Chapter 7 - Dinner with the Devil
Dominic Costa lived in a townhouse that looked as though violence had never crossed its threshold.
That was the first thing Mave noticed.
The second was that the house contained no family photographs of Vincent.
There were photographs of Anthony Costa.
Dozens.
Anthony shaking hands with governors.
Anthony at racetracks.
Anthony beside Dominic at a fishing dock.
Anthony holding a champagne glass at Vincent’s parents’ wedding.
But Vincent himself appeared nowhere.
Dominic greeted them in a navy cardigan.
No tie.
No visible weapon.
He kissed Mave on both cheeks.
“My dear.”
His voice was warm.
Too warm.
“You’ve caused quite a commotion.”
Mave smiled politely.
“I’ve had a busy week.”
Dominic laughed.
“I like her, Vincent.”
“I know.”
Dinner was served by an elderly housekeeper.
Osso buco.
Risotto.
Red wine.
The normality was suffocating.
Dominic asked about the hospital dinner.
He asked about Gabe’s shoulder.
He asked whether Mave had found a new apartment.
Every question communicated the same thing.
I know everything.
Mave ate slowly.
Vincent barely touched his food.
Finally Dominic placed his fork down.
“So.”
He looked at Mave.
“You found Anthony’s ledger.”
Vincent went still.
Mave did not.
“How do you know?”
Dominic lifted his wine.
“Because if you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be looking at me as though you’re trying to decide which organ I can live without.”
Mave almost smiled.
“Kidney.”
Dominic laughed.
Vincent did not.
“You removed the pages,” Vincent said.
Dominic’s amusement disappeared.
“Yes.”
The admission landed heavily.
“Why?”
“To keep you alive.”
Vincent pushed his chair back slightly.
“I’m getting tired of people using that sentence.”
Dominic looked at him.
“You should be grateful enough people did.”
Mave placed her napkin beside her plate.
“Who is Bishop?”
Dominic looked at her.
For the first time, warmth vanished completely.
“Where did you hear that name?”
“Daniel Voss.”
A pause.
Dominic’s eyes moved to Vincent.
“You found him.”
“Yes.”
“Is he alive?”
“For now.”
Dominic sighed.
“Then Thomas really has become desperate.”
“Answer her,” Vincent said.
Dominic leaned back.
“Bishop wasn’t one man.”
Mave had expected many possibilities.
Not that.
“What?”
“It was a position.”
Dominic looked toward the fireplace.
“Anthony understood early that politicians could be bought, police could be bought, judges could be bought. But purchased people are unreliable. They become frightened. Greedy. Religious. Divorced.”
Mave waited.
“So he created an office. One person managed the network. When that person retired, another took over. Nobody outside Anthony and me knew their identity.”
“Continuity,” Mave said.
Dominic’s eyes returned to her.
“You read carefully.”
“What did the million-dollar payment mean?”
Dominic did not answer.
Vincent’s voice became dangerous.
“What did V.C. mean?”
Dominic studied his nephew.
Then he stood.
“Come with me.”
He led them upstairs.
At the end of the hall was a locked study.
Dominic opened it with a key from his pocket.
Inside were shelves of paper files.
Older than the organization’s digital records.
He removed a narrow metal box.
Inside lay the missing ledger pages.
Vincent stared at him.
“You stole them.”
“I protected them.”
“From me?”
“From everyone.”
Dominic handed the pages to Mave.
She read.
The first entries concerned payments.
The second concerned surveillance.
Then she reached the final sheet.
ANTHONY REQUEST: SUCCESSION CONTINGENCY.
V.C. REFUSES STRUCTURE.
BISHOP AUTHORIZED TO ENSURE TRANSFER.
Mave looked up.
“Ensure transfer?”
Dominic closed his eyes.
“Anthony was dying.”
Vincent froze.
“What?”
“Cancer.”
“No.”
“He hid it.”
“No.”
“Pancreatic. Stage four.”
Vincent stepped backward.
“My father died of a heart attack.”
“Your father died because his heart stopped. The cancer would have killed him within months.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“Because Anthony Costa was a coward about exactly one thing.”
