Chapter 5 - THE BROTHER WHO WAS NOT DEAD
Alessandro wanted the hospital locked down.
I wanted to know who took the photograph.
Security found nothing.
No obvious intruder.
No camera.
Then I noticed the angle.
The picture had been taken through the narrow window in the door.
Somebody had stood in the hallway.
Recent.
Close.
I called the number.
Disconnected.
Alessandro looked furious.
“At least throw something away from me this time.”
He stared.
Then, to my surprise, laughed once.
Very quietly.
Victor arrived with a laptop.
He examined the image metadata.
Stripped.
No location.
No device.
Professional enough.
Then Mom woke.
She saw all three of us.
“Why does this room look like a funeral?”
“Encouraging first sentence,” I said.
Alessandro stepped closer.
“Rosie.”
She looked at him.
“We found Daniel’s ledger.”
Her eyes closed.
“Then it's finally time.”
“For what?”
She looked at me.
“To stop making decisions for Luca.”
She asked for her handbag.
Inside was an old address book.
One number circled.
No name.
She handed it to Alessandro.
“He told me never to call unless Daniel died.”
Daniel had died.
“Have you called?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I was afraid.”
Alessandro stared.
“My mother admits fear. Historic.”
Mom glared.
He almost smiled.
Then dialed.
The number rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
A man answered.
“Yes?”
Alessandro could not speak.
I watched his face.
The room seemed to shrink.
Mom whispered:
“Luca?”
Silence.
Then the man said:
“Rosie?”
Alessandro sat down.
His knees actually seemed to give.
Mom began crying.
“Yes.”
Another silence.
Then:
“Is he there?”
She looked at Alessandro.
“Yes.”
Nobody breathed.
Luca said:
“Put him on.”
Alessandro took the phone.
Twenty years of power.
Twenty years of fear.
Gone.
“Luca.”
His voice broke.
The man on the other end whispered:
“Sandro.”
Alessandro covered his eyes.
I looked away.
Some moments should be given privacy even inside a hospital room.
They talked for forty minutes.
At first anger.
Then accusations.
Then silence.
Then the strange, specific memories only brothers share.
A red bicycle.
A dog named Nero.
Luca breaking Alessandro’s nose with a baseball.
“You told Dad I fell.”
“You did fall. After I hit you.”
At one point, Alessandro laughed and cried simultaneously.
Victor left the room.
So did I.
I stood in the hallway.
Victor leaned against the wall.
“I've never seen him cry.”
“I won't tell.”
“He'd kill me.”
“Still dramatic.”
Victor looked toward the door.
“He believed that kid burned alive.”
“I know.”
“Salvatore made him identify the watch they found at the scene.”
My stomach tightened.
“He used Luca's watch?”
“Apparently.”
Victor stared at the floor.
“I was fourteen.”
“You knew them?”
“My father worked for Vittorio.”
“Where is your father?”
“Dead.”
“Salvatore?”
Victor looked at me.
“We always assumed rival family.”
Not anymore.
After the call, Alessandro emerged.
His eyes were red.
He did not care.
“Luca is coming.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
Mom immediately objected.
“No.”
Alessandro looked at her.
“He wants to.”
“Salvatore is watching.”
“He knows.”
“Then he's still reckless.”
“Also hereditary.”
That got a smile from Mom.
Luca chose the meeting place.
Rosie’s.
Of course.
The diner reopened the next evening after police released it.
I wanted customers gone by eight.
At eight twenty-three, a man entered alone.
Black jacket.
Gray beginning at his temples.
Same man from the photograph.
Luca Romano.
Alessandro stood near the jukebox.
Neither moved.
Luca looked older than Alessandro despite being younger.
Maybe hiding ages you differently.
Finally Alessandro said:
“You look terrible.”
Luca laughed.
“You look expensive.”
Then they hugged.
Not cinematic.
Awkward.
Hard.
Twenty years compressed into ten seconds.
Mom cried openly.
Victor turned away.
I suddenly found the coffee machine fascinating.
Luca hugged Mom next.
“You weren't supposed to get sick.”
“You weren't supposed to disappear for twenty years.”
“Fair.”
Then he looked at me.
“Mara.”
“You know me?”
“Rosie talks.”
“Apparently not enough.”
He smiled.
Then became serious.
“We don't have long.”
He pulled out a flash drive.
“Daniel duplicated everything.”
“Current evidence?” I asked.
Luca looked at Alessandro.
“She's the auditor?”
Alessandro nodded.
“I like her.”
“Everyone keeps saying that like I applied.”
Luca handed me the drive.
Bank transfers.
Recent bribes.
Property deals.
Recordings.
Salvatore's network was still operating.
But there was something else.
A list of names inside Alessandro's organization.
People secretly reporting to Salvatore.
Alessandro read.
His expression hardened.
Three captains.
An accountant.
A city official.
Then he stopped.
Victor saw the name at the same time.
“What?”
I looked.
V. RUSSO
Victor went pale.
Alessandro slowly lifted his eyes.
For the first time since I'd met them, Victor did not joke.
“Boss.”
Alessandro's voice turned cold.
“Explain.”
“I can't.”
Luca stepped back.
“That's exactly what Daniel found.”
Victor stared at the name.
“That isn't me.”
“Your initials.”
“My father was Vincenzo Russo.”
Silence.
Alessandro froze.
Victor continued.
“My name is Victor because my mother refused to call me Vincenzo.”
Luca looked at the file.
The payments began in 1998.
Victor would have been ten.
“It’s your father,” I said.
Victor nodded slowly.
His face collapsed.
“My father worked for Salvatore.”
Nobody spoke.
Victor laughed bitterly.
“All these years I thought he died loyal to Vittorio.”
Luca said:
“He may have changed sides later.”
“Or earlier.”
Victor looked at Alessandro.
“I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
“Being relieved it isn't me.”
Alessandro stepped forward.
“It isn't you.”
Victor nodded once.
Then Luca's phone buzzed.
He read the message.
His face changed.
“What?”
He looked at Mom.
“Salvatore knows I'm here.”
Alessandro reached inside his coat.
I knew now that did not always mean a wallet.
“Everyone out.”
Luca shook his head.
“Too late.”
Headlights flooded the diner windows.
Three black vehicles stopped outside.
Mom whispered:
“That stubborn old devil.”
I looked at her.
“You know him better than you'd like.”
“Yes.”
Alessandro stepped toward the entrance.
Luca grabbed his arm.
“No guns.”
Alessandro stared.
“What?”
“No shooting.”
“He came here to kill you.”
“He came here because he thinks we have the only copy.”
Luca looked at me.
“We need him talking.”
My brain clicked.
“Recording?”
Luca smiled.
“Exactly.”
Alessandro looked between us.
Then muttered:
“I hate civilians.”
I pointed at the three-dollar mug replacement on the shelf.
“Behave and you can have coffee.”
The door opened.
Salvatore Romano walked inside.
Seventy-two.
Silver hair.
Perfect suit.
He looked at Luca.
Then Alessandro.
Then Rosie.
Finally me.
He smiled.
“Such a beautiful little reunion.”
I reached beneath the counter.
Not for a weapon.
May you like
For my phone.
And pressed record.
