Chapter 8 - THE DEAD SON
Dominic forgot to breathe.
Marco.
His brother.
The man buried eleven years earlier after a car exploded outside Montreal.
The brother whose coffin had remained closed because there had been almost nothing left to identify.
Marco stood beside Victor with a scar running from his temple to his jaw.
Older.
Thinner.
Alive.
“Hello, little brother.”
Dominic’s hand tightened on the steering wheel.
Norah looked between them.
“You know him?”
Dominic whispered, “That’s my brother.”
Salvatore began shaking.
Not from illness.
Recognition.
Marco smiled when he saw him.
“There he is.”
Dominic stepped from the SUV.
“Let Kathleen go.”
“Still giving orders.”
Marco laughed.
“You really did become Dad.”
Dominic’s face tightened.
Victor kept the gun near Kathleen.
Norah helped Salvatore from the vehicle into his wheelchair.
Dominic turned.
“I told you to stay inside.”
“Not happening.”
Marco’s attention shifted toward her.
“So this is the granddaughter.”
Norah stopped.
“You know?”
“Victor knows everything.”
Victor smiled.
“Almost everything.”
Dominic looked at Marco.
“Why?”
Marco’s expression hardened.
“You mean why fake my death?”
“Yes.”
“Because our father ordered mine.”
Salvatore made a broken sound.
Dominic stared.
“What?”
Marco stepped forward.
“Eleven years ago I told him I wanted out. I had a woman. A child coming.”
Norah looked at Salvatore.
His head moved violently.
No.
Marco continued.
“Dad sent men after me.”
Salvatore slammed his hand against the wheelchair.
Victor whispered, “Careful, old man.”
Norah crouched.
“Let him communicate.”
Marco laughed.
“With your little alphabet game?”
“If you’re so certain, you shouldn’t be afraid of what he says.”
That struck something.
Marco nodded.
“Fine.”
Norah produced the board.
Salvatore’s message came slowly.
I NEVER ORDERED IT.
Marco’s smile disappeared.
“Liar.”
Salvatore continued.
VICTOR.
Marco looked toward his godfather.
Victor’s face did not change.
Marco shook his head.
“No.”
Salvatore spelled:
CAR BOMB.
VICTOR.
Dominic looked at Marco.
“Think.”
Marco’s jaw tightened.
“Victor saved me.”
Victor’s voice remained calm.
“I found him after the explosion.”
Salvatore began spelling again.
Victor watched.
Something shifted in his expression.
Norah read aloud.
HE CAUSED IT.
Marco turned toward Victor.
“That’s not true.”
Victor smiled.
“Of course not.”
Salvatore continued.
WANTED BROTHERS DIVIDED.
Dominic stared at Victor.
Pieces moved into place.
Marco’s supposed death had devastated the family.
Dominic, who had wanted a normal career, returned home afterward because Salvatore needed an heir.
Victor had gained influence over both sons in different ways.
One believed his father tried to kill him.
The other believed his father had driven the first away.
Victor had positioned himself between every fracture.
Norah looked at Marco.
“He manipulated you.”
“Shut up.”
“Why would Salvatore want Dominic in charge instead of you?”
Marco hesitated.
Norah pressed.
“You were older.”
No answer.
“If he wanted you dead, why keep photographs of you in his bedroom?”
Marco’s eyes flickered.
Norah had seen them.
Three photographs hidden in the bedside drawer.
Marco at twelve.
Marco graduating high school.
Marco and Dominic fishing as boys.
Dominic looked stunned.
“You kept those?”
Salvatore blinked.
Yes.
Marco’s face changed.
Victor raised his gun.
“Enough.”
Everyone froze.
The mask was gone now.
No smile.
No polished uncle.
Only anger.
“Families.”
Victor spat the word.
“You destroy everything over sentiment.”
Dominic moved subtly in front of Norah.
Victor noticed.
“Don’t.”
Dominic stopped.
Victor continued.
“Marco was supposed to die in Montreal.”
Marco turned.
“What?”
Silence.
Victor sighed.
“I suppose we’ve reached honesty.”
Marco stared at him.