Dominic’s voice softened.
“Being seen as weak by his son.”
Vincent turned away.
Mave wanted to touch him.
She did not.
Not yet.
“What was the succession contingency?” she asked.
Dominic looked at the pages.
“Anthony believed Vincent would refuse leadership.”
Vincent laughed bitterly.
“I did.”
“You wanted out,” Dominic said. “You were twenty-six. You talked about selling the legitimate companies and moving west.”
Mave looked at Vincent.
Another piece of him she had never known.
“He wanted to leave?”
“Yes.”
Dominic nodded.
“Anthony could not allow that. Too many people depended on the Costa structure. If Vincent left, there would be war.”
“So Anthony ordered Bishop to force him to stay.”
Dominic said nothing.
Mave understood.
“The car bomb.”
Vincent turned.
Dominic’s face collapsed inward.
“No.”
“Was it Bishop?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“Me.”
Silence.
Absolute.
Vincent crossed the room so quickly Mave barely saw him move.
He slammed Dominic against the bookshelf.
Files fell.
“You killed Marco?”
Dominic did not resist.
“Yes.”
Marco.
The driver.
The man who had died in Vincent’s place.
Vincent’s fist drew back.
Mave caught his arm.
He nearly threw her off.
“Vincent!”
His face was unrecognizable.
“You killed him!”
“I was trying to scare you!”
“You put a bomb in my car!”
“You were supposed to find it!”
Vincent stopped.
Dominic’s voice broke.
“It was crude. Visible. The wire was intentionally exposed. Your security detail was supposed to sweep the car.”
“They didn’t.”
“I know.”
“Marco died.”
“I know.”
Vincent’s fist trembled.
Dominic looked directly at him.
“I have lived with that every day for twelve years.”
“That doesn’t bring him back.”
“No.”
Mave kept both hands on Vincent’s arm.
Slowly, he lowered it.
Dominic slid away from the bookshelf.
He looked older now.
Not powerful.
Not dangerous.
Simply old.
“Anthony never ordered the bomb,” Dominic said.
“Then why?”
“Because he was dying and you were leaving. I thought if you believed enemies were closing in, you would stay long enough to take control.”
Vincent stared.
“You murdered a man to manipulate me.”
“Yes.”
“And my father?”
“Never knew.”
Mave looked at the missing pages.
“Then why did Anthony pay Bishop a million dollars?”
Dominic’s eyes shifted.
There.
Another secret.
“Dominic.”
He looked at her.
“The payment was not to hurt Vincent.”
“What was it for?”
“To erase the person who ordered the first attempt.”
Vincent frowned.
“First?”
Dominic went pale.
Mave’s pulse accelerated.
“The car bomb wasn’t the first attempt on Vincent.”
Dominic sat heavily in a chair.
“No.”
“What happened?”
“Three weeks earlier, someone paid a shooter to wait outside Vincent’s gym. The shooter was arrested on an unrelated weapons charge before he could act.”
Vincent stared.
“Nobody told me.”
“Anthony buried it.”
“Who hired him?”
“We never proved it.”
“Keegan?”
“No. Thomas was still a lieutenant then.”
“Who?”
Dominic looked toward the dark window.
“Someone inside the family.”
Mave felt the room contract.
“Bishop was paid to find them?”
“And eliminate the evidence trail.”
“Why eliminate it?”
“Because Anthony feared a civil war.”
Vincent laughed without humor.
“So he protected the person who tried to kill me.”
“He protected the organization.”
“Same thing to him.”
Dominic did not disagree.
Mave returned to the ledger pages.
One notation caught her attention.
A set of initials.
R.C.
“Who is R.C.?”
Dominic did not answer.
Vincent looked.
Then his face changed.
“No.”
Mave looked between them.
“Who?”
Vincent’s voice was barely audible.
“My mother.”
Mave stared.
“Rose Costa?”
Dominic stood abruptly.
“That is not proof.”
“The initials appear beside three payments.”
“Rose managed charitable accounts. Those payments could mean anything.”
“What kind of payments?”
Mave read the codes.
Consulting.
