Chapter 3 - WHAT ANTHONY HID
The burner signal lasted nine seconds.
Enough to locate a district.
Not a building.
South Side industrial zone.
Vincent mobilized men.
Clara insisted on going.
“No.”
“You promised not to decide for me.”
“I promised not to kill Ryan.”
“Different promise.”
“I don't care.”
Clara stood directly in his path.
“If Elena is there, I go.”
“You are injured.”
“I can still walk.”
“You are emotionally compromised.”
“So are you.”
Matteo suddenly became fascinated by his phone.
Vincent stared.
Clara stared back.
Finally:
“You stay in the car.”
“No.”
“Clara.”
“Compromise.”
Vincent looked almost offended.
People did not negotiate with Vincent Romano.
Apparently Clara did.
“Fine.”
The warehouse was empty.
Blood on the floor.
Not much.
A broken phone.
Zip ties.
Signs of struggle.
But no Elena.
No Ryan.
On the wall someone had written:
FIND ANTHONY’S CONFESSION.
Vincent stared.
“What confession?”
Clara looked at him.
“You tell me.”
“I don't know.”
They returned to the mansion.
Vincent ordered a complete search of Anthony's former rooms.
Most had remained unused.
Anthony’s bedroom.
Study.
Private sitting room.
No keyhole matching the brass key.
Clara had already searched all of them.
“Where haven't you looked?” Vincent asked.
She hesitated.
“Your mother's chapel.”
Vincent froze.
The Romano family maintained a private chapel at the rear of the property.
His mother, Isabella, had used it every morning until her death four years earlier.
After that, Vincent rarely entered.
“Anthony hated the chapel.”
“Maybe that's why.”
They searched after midnight.
Behind the altar, Clara found a small brass lock inside a wooden kneeling bench.
The key fit.
Vincent stopped breathing.
Inside lay a metal box.
One photograph.
One ledger.
A cassette.
And a letter.
VINCENT.
His hands shook slightly.
Clara noticed.
She had never imagined Vincent Romano's hands could shake.
He opened the letter.
Vincent,
If you're reading this, then I failed to explain while alive.
Do not blame Elena.
Do not blame yourself.
Father started something before he died, and I continued it because I believed I could control it.
I was wrong.
Vincent read faster.
Their father, Salvatore Romano, had secretly built a network using Romano freight routes to transport stolen pharmaceuticals, counterfeit medical devices and illegal financial shipments for a consortium of businessmen.
Not drugs in the traditional street sense.
More profitable.
Less visible.
Hospitals.
Insurance fraud.
International procurement.
Anthony inherited the system.
He wanted out.
But the people behind it threatened the family.
Then Anthony discovered the insider helping them.
Vincent read the name.
Stopped.
Clara moved closer.
“What?”
He handed her the page.
She read:
RYAN CALDER.
Her stomach turned.
Ryan had worked with Anthony.
Ryan supplied schedules.
Vehicle movements.
Passwords.
Then another name appeared.
MATTEO RUSSO.
Clara froze.
Vincent looked toward the chapel entrance.
Matteo stood there.
Nobody moved.
Clara's blood went cold.
Matteo saw the letter.
“What does it say?”
Vincent’s voice became quiet.
“Your name.”
Matteo closed his eyes.
“Vincent—”
“Gun.”
Matteo removed it slowly.
Placed it on the floor.
“Listen.”
“Six years.”
“I can explain.”
“You have ten seconds.”
Matteo looked at Clara.
Then Vincent.
“I was working with Anthony.”
Vincent laughed without humor.
“According to this, you gave the consortium information.”
“Yes.”
Clara stepped backward.
Matteo continued.
“Because Anthony ordered me to.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“He wanted them to believe I was corrupt.”
“Why?”
“To feed them false schedules.”
Vincent read the letter again.
The next page had been stuck beneath the first.
Anthony explained.
Matteo had been his double agent.
Ryan was the true leak.
Clara exhaled.
Vincent looked furious for a different reason.
“You knew Anthony was investigating Ryan.”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing after he died.”
“Anthony made me swear.”
“He was dead.”
“I didn't know who else was compromised.”
“Did you suspect me?”
Matteo said nothing.
Vincent stared.
“You suspected me.”
“For a while.”
Something painful crossed Vincent's face.
Anthony's letter continued.
The consortium planned to kill Vincent because he had refused to expand Romano freight into several international routes.
Anthony learned about the attempt.
The night he died, he went to meet Elena, who had uncovered financial records.
Ryan followed.
Anthony was killed.
Elena escaped.
Matteo arrived too late.
“Why did everyone think Elena died?” Clara asked.
Matteo looked ashamed.
“I helped fake it.”
Clara stared.
“You?”
“To keep her alive.”
“You let me bury an urn.”
“She insisted.”
“You knew for six years my sister was alive?”
“Yes.”
Clara slapped him.
Hard.
Matteo didn't move.
Vincent didn't stop her.
“You let me grieve her.”
“I know.”
“You watched me marry Ryan.”
Matteo’s face changed.
“I didn't know until after.”
“You could have told me.”
“If Ryan believed Elena had contacted you, he'd know she was alive.”
Clara began crying.
“Everyone protected me by lying to me.”
Matteo looked down.
“Yes.”
Vincent stared at Anthony's letter.
He understood the pattern.
His father hid the network.
Anthony hid the investigation.
Matteo hid Elena.
Victoria—no, wrong story. Need no Victoria. Here family. Vincent himself probably hid crimes from everyone.
Every lie had been justified as protection.
And every lie created another victim.
Vincent turned to Clara.
“No more.”
She wiped her face.
“What?”
“No more protecting people with secrets.”
Matteo looked at him.
“That could destroy us.”
Vincent folded Anthony's letter.
“Maybe we deserve to be destroyed.”
Clara stared.
The most feared man in Chicago had just said the one thing nobody around him ever expected.
Then they heard a soft click.
The chapel door locked from outside.
Vincent moved instantly.
Smoke began entering beneath the door.
Matteo grabbed his gun from the floor.
“Fire.”
Clara looked toward the windows.
Iron decorative bars.
No exit.
Vincent slammed his shoulder against the door.
Nothing.
Smoke thickened.
Someone had trapped all three of them inside.
Someone who knew they had found Anthony's box.
Then a phone rang inside the metal container.
An old flip phone.
Impossible.
Vincent opened it.
One message appeared:
ANTHONY SHOULD HAVE BURNED WITH HIS SECRETS.
Another line followed.
THIS TIME, VINCENT WILL.
May you like
The chapel erupted in flame.
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