“You said Salvatore ordered it.”
“He was becoming suspicious of our accounts. You were going to expose me.”
Marco’s face drained.
Victor continued.
“You survived. Unexpectedly.”
“You found me.”
“I found a problem I could reuse.”
Marco looked physically sick.
“You told me my father wanted me dead.”
“And you believed it because you wanted to.”
Marco’s hand moved toward his gun.
Victor fired.
The bullet struck Marco’s shoulder.
Chaos exploded.
Dominic tackled Norah behind the SUV.
Frank’s men entered through the side doors.
Gunfire echoed through the warehouse.
Kathleen dropped to the floor.
Salvatore’s wheelchair rolled backward.
Norah saw it moving toward an open loading bay.
“Salvatore!”
She ran.
Dominic shouted after her.
Norah caught the wheelchair just before the rear wheels reached the edge.
Below was a twelve-foot drop onto concrete.
She pulled with everything she had.
Salvatore grabbed the railing.
Together they stopped.
A hand caught Norah from behind.
Victor.
He dragged her backward and pressed a gun against her ribs.
“Everybody stop!”
The gunfire ceased.
Dominic emerged.
His face went deadly still.
Victor held Norah in front of him.
“Drop it.”
Dominic placed his weapon on the floor.
Frank did the same.
Marco sat against a crate holding his bleeding shoulder.
Victor began backing toward an exit.
“Ledger.”
Dominic kicked the red book across the floor.
Victor smiled.
“Finally.”
Salvatore made a sound.
Victor looked at him.
“You should have died quietly.”
Norah felt Victor’s grip tighten.
Then Salvatore did something nobody expected.
He stood.
Not fully.
Not steadily.
But using the railing with his good arm, the eighty-year-old stroke patient forced himself out of his wheelchair.
His right leg dragged.
His body shook.
Victor stared.
Salvatore took one step.
Then another.
Norah whispered, “Don’t.”
Salvatore ignored her.
His mouth opened.
For months, coherent speech had been almost impossible.
But one word came.
Clear enough.
“Coward.”
Victor’s face twisted.
He moved the gun away from Norah and aimed at Salvatore.
That was his mistake.
Norah drove her elbow backward.
Dominic lunged.
Frank fired.
Victor’s weapon flew from his hand.
Marco tackled him from the side.
All four men hit the concrete.
Seconds later Victor was pinned beneath Frank.
Dominic grabbed the gun.
Norah ran toward Salvatore.
The old man collapsed into her arms.
“Salvatore.”
His eyes remained open.
She checked his pulse.
Fast.
Weak.
But present.
Dominic knelt beside them.
“Dad.”
The word came naturally.
Not father.
Dad.
Salvatore looked at him.
Then toward Marco.
Marco sat several yards away, bleeding, crying silently.
Salvatore reached toward him.
Marco crawled closer.
For eleven years, he had believed his father wanted him dead.
For eleven years, Salvatore had believed his eldest son was buried.
Their hands met.
Marco broke.
“I’m sorry.”
Salvatore shook his head.
Then looked at Dominic.
His mouth struggled.
Dominic leaned close.
“I’m here.”
Salvatore whispered two words.
“My boys.”
Then his eyes closed.
Norah immediately began calling instructions.
“Get the medical kit! Now!”
Dominic caught her arm.
“Is he dying?”
Norah looked at him.
“I don’t know.”
“Save him.”
There was no command in his voice.
Only a son asking for something money and power could not guarantee.
Norah squeezed his hand.
“I’ll do everything I can.”
The ambulance arrived twelve minutes later.
As Salvatore was loaded inside, Dominic climbed in beside him.
Norah followed.
Behind them, Victor Rizzo sat handcuffed beneath warehouse lights while federal sirens approached in the distance.
But Victor was smiling.
And before the ambulance doors closed, he called out:
“Dominic!”
Dominic looked back.
Victor laughed.
“You still haven’t asked who gave the FBI your ledger.”
Dominic’s expression changed.
Victor smiled wider.
May you like
“By sunrise, the Moretti empire will be gone.”
The doors slammed shut.
