Chapter 2 - THE ROOM AT THE END OF THE HALL
Michael Moretti’s house did not look like a criminal fortress.
That somehow made it more frightening.
No giant iron gates decorated with lions.
No men holding rifles on rooftops.
Just an enormous brownstone in Brooklyn Heights with warm lights, polished floors, expensive paintings, and enough quiet security to make me understand nobody entered without permission.
Zach refused to release my hand.
“I told you Dad would save you.”
Michael removed his coat.
“I did not save anyone.”
Zach looked at me.
“He says stuff like that.”
“I’m beginning to notice.”
Michael’s mouth almost moved.
Almost.
Then a woman in her late fifties hurried down the stairs.
“Zachary!”
She wrapped him in both arms.
“You nearly killed me.”
“Nana, I found a wife.”
The woman froze.
Michael closed his eyes.
“Mother.”
She slowly looked at me.
“I’m sorry?”
Zach pointed proudly.
“Aurora.”
Michael’s mother stared.
Then looked at her son.
Then back at me.
Something strange happened.
Her face lost color.
“DeLuca?”
Michael’s eyes narrowed.
“You know her?”
The woman recovered quickly.
“No.”
Too quickly.
I was getting tired of people knowing my name and pretending they didn’t.
“I’m Aurora.”
“Teresa Moretti.”
Michael stepped between us slightly.
“Mother, take Zach upstairs.”
“But—”
“Now.”
Teresa did not argue.
Zach did.
“Dad!”
“You ran away.”
“I got married.”
“That does not improve the situation.”
“You said family stays together.”
Michael stared at him.
Zach crossed his arms.
I bit the inside of my cheek.
Finally Michael crouched.
“Aurora is staying tonight.”
Zach’s expression brightened.
“But she is not your wife.”
“Fiancée.”
“Bed.”
“What?”
“Go to bed.”
Zach hugged me.
“Don’t leave.”
I swallowed.
“I’ll be here.”
He ran upstairs.
The second he disappeared, the house changed.
Warmer father vanished.
Michael Moretti returned.
He gestured toward a study.
“Inside.”
I followed.
Luca, his broad-shouldered lieutenant from the restaurant, entered behind us.
Michael closed the door.
“What did Regina tell you about your father?”
“Almost nothing.”
“Think.”
“He owned a small freight brokerage. DeLuca Transport Solutions.”
Michael exchanged a glance with Luca.
“Small?”
“That’s what I was told.”
“It handled twelve million dollars in contracts the year before he died.”
My mouth opened.
“What?”
“Gabriel worked with shipping companies from New York to Baltimore.”
“He told me business was struggling.”
“It was.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It does if revenue isn't profit.”
Michael walked toward a cabinet.
He poured water.
Not whiskey.
That surprised me.
He placed the glass in front of me.
I did not touch it.
“Did your father ever mention Victor Santoro?”
“No.”
“Anthony Russo?”
“Tony?”
Michael nodded.
My stomach tightened.
“I know Tony runs gambling clubs. Regina owes him.”
“Tony Russo is Victor Santoro’s nephew.”
“And Victor?”
Michael paused.
“Dead.”
Something in his tone told me there was more.
“How?”
“Someone shot him.”
I stared.
“Was my father involved?”
“No.”
That answer came fast.
“Then what?”
Michael sat.
“Seven years ago, Victor controlled a large part of the port trucking routes through Brooklyn and New Jersey.”
I knew enough about New York to understand what “controlled” meant.
“Your father handled legitimate brokerage work around those routes.”
“Legitimate?”
“Yes.”
“Was he working for criminals?”
“He was working near them.”
“That sounds like a convenient distinction.”
“It is.”
At least he admitted it.
“One night,” Michael continued, “Victor’s organization lost something.”
“What?”
“A ledger.”
My mind flashed back to Regina screaming.
“What kind?”
“Names. Payments. Businesses. Judges. Contractors. Police contacts. Union payments.”
I stared at him.
“A criminal ledger.”
“A leverage ledger.”
“And you think my father stole it?”
“I know he had it.”
“Why?”
“Because he came to me.”
My mouth went dry.
“You knew my father.”
“Yes.”
“How well?”
“Well enough that he trusted me with something that could have gotten him killed.”
I stood.
“You let me believe he died in a car accident for seven years?”
“I didn't know you.”
“You knew his daughter existed.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Michael’s expression hardened.
“Your father specifically told me never to contact you.”
That stopped me.
“Why?”
“He wanted you outside his world.”
“What world?”
Michael looked toward the window.
“Mine.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Wonderful.”
“Aurora—”
“Did he steal the ledger?”
“No.”
