Chapter 3 - THE VOICE SHE HAD REFUSED TO HEAR
They listened to the recordings the next morning.
Amelia almost walked out before the first one finished.
Raymond’s voice filled the hospital room.
“You make me do this.”
A younger Amelia answered.
“I didn't do anything.”
“You embarrassed me.”
“Raymond, please.”
Then a slap.
Amelia ripped off the headphones.
“No.”
Detective Russo paused the recording.
“You don't have to listen.”
“Yes, I do.”
Vincent stood near the window.
Amelia looked at him.
“Leave.”
He did.
No protest.
That mattered.
Russo and Amelia continued.
Some files were exactly what Amelia expected.
Threats.
Arguments.
Raymond controlling money.
Raymond criticizing her clothing.
Raymond apologizing after hurting her.
Raymond promising it would never happen again.
Then doing it again.
But other recordings contained background conversations.
Raymond assumed Amelia was asleep.
Or in another room.
Names appeared.
Moretti.
Bruno.
Derek.
Payments.
Restaurants.
Construction companies.
Cash.
One recording made Detective Russo stop.
Raymond was speaking on the telephone.
“Tell Marco the Queens numbers are wrong.”
A pause.
“No. If federal auditors look at that account, they’ll connect all four properties.”
Russo replayed it.
Amelia stared.
“I didn't understand any of this.”
“You weren't supposed to.”
Another file.
Raymond:
“I moved the money through Fletcher Consulting. Nobody is going to trace it back to Moretti unless someone gets the original books.”
Another voice responded faintly through speakerphone.
“And the girl?”
Raymond laughed.
“She doesn't know anything.”
Amelia felt sick.
The girl.
Her.
For six years Raymond had treated her as if she were incapable of surviving without him.
Apparently that belief had once protected her.
Vincent returned after Russo called him.
She played the financial recording.
His jaw tightened.
“You recognize the voice?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Marco Moretti.”
Amelia looked at him.
“Your enemy?”
“Competitor.”
Russo gave him a look.
“Cute word.”
Vincent shrugged.
“What happens now?” Amelia asked.
Russo answered.
“I send this to federal investigators.”
Vincent frowned.
“You'll put a target on her.”
“She already has one.”
“I can protect her.”
Amelia stood.
“No.”
They both looked at her.
“You don't get to discuss me like furniture.”
Russo nodded first.
“You're right.”
Vincent took slightly longer.
Then:
“You're right.”
Amelia pointed at the phone.
“If I give this to the government, what happens?”
“Potentially? We build a financial case.”
“Against Raymond?”
“And others.”
“Will he know I gave it to you?”
“Eventually.”
“He already thinks I have it.”
“Probably.”
Amelia looked toward the window.
She wanted to throw the phone into the East River.
She wanted to go back three days.
Pour coffee.
Take orders.
Be invisible.
But invisibility had not saved her.
She touched her scar.
Then stopped.
“I'll cooperate.”
Vincent's face changed.
“Amelia.”
“You don't get a vote.”
“I know.”
“Then don't use that voice.”
“What voice?”
“The one where you think because you're dangerous, I should listen.”
Something close to amusement flashed in his eyes.
“I don't think I'm dangerous.”
Russo snorted.
Amelia actually laughed.
A small sound.
But real.
Vincent looked offended.
“You two finished?”
“No,” Russo said.
“We're enjoying this.”
The humor disappeared that afternoon.
Derek Lawson made bail.
His attorney argued he had no significant criminal record and had acted during a drunken confrontation.
Amelia learned through the news.
The old cold feeling returned instantly.
Vincent found her standing outside the hospital pharmacy.
“He won't come near you.”
“You don't know that.”
“I do.”
“How?”
Vincent hesitated.
That hesitation made her angry.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Vincent.”
“I spoke to Marco.”
“Moretti?”
“Yes.”
“You told him to control Derek.”
“I told him Derek approaching you would be interpreted as a deliberate act against me.”
Amelia stared.
“That's supposed to comfort me?”
“It should.”
“It doesn't.”
“Why?”
“Because you're turning me into territory.”
Vincent became silent.
“My restaurant. My employee. My protection. My enemy.”
She stepped closer.
“I spent six years belonging to Raymond. I don't belong to you because you walked through a door at the right time.”
For perhaps the first time in years, somebody had spoken to Vincent Castellano that way and walked away before he answered.
Later that night, he went to Castellano’s.
Tony was cleaning the grill.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“The girl?”
“Amelia.”
“Yes.”
“She yelled at me.”
Tony grinned.
“Good.”
Vincent looked at him.
Tony raised both hands.
“I've known you since you were twelve. Somebody should.”
Vincent sat at the counter.
“She says I treat her like territory.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
Tony stared.
Vincent exhaled.
“Maybe.”
“Your father did that.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“Don't.”
“I'm not insulting him.”
Tony poured coffee.
“He loved people by trying to control everything around them. Thought control and protection were the same thing.”
Vincent stared into the cup.
“Sometimes they are.”
“No.”
Tony shook his head.
“They only look the same from the person doing the controlling.”
Across Brooklyn, Amelia returned to her apartment under police escort.
New locks had been installed.
Cameras.
Not by Vincent.
She had paid a locksmith herself using money borrowed from Angela.
That distinction mattered.
She entered.
Nothing looked disturbed.
Then she noticed her bedroom closet.
Open.
She reached for her phone.
A voice behind her said:
“Mia.”
Every muscle in Amelia's body stopped.
Raymond stepped from the kitchen.
Older.
Thinner.
Still handsome.
Still terrifying.
He smiled exactly the way she remembered.
“Three years.”
Amelia couldn't breathe.
Raymond looked at the scar above her eye.
His smile softened.
May you like
“Look what you've made me go through just to find you.”
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