gave him the location.”
Stefano’s face became stone.
“Why?”
Paula’s eyes closed.
“Ask him…”
Her voice faded.
“Ask him what happened to Luca.”
Stefano stopped breathing.
Anthony arrived with a medic bag.
“Who is Luca?” I asked.
Nobody answered.
They loaded Paula into the SUV.
Stefano stood motionless in the warehouse.
I had never seen grief arrive on a person so silently.
“Stefano.”
He looked at the blood on the floor.
“Luca was my brother.”
I waited.
“He was fourteen.”
“What happened?”
“Kidnapped the night before my father died.”
The pieces began assembling.
“You think Barone took him.”
“I know Barone took him.”
“And Carlo knew where your father was meeting the federal investigator.”
“Yes.”
“What happened to Luca?”
Stefano looked at me.
“They sent him home three days later.”
My stomach twisted.
“Alive?”
“No.”
There are moments when anger becomes too large for expression.
Stefano reached that place.
He turned away.
I caught his hand.
He looked down at mine.
“Don’t.”
One word.
Not angry.
Broken.
“If you touch me right now, Mara, I may remember I am human.”
“That is generally the point.”
His eyes closed.
For five seconds, the most feared man in Philadelphia stood in an abandoned warehouse holding my hand because letting go would have been easier.
Then Anthony approached.
“We identified the shooter.”
Stefano opened his eyes.
“Who?”
“Moretti payroll.”
Of course.
“Name?”
“Elias Trent.”
Stefano knew it.
I could tell.
Anthony continued.
“He reports directly to one person.”
Stefano’s voice dropped.
“Carlo.”
Nobody moved.
Stefano pulled out his phone.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Calling my uncle.”
“For what?”
He looked at me.
“To ask him why he traded my father for my brother.”
“And if you don’t like the answer?”
His expression became frighteningly calm.
“You made me promise not to kill anyone because of you.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“No.”
He dialed.
Carlo answered after one ring.
“Stefano?”
Stefano put the call on speaker.
“Uncle.”
Silence.
Then Stefano asked:
“Was Luca still alive when you gave Barone my father’s location?”
The line remained quiet for so long I thought Carlo had disconnected.
May you like
Then an old man began to cry.
And Stefano Moretti finally learned the price his family had paid for a lie.
