Chapter 5
Dante had inherited three things from his father.
An empire.
A reputation.
And a vault.
The vault sat beneath an abandoned printing company on the South Side, behind a steel door thick enough to survive an explosion.
Giovanni Marino had trusted computers even less than he trusted people.
Every payment, bribe, execution authorization, territorial agreement, and political favor from his thirty-two years as head of the family existed on paper.
Dante had not entered the archive since his father's death.
Until Emily Davies asked him to find the truth.
At 11:17 that night, he stood before rows of filing cabinets while Tommy opened boxes marked 2009.
“Boss.”
Tommy glanced at him.
“You sure you want Emily involved in this?”
Dante continued searching.
“She is already involved.”
“I mean if your father actually did it.”
Dante stopped.
Tommy lowered his voice.
“She matters to you.”
“Yes.”
It was the first time Dante had admitted it aloud.
Tommy looked mildly shocked.
Dante resumed searching.
“That does not change what she deserves to know.”
They worked for nearly two hours.
At 1:06 a.m., Tommy found the name.
“Boss.”
Dante crossed the room.
A yellow ledger page contained six payments made during the summer of 2009.
One name appeared three times.
MICHAEL DAVIES.
Emily's father.
Beside the final payment was a handwritten note.
REFUSED FINAL DELIVERY.
Then another.
A.G. TO RESOLVE.
Dante felt cold.
“A.G.,” Tommy said.
“Anthony Greco.”
Tommy swore softly.
Anthony Greco had been one of Giovanni Marino's most trusted soldiers.
He had disappeared after Giovanni died.
Everyone assumed he had retired overseas.
Apparently he had not.
Dante turned the page.
The next entry was dated two days after the Davies house fire.
A.G. — CLEANUP: $40,000.
Tommy stared at it.
“That looks bad.”
“It looks exactly like what Emily thinks it looks like.”
Dante photographed the pages.
Then he noticed a second notation.
M.D. retained duplicate.
LOCATION UNKNOWN.
Dante's instincts sharpened.
“Michael kept something.”
“Whatever he refused to deliver?”
“Probably.”
Tommy looked toward the cabinets.
“And Greco never found it.”
“No.”
“Then why come after Emily now?”
Dante closed the ledger.
“Because somebody thinks she can.”
At Lake Forest, Emily was not sleeping.
She sat at Dante's kitchen island surrounded by documents from her childhood.
Insurance reports.
Death certificates.
Fire-department findings.
A faded photograph of her parents.
Michael and Susan Davies had been ordinary people.
At least that was what Emily had always believed.
Her father worked as an accountant for a freight company.
Her mother taught elementary school.
They had lived in a modest house in Evanston.
There should have been no connection to organized crime.
Emily heard the garage door.
Dante entered ten minutes later.
One look at his face told her everything.
“You found something.”
“Yes.”
He placed copies of the ledger pages on the island.
Emily read them.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
Her expression remained perfectly still.
That worried Dante more than tears would have.
“My father was paid by yours.”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“I don't know yet.”
“Forty thousand dollars for cleanup.”
Dante did not answer.
Emily looked at him.
“Your father murdered mine.”
“I don't know that.”
“Don't.”
Her voice sharpened.
“Do not give me technical distinctions because you want to protect me from what this means.”
“I am not protecting you from anything. I am telling you exactly what I know.”
Dante placed both hands on the island.
“Michael Davies received three payments from my father. He refused something called a final delivery. Anthony Greco was assigned to resolve the situation. Your house burned. Two days later, Greco received forty thousand dollars for cleanup.”
Emily's face drained of color.
Dante continued because he had promised truth.
“Your father also retained a duplicate of something Greco never recovered.”
Emily sat down.
“What?”
“I don't know.”
She stared at the photograph of her father.
All those years.
All those ordinary memories.
Saturday pancakes.
Bad jokes.
Her father balancing the family checkbook at the kitchen table.
Teaching her to drive.
Telling her never to sign anything she had not read completely.
Accountant.
Numbers.
Records.
Duplicates.
Emily's head snapped up.
“What company did my father work for?”
Dante frowned.
“Lakeview Freight.”
“What did your family use in 2009?”
“For legitimate transport?”
“Yes.”
Dante understood.
“Several companies.”
“Was Lakeview one?”
“I'll check.”
He called Tommy.
The answer arrived ninety seconds later.
Lakeview Freight had transported Marino-controlled cargo between Chicago and Detroit from 2006 until 2009.
Emily stood.
“My father found something.”
“Probably.”
“He was an accountant.”
“Yes.”
“He found something in the books.”
