Chapter 11 - A Kingdom Built on Fear
Dominic closed Marlow’s for the day.
Bobby objected until Dominic handed him enough cash to cover two weeks of revenue.
Bobby immediately supported the concept of safety.
Alex sat in the kitchen, staring at the photograph Samuel had helped them recover from the old Russo house.
Thomas Mercer.
Her father.
Younger than she remembered.
Green ledger under one arm.
Beside him stood Elena Russo.
Behind them, Michael Russo.
All three smiling.
“They knew each other,” Alex whispered.
Dominic stood behind her.
“Yes.”
“My whole life…”
She touched the photograph.
“My mother never said anything.”
“Maybe she didn’t know.”
“She knew he worked late. She knew he had clients.”
Alex shook her head.
“I became an accountant because of him.”
Dominic sat across from her.
“That’s how you found what he found.”
She looked up.
The thought hurt.
It also gave her strength.
“Victor must know that.”
“Yes.”
“So that’s why he chose me.”
Dominic nodded slowly.
“The photograph. Briar documents. He wanted you investigating.”
“Why?”
“To find the ledger for him.”
Alex leaned back.
“Then the threat wasn’t meant to stop me.”
“No.”
“It was meant to scare me into telling you.”
Dominic’s jaw hardened.
“Which brought you closer to my family history.”
“Exactly.”
Victor had manipulated both of them.
Every clue.
Every fear.
Every accusation.
A maze designed to push Dominic toward his mother’s secrets.
“But why couldn’t Victor find the ledger himself?” Marco asked.
Samuel answered.
“Because Elena didn’t trust him.”
He pointed toward the photograph.
“She trusted Thomas.”
Alex studied her father’s face.
“What did they share?”
Samuel shrugged.
“Numbers.”
“More than that.”
She stood.
“What was my father good at?”
Dominic almost smiled.
“Finding six dollars?”
Alex looked at him.
Then froze.
Six dollars.
She remembered a childhood game.
Her father would hide birthday gifts and leave accounting clues.
“Every number tells a story, Allie.”
He called her Allie.
Alex closed her eyes.
Her father loved patterns.
Dates.
Page numbers.
She looked at Elena’s notebook.
Seven names.
Seven dates.
“What if the dates aren’t only dates?”
Dominic leaned forward.
“What are they?”
“Coordinates within the notebook.”
They tested the idea.
Month became page.
Day became line.
Year became word position.
The first produced nonsense.
The second too.
Then Alex reversed day and month.
Words emerged.
PIANO.
SECOND.
KEY.
NOT CLOCK.
Dominic stood.
“There was another key.”
They returned to the Russo house.
The piano bench had a false bottom beneath the place where the brass key had been taped.
Marco found it.
Inside was a smaller iron key.
Dominic stared.
“Second key.”
They searched again.
This one fit a locked cabinet in Elena’s bedroom.
Inside were letters.
Dozens.
Some from Thomas Mercer.
Alex’s hands shook as she opened the first.
Elena,
Michael believes Victor is loyal because Victor has never wanted the throne. He doesn’t understand that Victor doesn’t want the throne because controlling the man who sits on it is safer.
Alex read the sentence twice.
Dominic read over her shoulder.
Another letter:
If anything happens to me, the green ledger must never go to Michael directly. Michael trusts Victor too much. Give it to the person who sees numbers without fear.
Alex swallowed.
Another.
My daughter is twelve. She thinks accounting is boring. I hope she always thinks that. Boring is safe.
Tears blurred the page.
Dominic turned away, giving her privacy.
Alex laughed through the tears.
“He was wrong.”
Dominic looked back.
“You definitely don’t think it’s boring.”
She wiped her face.
“No.”
The final letter contained a clue.
THE THING WE TRUST MOST IS THE THING NO ONE THINKS TO SEARCH.
Alex looked around Elena’s bedroom.
“What did she trust most?”
Dominic answered instantly.
“Music.”
They returned to the piano.
Marco examined every panel.
Nothing.
Alex lifted the sheet music.
Beethoven.
Chopin.
Old Italian songs.
Then she noticed one book thicker than the others.
Inside, pages had been cut away.
A hidden cavity.
Empty.
Dominic cursed.
“Victor got here.”
“No.”
Alex touched the dust.
The cavity had been empty for years.
Something was written at the bottom.
Green ink.
T.M.
And three numbers.
47-12-6.
Alex stared.
She knew those numbers.
Her childhood home.
47 Morgan Street.
Apartment 12.
Sixth floor storage room.
“My father hid it somewhere from before we moved.”
Dominic looked at her.
“Where?”
Alex’s pulse accelerated.
“The apartment where I grew up.”
The building still stood.
They arrived after midnight.
Apartment 12 had been renovated.
The storage room remained.
Locker six was rusted shut.
Dominic pried it open.
Inside were old boxes.
Children’s books.
Tax files.
A baseball glove.
Then Alex saw green leather.
She pulled it free.
The ledger.
Her father’s handwriting covered the first page.
Transactions.
Names.
Dates.
Amounts.
Evidence spanning twenty years.
Dominic stared at it.
“This could destroy half the people on Elena’s list.”
“Good.”
Alex turned pages.
Then stopped.
One final entry had been written days before Thomas Mercer died.
V.H. MEETING WITH A.R. — AGREEMENT TO REMOVE MICHAEL.
Dominic frowned.
“A.R.?”
Marco went pale.
“What?”
Marco stared at the initials.
“There’s only one A.R. from that time.”
Dominic looked at him.
“Who?”
Marco swallowed.
“Anthony Russo Senior.”
Dominic’s uncle.
Anthony’s father.
A man who was still alive.
May you like
A man who had spent eight years insisting Dominic avenge Michael Russo against Salvatore Grayson.
And a man who would become head of the Russo organization if Dominic died.