Security.
Travel.
One matched the date of the arrested shooter.
Vincent walked toward the door.
“Where is she?”
Dominic blocked him.
“Vincent.”
“Move.”
“Listen to me.”
“Move.”
“Your mother is not your enemy.”
“Then she can tell me herself.”
Rose Costa lived in Westchester on an estate protected by gates, cameras, and men who had known Vincent since childhood.
The drive took forty minutes.
Nobody spoke.
Mave sat beside Vincent in the back seat.
His hands were closed into fists.
She placed her hand over one.
He did not respond at first.
Then his fingers opened.
Their hands locked.
Rose met them in the library.
She was sixty-two and elegant, with silver beginning at her temples and Vincent’s dark eyes.
She looked at Dominic.
Then at the old ledger pages in Mave’s hand.
Her face told the truth before her mouth did.
“You found them.”
Vincent stopped.
“Did you try to kill me?”
Rose closed her eyes.
Mave expected denial.
Tears.
Anger.
Instead Rose said:
“Yes.”
Vincent’s hand slipped from Mave’s.
The room became impossibly still.
Rose looked at her son.
“I paid the shooter.”
“Why?”
Her voice trembled.
“Because I thought it was the only way to save you.”
Vincent laughed once.
A broken sound.
“Everyone keeps trying to save me by killing me.”
Rose stepped forward.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
She looked at Dominic.
He lowered his head.
Then Rose looked at Mave.
“Anthony was going to make Vincent become him.”
Mave said nothing.
“He had plans. Tests. He believed cruelty could be taught like arithmetic.”
Vincent’s face changed.
“What tests?”
Rose’s eyes filled.
“He was going to make you kill Dominic.”
Nobody moved.
“He believed family loyalty was your weakness. He told Bishop to create evidence that Dominic had betrayed him. He wanted you to execute your own uncle.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
Vincent looked sick.
Rose continued.
“I heard the plan. I knew if you did it, something in you would never come back.”
“So you hired someone to murder me?”
“I hired a man to shoot you in the shoulder.”
Vincent stared.
“What?”
“He was told not to kill you. He was told to wound you badly enough that I could send you away to recover. Switzerland. California. Anywhere. I had documents ready.”
Mave understood the terrible logic.
It was monstrous.
It was also maternal in the most distorted possible way.
“The shooter got arrested,” Rose said. “Anthony discovered the payment. He thought someone was trying to take you from him. He paid Bishop to find the source.”
“You.”
“Yes.”
“Did he know?”
“No. Bishop discovered it after Anthony died.”
Vincent looked at Dominic.
“And the car bomb?”
“My stupidity,” Dominic said.
Two people.
Two attempts.
Both claiming love.
Both nearly killing him.
Mave watched Vincent absorb it.
Then Rose said something that changed everything again.
“Bishop did not disappear after Anthony died.”
Mave looked at her.
“What?”
Rose walked to a cabinet.
She removed a photograph.
A man stood beside Anthony Costa at a fundraiser.
Tall.
Thin.
Gray eyes.
Mave knew him.
She had seen him hundreds of times.
At the office.
At meetings.
At Vincent’s birthday dinner.
He was the Costa family attorney.
Samuel Vale.
Rose handed Vincent the photograph.
“He became your lawyer,” she said, “because that was Anthony’s final order.”
Mave felt ice move through her.
Samuel Vale had access to everything.
Contracts.
Trusts.
Property.
Security vendors.
Family records.
And Mave’s employment file.
Vincent stared at the photograph.
“Where is he?”
Rose answered quietly.
“He called me this morning.”
“What did he want?”
“To say goodbye.”
Mave’s phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A message.
One line.
CHECK YOUR BANK ACCOUNTS.
She opened the Costa financial dashboard.
Her blood went cold.
Every major operating account showed the same balance.
$0.00.
Vincent looked over her shoulder.
Mave refreshed.
Again.
Zero.
Samuel Vale had not come back to help Thomas Keegan.
May you like
Thomas Keegan had been helping him.
And while everyone searched for the traitor inside the house, Bishop had just emptied the kingdom.