“Then how did he get it?”
“He was given it.”
“By who?”
Michael hesitated.
That was the first time he had.
“Michael.”
“Victor Santoro’s wife.”
I sat again.
“Why?”
“Because Victor was planning to kill her brother.”
“What does any of this have to do with Regina?”
“We don't know yet.”
Luca finally spoke.
“We know one thing.”
He placed my wallet on the desk.
“Regina married Gabriel six months before he died.”
“Yes.”
“She was married to him for less than a year.”
“Yes.”
“And within forty-eight hours of his death, she filed documents claiming control of DeLuca Transport.”
“I stared at him.
“She told me the company was bankrupt.”
“It was dissolved quickly.”
“By her?”
“Yes.”
Michael leaned forward.
“Aurora, how old were you?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Your father leave a will?”
“Regina said there was almost nothing.”
“Did you see it?”
“I signed papers.”
“What papers?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were twenty-one.”
“My father was dead!”
My voice cracked.
Silence.
Michael softened slightly.
“I’m not blaming you.”
“Everybody else seems to.”
“No.”
He held my gaze.
“I'm telling you somebody may have used your grief.”
That hurt because I believed it.
“What was in the ledger that matters now?”
Michael looked toward Luca.
Then back to me.
“One entry was never explained.”
“What entry?”
“A shell company called Bellweather Holdings.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Your father had.”
“So?”
“Bellweather held property and accounts on behalf of several Santoro associates.”
“How much?”
“At the time?”
Michael’s expression did not change.
“About twenty-two million.”
I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
“Twenty-two million dollars?”
“Yes.”
“And people think my father stole it?”
“They thought he knew where it went.”
“Did he?”
Michael paused.
“I think so.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“What happened to the ledger?”
“He divided it.”
“What?”
“He believed one copy was too dangerous.”
“Where?”
“Three parts.”
My pulse quickened.
“Who has them?”
“One came to me.”
“Where is it?”
“Destroyed.”
“Convenient.”
“It saved lives.”
“Second?”
“He gave it to a federal attorney who died three years later.”
“And the third?”
Michael looked directly at me.
“He said he hid it somewhere nobody would search because the person holding it wouldn't know what it was.”
My skin turned cold.
“Me.”
Michael did not answer.
He didn't need to.
I thought about my father’s belongings.
The apartment Regina sold.
My childhood boxes.
Furniture.
Books.
My mother’s photographs.
After Dad died, Regina had controlled almost everything.
“Regina has been searching for it.”
Michael nodded.
“For seven years?”
“Maybe longer.”
“Why sell me to Tony?”
“Maybe debt.”
“Maybe?”
“Or maybe Tony finally realized you were more useful close than missing.”
I stood.
“I need to go.”
“No.”
My eyes flashed.
“You said I could decide.”
“You can decide whether you remain here.”
“Then I’m leaving.”
“But you are not walking onto a Brooklyn street alone tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because Tony’s men were waiting outside that restaurant.”
“For fifty thousand dollars.”
Michael shook his head.
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Tony Russo doesn't send four men to collect fifty thousand dollars from a waitress.”
Silence.
“He sends one.”
That frightened me more than anything else.
Michael continued.
“Four men means they expected resistance.”
“From Regina?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
He looked at me.
“Me.”
I frowned.
“How would they know you’d be there?”
“They shouldn’t have.”
The room went quiet.
Luca straightened.
Michael’s jaw tightened.
Someone had known Zach was inside the restaurant.
Someone had known Michael would come looking.
This had not been only about me.
“Was Zach taken there deliberately?” I whispered.
Michael did not answer immediately.
Then:
“I need to find out.”
My fear changed shape.
Six-year-old boy.
Doctor appointment.
Runaway.
Storage room.
Coincidence suddenly looked dangerous.
A knock came at the door.
Teresa entered.
Her face was tense.
“Michael.”
“What?”
“Zach says someone told him there was a superhero toy hidden at the restaurant.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
“What?”
Teresa looked toward me.
“He didn’t run away because of the doctor.”
Michael stood.
“Who told him?”
“He says a lady outside his school.”
A woman.
My stepmother?
No.
Zach would have recognized Regina from the restaurant.
“What did she look like?”
Teresa swallowed.
“He says she had red hair.”
I froze.
Regina had dyed her hair red three weeks earlier.
Michael saw my face.
“You know who.”
“My stepmother.”
His eyes went cold.
And suddenly I understood.
Regina had not merely found me in that restaurant.
She had arranged for Michael Moretti’s son to be there too.
The six-year-old proposal had been ridiculous.
May you like
The meeting between Michael and me had not been accidental at all.
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