Chapter 4 - THE PRICE OF PROTECTION
Anthony arrived at the Queens apartment eleven minutes later.
Eleven minutes was too long.
The front door stood open.
A chair had been overturned.
A cup of tea lay broken across the kitchen floor.
Sophie was crouched beside her mother, holding a blood-soaked towel against Evelyn's forehead.
“Anthony!”
He crossed the room.
“What happened?”
“Victor was here.”
Anthony's face hardened.
“Where is he?”
“Gone. He took something from my mother.”
Evelyn looked up.
“He wanted the key.”
“What key?” Anthony asked.
She hesitated.
Then she reached into the lining of her handbag and pulled out a small brass key.
“He didn't get it.”
Anthony stared at the object.
“Where does it belong?”
“I don't know. Michael never told me.”
Sophie helped her mother sit up.
“Dad gave you that?”
Evelyn nodded.
“He said if anything happened to him, I should keep it away from everyone. Especially the people who worked for Mr. Bellucci.”
Anthony accepted the accusation without argument.
He deserved it.
“Mrs. Mallory, I won't pretend I know who betrayed your husband. But I intend to find out.”
Evelyn looked directly at him.
“Your wife already did.”
Anthony went still.
“What?”
“Catherine came here three days before she died.”
Sophie turned.
“Mom, you never told me.”
“She made me promise.”
Anthony's voice dropped.
“What did Catherine say?”
Evelyn looked toward the bedroom.
“She said your organization had been infiltrated. She believed someone was using your companies to move money and people without your knowledge.”
“Who?”
“She never told me.”
“Did she mention Victor?”
Evelyn nodded.
Anthony closed his eyes briefly.
The betrayal was no longer a suspicion.
It was becoming a pattern.
Back at the penthouse, Sophie sat in the guest bedroom while a physician examined her mother.
Anthony had insisted they stay somewhere secure.
Sophie had insisted that her mother be allowed to choose her own room.
The compromise had been a separate suite with a private entrance.
It was the first time Anthony realized how much he had begun to admire her.
She did not confuse kindness with obedience.
Later, he found her standing beside the windows.
“You should be resting.”
“My mother is sleeping.”
“Good.”
She turned.
“Why did you really help me?”
Anthony considered giving her the usual answer.
Because you work for me.
Because Kessler crossed a line.
Because I don't allow people to hurt employees.
Instead, he told the truth.
“Because when I saw him holding your wrist, I remembered what it felt like to watch someone I loved suffer while I couldn't do anything.”
Sophie's expression softened.
“Your wife?”
“Catherine.”
“I'm sorry.”
Anthony looked away.
“She was the only person who ever knew how to make me feel like I wasn't made of stone.”
“Maybe you aren't.”
He almost laughed.
“You don't know me.”
“No,” Sophie said. “But I know what it looks like when someone is lonely.”
The words stayed between them.
For a moment, Anthony wanted to reach for her hand.
He didn't.
She was twenty-five.
He was fifty-eight.
He had no right to confuse gratitude, fear, and the first fragile warmth he had felt in years.
“Get some sleep,” he said.
“Anthony?”
He stopped.
“Thank you for saving my mother.”
He nodded.
Then he walked away.
At 3:40 a.m., Caleb entered his office with a new report.
“Tony, we found Victor.”
“Where?”
“Outside a private medical facility in Stamford.”
“Bring him in.”
Caleb hesitated.
“There's another problem.”
Anthony looked up.
“Victor wasn't alone. He was meeting Raymond Kessler's attorney.”
“And?”
Caleb placed a photograph on the desk.
Anthony stared at it.
The woman standing beside Victor was unmistakable.
Catherine Bellucci.
Alive in the photograph.
May you like
Taken six days before her supposed death.
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