Chapter 8 - Return to the City of GhostsNew York looked exactly the same.
That offended Lorenzo.
As the black SUV crossed the George Washington Bridge beneath a gray morning sky, Manhattan rose in the distance with complete indifference.
The city had survived him.
Of course it had.
For years Lorenzo had behaved as though the Falcone organization was one of the pillars holding New York upright.
He had controlled docks.
Restaurants.
Construction unions.
Nightclubs.
Judges.
Police officers.
Men had crossed streets to avoid him.
Women had lowered their voices when he entered rooms.
His name had opened doors and closed mouths.
Then Lorenzo Falcone died.
And New York kept breathing.
He found that strangely comforting.
Vivian sat beside him.
Isabella occupied the front seat.
Rocco drove.
Leonardo had remained in Italy with Sofia.
That had been Lorenzo’s demand.
Vivian agreed.
Leaving their daughter behind had nearly broken both of them.
But bringing Sofia into New York was unthinkable.
“Where?” Lorenzo asked.
Rocco checked the mirror.
“Brooklyn.”
“Of course.”
They entered Williamsburg.
Lorenzo recognized streets.
Buildings had changed.
Coffee shops stood where gambling rooms once operated.
Luxury apartments occupied former warehouses.
Time had committed the ultimate insult.
It had moved forward.
Rocco stopped outside an old church.
Lorenzo frowned.
“This was Father Michael’s parish.”
“It still is.”
“Antonio chose this?”
“Yes.”
Vivian touched Lorenzo’s hand.
“Breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“You’re remembering.”
He was.
His mother’s funeral.
His first communion.
The afternoon Salvatore struck Leonardo across the mouth on the church steps because he had embarrassed the family.
Too many ghosts.
They entered.
The sanctuary was empty.
Candles burned near the altar.
Antonio sat in the third pew.
Alone.
Lorenzo scanned automatically.
Balcony.
Side door.
Confessional.
Emergency exit.
Antonio noticed.
“Still counting doors.”
Lorenzo approached.
“Habit.”
“Paranoia.”
“Experience.”
Antonio smiled.
Then he saw Isabella.
The smile disappeared.
“I said Lorenzo alone.”
“I don’t take orders from children,” Isabella replied.
Antonio stood.
“I’m not a child.”
“To me you are.”
“That’s convenient.”
Pain flashed across her face.
Vivian stepped between the emotional lines before they became weapons.
“We came for the archive.”
Antonio looked at her.
“You’re Vivian.”
“Yes.”
“The woman who made Lorenzo Falcone disappear.”
“No.”
Vivian glanced at Lorenzo.
“He did that himself.”
Antonio considered the answer.
Then gestured toward the pew.
“Sit.”
They did.
Rocco remained near the entrance.
Antonio placed a folder between them.
Inside were photographs.
Banking documents.
Names.
Dozens.
Lorenzo recognized several.
A retired federal prosecutor.
A state senator.
Two judges.
Three former police commissioners.
Business executives.
Union leaders.
“This is only 5%,” Antonio said.
Vivian stared.
“What did Salvatore do?”
“Everything.”
Antonio leaned back.
“Bribes.”
“Blackmail.”
“Secret accounts.”
“Recorded meetings.”
“He collected weaknesses.”
Lorenzo looked at him.
“And you want to use them.”
“I already have.”
Isabella’s expression hardened.
“For what?”
“To rebuild what belongs to me.”
“Nothing belongs to you.”
Antonio laughed.
“Easy for you to say.”
“No.”
Isabella leaned toward him.
“It is the hardest thing I will ever say.”
Antonio stopped.
“The Falcone empire does not belong to you.”
She continued.
“It never belonged to Lorenzo.”
“It never belonged to Leonardo.”
“It belonged to frightened men who convinced themselves violence was inheritance.”
Antonio’s face became cold.
“You sound rehearsed.”
“I’ve had 22 years.”
Silence.
Lorenzo opened another page.
Then froze.
A photograph showed Matteo.
Recent.
Talking to a federal agent.
Lorenzo looked up.
“What is this?”
Antonio smiled faintly.
“Your loyal lieutenant.”
Matteo had been informing.
For years.
Vivian watched Lorenzo carefully.
The old Lorenzo would have responded instantly.
Betrayal.
Execution.
No questions.
Instead Lorenzo stared at the photograph.
“Since when?”
“Four years before your disappearance.”
Lorenzo’s chest tightened.
Matteo.
His closest lieutenant.
The man who had searched for Vivian.
The man who had protected the truth of Lorenzo’s survival.
The man who had apparently been feeding information to federal authorities.
Antonio watched him.
“Do you want to kill him?”
Lorenzo looked up.
“No.”
Antonio seemed disappointed.
“Liar.”
“No.”
“Your face says otherwise.”
“My face remembers who I was.”
That answer silenced him.
Lorenzo closed the folder.
“Why show me?”
“Because I wanted to prove people don’t change.”
“Matteo changed.”
“He betrayed you.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
Lorenzo leaned back.
“Did his information send innocent people to prison?”
“No.”
“Did it prevent murders?”
Antonio hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps he chose better than I did.”