Dante watched her mind work.
“He made a duplicate.”
“And refused to surrender it.”
“Your father sent Greco.”
“Yes.”
Emily pressed both palms against her eyes.
Dante wanted to touch her.
He didn't.
Finally, she lowered her hands.
“My parents kept a safe-deposit box.”
Dante became still.
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“You never accessed it?”
“I didn't know where it was. After they died, the attorney said there were no active boxes under their names.”
Dante's eyes narrowed.
“Under their names.”
Emily looked at him.
“My mother used her maiden name professionally.”
“What was it?”
“Bennett.”
Dante reached for his phone.
By morning, they had located it.
First Chicago Mutual.
A bank branch in Evanston.
Safe-deposit box 317 had been opened in 2008 under Susan Bennett.
Annual rental fees had been prepaid for twenty years.
At 9:30 a.m., Emily entered the bank with Dante and an attorney carrying enough documentation to frighten the branch manager into immediate cooperation.
Box 317 was long and narrow.
Emily inserted the key the bank provided.
The manager used the second key.
The lock turned.
Inside was a sealed envelope.
Nothing else.
Emily carried it into a private viewing room.
Dante remained by the door.
“You don't have to stay.”
“Yes, I do.”
She opened the envelope.
Inside was a flash drive.
A photograph.
And a handwritten letter.
Emily recognized her father's handwriting immediately.
Her hands began shaking.
Em,
If you're reading this, then something happened to your mother and me.
Emily stopped.
Dante moved closer.
She continued.
I made a mistake. I thought numbers were only numbers. I thought if I kept my head down and did the work, the people behind those numbers would never become real.
I was wrong.
Lakeview has been moving shipments for Giovanni Marino. Not normal freight. Weapons, cash, and something worse. I discovered payments tied to public contracts, police officers, judges, and three city officials.
Giovanni's people discovered I copied the ledger.
They offered me money.
I took it because I was afraid.
Then they asked for the duplicate.
I refused.
Emily's eyes blurred.
She forced herself onward.
If anything happens, do not give this directly to police.
There are names in the department.
Trust no one simply because they carry a badge.
The duplicate is on the drive.
The password is the sentence I made you repeat whenever you complained about balancing your first checkbook.
Emily knew it.
Numbers don't lie. People do.
Her throat closed.
The final paragraph was shorter.
Take care of Leo.
He sees more than people understand.
Your mother and I love you both.
Dad.
Emily lowered the letter.
For several moments, she made no sound.
Then the first tear fell.
Dante moved toward her.
She didn't step away this time.
He wrapped his arms around her.
Emily pressed her face against his chest.
“My father knew he was going to die.”
Dante held her tighter.
“My father killed him.”
She felt Dante become rigid.
“We don't know that.”
“We know enough.”
“No.”
He gently pulled back.
“We know Giovanni threatened him. We know Greco was involved. But something is wrong.”
“What?”
“The fire.”
Emily frowned.
“My father did not burn evidence before recovering it. Giovanni was brutal, but he was methodical. If Michael had something dangerous enough to threaten judges and police officers, Giovanni would have wanted the duplicate before killing him.”
Emily stared at him.
“You're defending him.”
“No. I'm telling you the operational logic.”
Dante pointed toward the flash drive.
“Greco was paid for cleanup after the fire, but the ledger says the duplicate remained missing. That means either Greco failed catastrophically…”
“Or?”
“Or somebody else killed your parents first.”
Emily's phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Dante and Emily entering the bank thirty minutes earlier.
Then a message.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT THE BOX CLOSED.
Dante took the phone.
Another message arrived.
ASK MARINO WHAT HAPPENED TO HIS WIFE.
Emily looked at him.
Dante's face went completely still.
A third message.
SAME WAR. DIFFERENT FIRE.
Dante stopped breathing.
Emily stared at the words.
“My parents died seventeen years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Clara died nine years ago.”
“Yes.”
“And whoever is sending this claims they're connected.”
Dante's eyes hardened.
The old machine returned.
Not the dead machine Emily had first met.
Something worse.
A living man with something to lose.
He called Tommy.
“Lock down every property. Nobody moves without clearance.”
He looked at Emily.
“Get Leo transferred to the Lake Forest medical wing.”
Emily began to object.
Dante raised one hand.
“Not because I am ordering you.”
His voice softened.
“Because whoever killed your parents may be the same person who killed my wife.”
Emily looked at the flash drive.
Seventeen years of secrets sat inside something smaller than her thumb.
“Then we open it.”
May you like
Dante nodded.
“And this time we finish what our families started.”
