Chapter 4 - THE DEAD MAN’S SECRET
For three years, Martina had mourned a dead man.
Now Aloyio was telling her she had mourned a lie.
“He survived?”
“For eleven hours.”
Aloyio’s voice was quiet.
“I got him out through the alley.”
Martina struck him again.
This time he caught her wrist.
Not painfully.
Just enough to stop the second blow.
“You let me believe he burned alive.”
“I believed you were dead.”
“Sophia?”
“Missing.”
“You could have searched.”
“I did.”
“Not hard enough.”
Aloyio released her.
“You’re right.”
The absence of excuses made her angrier.
Vincenzo had been badly burned and shot. Aloyio moved him to a private clinic under a false identity.
Before dawn, Vincenzo disappeared.
A nurse was found unconscious.
Security footage had been erased.
Six hours later, Vincenzo’s body appeared beneath a bridge.
Except Aloyio never saw the body.
Carlo had identified it.
The revelation changed everything.
“Your uncle lied.”
“Maybe.”
“Stop protecting him.”
“I’m not.”
“You hesitate every time his name comes up.”
Aloyio’s jaw tightened.
“He raised me.”
“And my father trained me. That doesn’t mean I worship every choice he made.”
That ended the argument.
Martina went to the Rusty Anchor alone at midnight.
At least, she appeared to.
Aloyio had men positioned two blocks away despite her objections.
She knew because she spotted Dante pretending to read a newspaper through the window of an all-night laundromat.
She almost laughed.
Inside the bar, one man waited.
Mickey.
Her boss.
The harmless drunk who routinely forgot his own closing time.
Martina froze.
“Mickey?”
His hands shook.
“I’m sorry.”
Her heart sank.
“For what?”
“For knowing.”
Mickey had not hired her by accident.
He had known Vincenzo.
Years earlier, he had driven for him.
After the fire, Mickey received instructions to give Martina work if she ever appeared near the Jersey docks.
“Instructions from who?”
Mickey’s eyes filled.
“Your father.”
The room went silent.
Martina grabbed the bar.
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
Her knees nearly failed.
Two years.
Her father had been alive.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“He contacted me through intermediaries.”
“Why wouldn’t he contact me?”
Mickey began crying.
“Because he thought staying dead was the only way to keep you alive.”
A crash came from the kitchen.
Martina turned.
Too late.
Smoke grenades rolled beneath the tables.
Men entered through the back.
Mickey shouted.
Martina flipped a table, dragging him behind it as bullets tore through the bottles.
Outside, Dante’s team moved.
Then the shooting stopped almost as quickly as it began.
One attacker remained alive.
Martina pinned him against the floor.
“Who sent you?”
The man smiled through blood.
“Your father.”
Martina froze.
That hesitation was enough.
He reached for a hidden blade.
A shot cracked.
The attacker collapsed.
Aloyio stood in the doorway.
“You’re welcome.”
Martina stared at the dead man.
“He said my father sent him.”
“He wanted you distracted.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Vincenzo would never send six amateurs against the daughter he trained.”
She hated that Aloyio knew her father well enough to say it.
Police sirens approached.
They escaped through the kitchen.
Back at the safe house, Sophia was gone.
There was no forced entry.
No blood.
Only an envelope on her bed.
Martina ripped it open.
Inside was a photograph of Sophia getting willingly into a car.
The driver was Carlo Tuscono.
Aloyio went very still.
Then his phone rang.
Carlo.
Aloyio answered.
“Where is she?”
His uncle chuckled.
“You always were impatient.”
“Touch her and—”
“She came willingly.”
Martina grabbed the phone.
“Put Sophia on.”
A pause.
Then her sister’s voice.
“Martina?”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Why did you leave?”
“Because Carlo knows where Dad is.”
Martina closed her eyes.
“Sophia, listen to me. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
Sophia’s next words silenced everyone.
“Neither do you.”
The line went dead.
Carlo sent an address.
An abandoned Catholic school in Providence.
Martina and Aloyio arrived before dawn.
The building was empty except for a projector running in the old auditorium.
A video began.
Carlo appeared.
Sophia sat beside him, unharmed.
“Family,” Carlo said, “is the most useful weakness humans ever invented.”
Then another figure stepped into frame.
Martina forgot how to breathe.
Older.
Scarred.
Walking with a cane.
But unmistakable.
Vincenzo Lorie.
Her father.
Alive.
Martina touched the screen.
“Dad.”
Vincenzo stared directly into the camera.
“My daughter,” he said.
There was no warmth in his expression.
“If Aloyio Tuscono is standing beside you, get away from him.”
Aloyio stiffened.
Vincenzo leaned closer.
“He didn’t save me from the fire.”
Martina slowly turned toward Aloyio.
May you like
On-screen, her father delivered the final blow.
“He started it.”
