Chapter 4 - THE DEAD MAN WHO CALLED HIS SON
Carmine laughed.
Nobody joined him.
“My father is dead.”
Leo stared at him.
“I went to his funeral.”
“So did I.”
“I carried the coffin.”
Mave looked between them.
“That is usually fairly persuasive evidence.”
Carmine pointed at her.
“Thank you.”
Leo ignored both.
“Was the coffin open?”
Carmine stopped.
“No.”
“Body identified?”
“Hospital paperwork.”
“By whom?”
“My mother.”
“Where is she?”
“Queens.”
“Call her.”
Carmine’s expression hardened.
“Boss.”
“Call her.”
For the first time since Mave had known him, Carmine looked genuinely angry with Leo.
“That’s my mother.”
“And this is my father’s murder.”
The air changed.
Mave stepped closer.
“Both of you stop.”
Carmine looked at her.
Leo did too.
Mave pointed toward the chairs in the bank viewing room.
“Sit.”
Neither moved.
“I swear to God, I cleaned blood out of Leo’s basement with industrial bleach. I am not afraid to spray either of you in the face.”
Carmine sat.
Leo remained standing for another second.
Then sat.
“Excellent,” Mave said. “Civilization.”
Carmine called his mother.
Mrs. Carmine answered on the fourth ring.
She sounded eighty and unimpressed.
“Why are you calling at noon? Somebody dead?”
Carmine closed his eyes.
“Ma.”
“What?”
“I need to ask about Dad.”
Silence.
“Why?”
“Was he really in the coffin?”
Mave winced.
There were gentler ways.
Mrs. Carmine’s voice changed.
“Who is with you?”
“Leo.”
Another silence.
Then she said:
“I told Raffaele this day would come.”
Everyone froze.
Carmine’s face emptied.
“Ma.”
“He is alive.”
Carmine stood so violently the chair tipped.
“What?”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?”
“Your father said if Leo ever learned—”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
Carmine’s breathing turned ragged.
Leo watched him carefully.
Twelve years of grief collapsing into betrayal was a dangerous thing.
Mrs. Carmine began crying.
“He came to me six months after the funeral. Said he’d survived the attack. Said returning would put you in danger.”
“What attack?”
“I don’t know.”
Carmine looked ready to break the phone.
“Ma, you let me bury an empty box.”
“I was protecting you.”
Carmine laughed bitterly.
“Everyone in this family uses that sentence right before ruining somebody’s life.”
Mave glanced at Leo.
“That should probably go on a crest.”
Leo almost smiled.
Mrs. Carmine continued.
“He sends a card every Christmas.”
“From where?”
“No return address.”
“Show me.”
“I kept them.”
Leo took the phone.
“Mrs. Carmine, this is Leo.”
“I know your voice.”
“Photograph every envelope. Send them to this number.”
“You sound like your father.”
Leo’s expression tightened.
“I’m trying not to.”
The cards produced a lead.
One postmark had survived processing.
Montreal.
Another came from Buffalo.
Then Boston.
Movement along shipping corridors.
Giani connected the pattern.
“Raffaele has been following freight routes.”
Mave frowned.
“Or operating them.”
Leo looked at the ledger.
They still had not listened to the cassette.
The bank provided an old machine.
Mave inserted it.
Static.
Then her mother’s voice.
Mave covered her mouth.
She had not heard that voice in years.
My name is Evelyn Bennett. Date is March 17, 2008. If this recording is being heard, then either Luca Castiglion kept his promise or one of us failed.
Leo went rigid.
Mave pressed her fingers against her lips.
Evelyn continued.
Warehouse 9 was used to move girls through the port. Luca found out three months ago. He believed Renato approved it. I believed so too. We were wrong.
Leo stared at the machine.
Renato was taking money, yes. But somebody else controlled the manifests. Raffaele Carmine. Luca confronted him. Raffaele said he had protection inside law enforcement and the unions. Luca decided to shut everything down and turn over records to a federal prosecutor.
Carmine’s face had become ashen.
The tape crackled.
Raffaele learned what Luca planned. He threatened me. Luca moved my daughter and me out of the city for six weeks. If anything happens to Luca, Raffaele did it—or somebody above him did.
The tape ended.
No one spoke.
Carmine walked out.
Mave started after him.
Leo caught her wrist.
“Let him go.”
“He just learned his father may have murdered yours.”
“He needs space.”
“You needed space last night and ended up interrogating me over herbal tea.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“I’m difficult.”
She stared.
“You said something self-aware. Should I call a doctor?”
Despite everything, Leo laughed.
It surprised him.
It surprised her more.
Then Giani’s phone rang.
He answered.
His expression immediately changed.
“What?”
A pause.
“Where?”
Another pause.
“We’re coming.”
He ended the call.
“Tessa.”
Mave stood.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
Relief nearly folded her in half.
“Where?”
“St. Vincent’s emergency room.”
“How?”
“Someone dumped her outside.”
They reached the hospital in fifteen minutes.
Tessa had bruises on both wrists, a split lip, dehydration, and enough fury to power the hospital generator.
The moment Mave entered, Tessa burst into tears.
“You idiot.”
Mave hugged her.
“I’m the idiot?”
“You went to the bank?”
“How do you know?”
“They kept asking about the key.”
Leo stood near the door.
Tessa noticed him.
“Oh.”
Mave wiped her face.
“Tessa, Leo.”
“Yes, I recognize the terrifying billionaire criminal from newspapers.”
“It’s a logistics company,” Leo said.
Tessa stared.
Mave said, “Don’t encourage him.”
The humor faded when Tessa described the kidnapping.
Two men.
Neither wore masks initially.
One was the dead tow-truck driver.
“He was part of it?” Mave asked.
“At first.”
Tessa nodded.
“He sabotaged my radiator.”
“Then why did they kill him?”
“He changed his mind.”
Leo frowned.
“What?”
“After they grabbed me, he started panicking. Said nobody told him they were going to hurt us.”
“So the second man killed him.”
“I think so.”
“Describe the second.”
Tessa did.
Mid-fifties.
Gray beard.
Burn scar along his neck.
Carmine, who had quietly entered the room, stopped.
“That’s my father.”
Everyone turned.
Tessa stared.
“You mean the dead one?”
Carmine closed his eyes.
“Apparently death didn’t take.”
She looked him up and down.
“Awkward.”
Mave laughed despite herself.
Then Tessa remembered something.
“He kept talking to someone on the phone.”
“Name?” Leo asked.
“No.”
“What did he say?”
Tessa thought.
“He called the person ‘Chairman.’”
Leo’s expression changed.
Mave noticed.
“Who is Chairman?”
Leo did not answer immediately.
There was only one man in his organization still addressed by that title.
Not Renato.
Not Raffaele.
August Castiglion.
Leo’s grandfather.
Ninety-one years old.
Retired.
Mostly blind.
Living under twenty-four-hour medical care at the family estate upstate.
The man Leo visited every Sunday.
The man who had taught him chess.
The man who had placed a hand on Leo’s shoulder after Luca died and said:
Your father made dangerous enemies. Now you must become more dangerous.
Leo looked at Tessa.
“What exactly did Raffaele say?”
She swallowed.
“He said, ‘Chairman, the maid doesn’t have the ledger yet.’”
Mave’s skin went cold.
Tessa continued.
“And whoever was on the phone answered loud enough for me to hear.”
“What did he say?”
“Three words.”
May you like
She looked at Leo.
“Bring her home.”
Related Stories
