Chapter 9
The chapel crypt wasn't a crypt.
Not really.
It was an old stone chamber beneath the east chapel where the Caradonna family once stored valuables during wars between crews.
My mother had shown Celeste.
Celeste showed Vincent.
Vincent showed Grant.
By midnight, my father's men found exactly what had been prepared there.
A child's mattress.
Blankets.
Food.
Three dresses in Josephine's size.
A small lamp.
And restraints.
I vomited when they told me.
Massimo didn't.
He sat beside me in the chapel.
Josephine remained upstairs with two women I trusted.
Audrey wasn't part of this story.
There was no Audrey.
No outsider.
No convenient rescuer.
Only us.
Family.
That was somehow worse.
“They prepared a room for her.”
My voice didn't sound like mine.
Massimo looked at the stone floor.
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“No idea.”
I laughed once.
Broken.
“Grant didn't know?”
“No.”
“Robert?”
“No.”
“Vincent?”
“Some.”
“Celeste?”
“All of it.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
The center.
Everyone else thought they were buying territory.
Influence.
Power.
Celeste wanted something else.
My father.
Not dead.
Controlled.
A grandfather receiving pieces of his granddaughter back through instructions.
Do this.
Move these men.
Give up this route.
Punish that capo.
Start this war.
Stop that one.
All while believing someone else held Josephine.
Massimo stood.
“Bring them.”
They came one by one.
Grant.
Robert.
Vincent.
Celeste last.
My father placed the little red Christmas dress found in the chamber on the chapel table.
Grant stared.
Robert looked sick.
Vincent closed his eyes.
Celeste did nothing.
Massimo looked at Grant.
“You knew about this?”
“No.”
I believed him.
That didn't absolve him.
He still planned to take Josephine.
He simply didn't know what happened after.
Robert?
“No.”
Vincent?
“Only that she would be kept below.”
Celeste looked bored.
My father faced her.
“How long?”
“As long as necessary.”
My stomach turned.
Massimo's voice never rose.
“What if she cried?”
“She is a child.”
“What if she became sick?”
“We would handle it.”
“We?”
Silence.
My father stepped closer.
“Who is we?”
Celeste smiled faintly.
“You still think I did this alone?”
Everything stopped.
Massimo looked at Vincent.
He shook his head.
Robert too.
Grant stared.
Celeste continued.
“Elena knew this family needed rules.”
My mother's name again.
I looked at her.
“Don't.”
Celeste ignored me.
“She knew Massimo would become sentimental.”
My father went still.
“She planned for it.”
I stared at my aunt.
“What are you saying?”
Celeste reached slowly into her dress pocket.
Every guard moved.
She lifted one hand.
Only a folded photograph.
She placed it on the table.
My mother.
Twenty years younger.
Standing beside Celeste.
Behind them, the chapel.
On the back were four words in Elena's handwriting.
IF MASSIMO GOES SOFT—
Nothing after.
The photograph had been torn.
My father picked it up.
Stared.
Celeste smiled.
“She knew.”
For one terrible second, I saw doubt enter Massimo's face.
Then I looked at the torn edge.
Something was wrong.
“Where is the rest?”
Celeste's smile disappeared.
I took the photograph from my father.
“The sentence isn't complete.”
No one spoke.
I looked at her.
“You've been quoting half of something.”
Her eyes hardened.
Massimo understood.
“Where is the other half?”
Celeste said nothing.
Then Robert laughed.
Everyone turned.
He looked at Celeste.
“You stupid woman.”
She stared at him.
Robert reached inside his old signet ring.
The top twisted loose.
Inside was a tiny rolled strip of paper.
“I found this in Elena's storage room before you did.”
Celeste went white.
He handed it to Massimo.
My father unfolded it.
The second half of the sentence read:
—REMIND HIM THAT LOVE IS THE ONLY REASON POWER DESERVES TO SURVIVE.
Nobody moved.
My mother's real message.
Not a command to harden him.
A warning not to.
May you like
Massimo looked at Celeste.
For the first time all night, she looked afraid.
