Chapter 7 - The Night the Deal Went Wrong
Dominic did not accuse Marco.
That surprised Alex.
He closed the notebook.
Put it inside his coat.
Then drove her home himself.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Read.”
“That’s remarkably civilized.”
“My mother wrote the book.”
“I meant about Marco.”
“I know.”
Dominic’s hands remained steady on the wheel.
“Marco has protected me for eleven years.”
“So did Victor.”
“Yes.”
“Do you trust him?”
Dominic stared through the windshield.
“I don’t know.”
It was the first time Alex heard him admit that about someone close to him.
The notebook was not a ledger.
It was Elena Russo’s private record of relationships surrounding Dominic’s father.
Victor appeared often.
So did Grayson.
Marco’s name appeared only once.
Marco’s father, Antonio DeLuca, had apparently worked for the Russos before Marco.
The entry concerned a meeting seventeen years earlier.
ELENA’S NOTE:
Antonio came tonight. He says Victor is hiding something from Michael. Salvatore knows. Antonio is frightened for his son. If anything happens, Marco must never pay for his father’s loyalty.
That changed everything.
Marco’s name was not an accusation.
It was protection.
His father had known Victor was involved in something decades ago.
Dominic called Marco.
The meeting took place inside Russo’s private club.
Alex was not supposed to attend.
She attended anyway.
Marco read the notebook entry.
For the first time since Alex had known him, his face cracked.
“My father died three weeks after this.”
Dominic watched him.
“You told me it was a car accident.”
“That’s what Victor told me.”
“Did you believe him?”
“I was nineteen.”
Marco closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Dominic leaned back.
“Why didn’t my mother tell me?”
“She probably thought she was protecting you.”
“That worked well.”
Marco looked toward Alex.
“What does this mean?”
Alex placed copies of the transfers on the table.
“Victor may have been operating against Dominic’s father long before Dominic inherited anything.”
“Grayson?”
“Possibly partner. Possibly enemy. Maybe both at different times.”
Dominic tapped the notebook.
“Victor told me never to trust Grayson.”
Marco’s expression darkened.
“Maybe he needed you focused on Grayson.”
Exactly what Alex had suspected.
They began reconstructing twenty years of history.
What emerged was less like a criminal conspiracy than a family illness passed from one generation to the next.
Dominic’s father, Michael Russo, had built businesses through alliances.
Victor controlled finances.
Salvatore Grayson controlled freight routes.
Antonio DeLuca discovered money disappearing.
Then Antonio died.
Years later Michael Russo died.
Victor became Dominic’s guardian and adviser.
Grayson became Dominic’s enemy.
Every conflict benefited Victor.
Every territorial dispute justified emergency funds.
Every emergency fund created another path for money to vanish.
Victor had not merely stolen.
He had engineered fear.
Fear made Dominic predictable.
Predictable men could be controlled.
“So why disappear now?” Marco asked.
Alex looked at Dominic.
“Because we found Briar.”
Dominic stood.
“He knew the system was collapsing.”
The phone rang.
One of Dominic’s lieutenants.
A meeting request.
Grayson.
Tonight.
Marco immediately said no.
Dominic said yes.
“Absolutely not,” Alex said.
Dominic looked at her.
“Your vote has been recorded.”
“Dominic.”
“If Grayson knows where Victor is, I need him talking.”
“You think he’ll sit down and answer questions?”
“No.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“Find out what he wants.”
The meeting happened at a warehouse near the river.
Neutral territory.
Dominic took six men.
Marco went.
Alex did not.
That was the plan.
At 11:08 p.m. she received a message from Dominic.
STAY HOME.
At 11:36:
LOCK THE DOOR.
At 11:42:
ALEX.
Nothing else.
She called.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
At midnight Marco called.
“Alex.”
His voice was wrong.
“What happened?”
“We need an address.”
Her stomach dropped.
“For what?”
“Dominic won’t go to the hospital.”
“What happened?”
“A deal went bad.”
“Marco.”
“He was hit.”
The room tilted.
“How bad?”
“Shoulder. Graze along the ribs. He’s conscious.”
“Bring him to a doctor.”
“He refuses.”
“Why?”
Silence.
“Marco?”
“Because he told me to bring him to you.”
Twenty-three minutes later Alex heard heavy steps climbing the stairs.
Then a knock.
She opened the door.
Dominic stood there.
White shirt stained.
Hair soaked with rain.
One arm around Marco’s shoulder.
Still conscious.
Still dangerous-looking.
Still somehow trying to pretend he was fine.
Alex stared.
Dominic managed a faint smile.
“Your elevator’s broken.”
“There is no elevator.”
“That explains it.”
Then his knees almost gave.
Alex caught him.
“Inside.”
For the next hour she cleaned the wound while a private physician talked her through the process over an encrypted video call.
Dominic refused stronger medication.
He accepted whiskey.
Too much whiskey.
Marco stationed two men downstairs.
Before leaving the apartment, he pulled Alex aside.
“He asked for you.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Marco looked toward Dominic.
“You don’t understand.”
Alex followed his gaze.
Marco lowered his voice.
“When the shooting started, Dominic had a clear exit.”
Her stomach tightened.
“He went back.”
“For what?”
“One of the men dropped Dominic’s phone.”
Alex frowned.
Marco continued.
“He went back for it.”
“That’s insane.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Marco looked at her.
“Because your number was in it.”
She stared at him.
“He thought he was dying,” Marco said. “And the only thing he kept saying was your name.”
Then Marco left.
Alex returned to the living room.
Dominic sat against her sofa.
Rain struck the windows.
The radiator knocked.
Gauze darkened in her hand.
She looked at him.
Six months of coffee.
Threats.
Numbers.
Missing men.
Black SUVs.
Long silences.
And a feeling neither had been willing to name.
“Why did you come here?”
May you like
Dominic raised his tired eyes.
And the answer changed both of their lives.