Antonio stared.
Lorenzo felt Vivian’s hand touch his.
A small gesture.
But he understood.
She was proud of him.
The realization almost hurt.
Antonio stood abruptly.
“You’re performing.”
“For who?”
“Her.”
Antonio pointed toward Vivian.
“You want her to believe you’re different.”
Lorenzo rose.
“I spent most of my life performing for my father.”
His voice remained quiet.
“I’m done.”
Antonio’s expression twisted.
“You got everything.”
“No.”
“You got his name.”
“I wish I hadn’t.”
“You got the estate.”
“Gone.”
“The money.”
“Gone.”
“The power.”
“Gone.”
“You got a father.”
Lorenzo stopped.
There it was.
The real wound.
Not money.
Not empire.
A boy abandoned by a dead grandfather he never met was furious that Lorenzo had possessed something he had not.
Even if that something had been terrible.
Lorenzo looked at Antonio.
“You think having Salvatore was better than having nobody.”
Antonio’s jaw tightened.
“You don’t know what I think.”
“I do.”
“Don’t.”
“I spent half my life believing his cruelty was attention.”
Antonio’s eyes flashed.
“At least he knew your name.”
Lorenzo absorbed the blow.
Then nodded.
“Yes.”
Antonio had not expected agreement.
“You’re right.”
Silence.
“He knew my name.”
Lorenzo continued.
“He taught me to shoot at 9.”
“He made me watch a man get beaten at 12 because he said I needed to understand consequences.”
“He told me my mother’s tenderness was weakness.”
“He taught me that Leonardo was a coward for leaving.”
“He told me Isabella was dead.”
“And when I became useful enough, he called me son.”
Lorenzo stepped closer.
“If you want to envy that, I can’t stop you.”
Antonio’s eyes were wet now.
“But don’t confuse being claimed with being loved.”
The church became completely silent.
Isabella turned her face away.
Antonio looked toward the altar.
For one moment, he was no prince.
No heir.
No criminal mastermind.
Only a 22-year-old man carrying a lifetime of questions.
Then the side door opened.
Matteo entered.
Lorenzo turned sharply.
Antonio smiled.
“Perfect.”
Matteo stopped when he saw Lorenzo.
“Boss.”
Lorenzo looked at the photographs.
Then at him.
Matteo understood.
“I can explain.”
“I’m sure.”
His voice remained calm.
Matteo looked confused.
Perhaps even frightened.
Lorenzo approached.
“You worked with the Feds.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Four years.”
“Why?”
Matteo swallowed.
“Because your father ordered my brother killed.”
Lorenzo stopped.
“I didn’t know.”
“I know.”
“And you stayed.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“At first?”
Matteo laughed bitterly.
“To destroy you.”
Vivian inhaled.
“And later?” Lorenzo asked.
Matteo looked at him.
“Later I realized you weren’t Salvatore.”
Lorenzo almost smiled.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“You were becoming him.”
Matteo’s voice softened.
“But not completely.”
“So you gave them information.”
“Yes.”
“About me?”
“Yes.”
Lorenzo looked toward Antonio.
The young man watched eagerly.
Waiting.
Testing.
Lorenzo finally understood.
Antonio wanted proof.
Not that Lorenzo had changed.
That he had not.
Antonio needed Lorenzo to be the monster described in every story because if Lorenzo could change, then Antonio would lose his excuse for becoming one.
Lorenzo looked back at Matteo.
“You should have told me.”
“You would have killed me.”
“Yes.”
The honesty surprised everyone.
Lorenzo continued.
“I probably would have.”
Matteo nodded.
“That’s why I didn’t.”
Lorenzo extended his hand.
Matteo stared at it.
“So what happens now?”
“Now?”
Lorenzo looked toward Antonio.
“Now I disappoint my nephew.”
Matteo slowly shook his hand.
Antonio’s face hardened.
“You think this proves something?”
“No.”
Lorenzo released Matteo.
“It proves nothing.”
“Then why?”
“Because I’m tired of funerals.”
Antonio’s phone vibrated.
He looked at it.
His expression changed.
Rocco noticed.
“What happened?”
Antonio said nothing.
Then the church windows exploded inward.
People outside screamed.
Rocco drew his weapon.
Lorenzo pulled Vivian down.
A vehicle accelerated away from the curb.
No gunfire followed.
Only shattered glass.
Then Lorenzo smelled smoke.
Matteo ran toward the rear.
“Fire!”
Flames erupted near the entrance.
Antonio stared.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Lorenzo grabbed him.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Who knows we’re here?”
Antonio’s face had gone pale.
“My people.”
“How many?”
“Six.”
Rocco swore.
“Names.”
Antonio hesitated.
Lorenzo shook him.
“Names!”
Antonio finally answered.
One name made Rocco go still.
“Dominic Vescari.”
Lorenzo released Antonio.
He knew the name.
Everyone from the old world did.
Dominic Vescari had been Salvatore Falcone’s accountant.
The man who understood every hidden dollar.
The man Lorenzo believed had died of cancer 7 years earlier.
May you like
Rocco looked toward the flames.
“Apparently your family has a serious problem with dead men.”
