Chapter 4
The old press house smelled like apples even though the last harvest had ended weeks earlier.
Sarah arrived with four bodyguards.
No children.
No relatives.
Robert and Helen remained locked inside the dining hall with the senior capos.
Sarah wanted them waiting.
Waiting made arrogant people careless.
The press house stood at the north edge of the estate.
Old wood.
Stone foundation.
A rusted cider press nobody used.
Daniel had loved the place.
Sarah used to tease him about it.
Too cold.
Too dusty.
Too sentimental.
Now she wished she'd paid more attention.
One of her men found the door.
Not visible at first.
Built into the wall behind stacked wooden crates.
An old iron plate sat at the center.
Circular indentation.
Sarah removed the silver coin.
It fit.
Click.
The wall shifted inward.
A narrow staircase descended beneath the orchard.
Sarah stared into the darkness.
Daniel had taken Lily down there.
Three years old.
Why?
Then she understood.
He hadn't trusted adults.
He had trusted the one person nobody would question seriously.
A child.
Sarah descended.
The room below was larger than she expected.
No treasure.
No money.
No paperwork stacked dramatically on a desk.
Daniel had known better.
Instead there were weapons cases.
Old radios.
Two chairs.
A wall map.
And six black crates.
Sarah stopped.
Every crate carried the crest of the Moretti family.
Rivals.
Not enemies.
Not friends.
Dangerous enough that Bellini weapons found inside their territory could start bloodshed.
One bodyguard crouched.
“Boss.”
Sarah looked at him.
That word still sounded strange coming from older men.
Daniel had been the public face.
Sarah had controlled far more than Robert ever understood.
She had preferred it that way.
Until now.
“What?”
“These markings are fresh.”
She walked closer.
“Meaning?”
“Crates are older. Crests aren't.”
Planted.
Just like Lily's burned meals.
Something ugly disguised as something ordinary.
Sarah moved to the wall map.
Several routes were marked.
North road.
River crossing.
Harvest lane.
Then one section circled in black.
The banquet hall.
Tonight's date was written beneath it.
Sarah stared.
Not Daniel's handwriting.
Robert's.
She knew it from thirty family birthdays.
Her bodyguard spoke quietly.
“Ma'am.”
Sarah pointed.
“He knew this room.”
“Yes.”
“And Marcus Vale was here.”
“Looks that way.”
She examined the radios.
One still had power.
Old frequency.
Bellini internal line.
She pressed the button.
Static.
Then a voice.
Male.
Recorded.
Not live.
“…Robert said Sarah still thinks Daniel died because the Morettis wanted him gone.”
Sarah froze.
Her men looked at her.
She pressed closer.
Another voice answered.
Marcus Vale.
She remembered it now.
Raspy.
Slow.
“He believed that?”
The first voice laughed.
“He believed what Robert wanted him to believe.”
Sarah stopped breathing.
The recording continued.
“Daniel saw the crates.”
A pause.
“Then Daniel became the problem.”
Sarah's hand tightened around the radio.
One of the guards spoke.
“Who is that first man?”
Sarah knew.
She had heard the voice at family dinners.
At Daniel's funeral.
At Lily's baptism.
Robert.
Older recording.
But unmistakable.
Then Marcus Vale spoke again.
“His wife?”
Robert answered.
“Leave Sarah alone.”
For one strange second, relief hit her.
Then Robert continued.
“She doesn't know enough yet.”
Yet.
The word changed everything.
The recording crackled.
Marcus asked:
“And the little girl?”
Sarah's entire body went still.
Robert laughed softly.
“She's three.”
“Daniel talks to her.”
“She won't remember.”
Sarah closed her eyes.
Lily had remembered.
Enough.
More static.
Then Daniel's voice suddenly came through.
Close.
Breathing hard.
“If you're hearing this, they found the room.”
Sarah's eyes opened.
A separate recording.
Daniel.
Her husband.
Alive inside the silence.
“Sarah…”
Her hand shook.
Nobody around her moved.
Daniel continued.
“Do not trust the first story they give you about my death.”
Sarah pressed one hand to the table.
“I found out who was moving the crates.”
Static swallowed several words.
Then:
“…Robert knows.”
Sarah's face hardened.
“He knows Vale never worked alone.”
The recording ended.
Sarah stared at the radio.
One of her bodyguards whispered:
“Boss?”
She didn't answer.
Because footsteps were coming down the stairs.
Not hers.
Not her men.
They raised their weapons.
A man appeared at the bottom.
Gray suit.
Scar across his jaw.
Hands visible.
Sarah recognized him from old photographs.
Marcus Vale.
He looked at the guns aimed at him.
Then at Sarah.
“I wondered how long Lily would remember.”
Sarah's voice became ice.
“You were here the night Daniel died.”
Marcus nodded.
“Yes.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No.”
Sarah stepped closer.
“Then who did?”
Marcus looked toward the ceiling.
Toward the estate.
Toward Robert.
May you like
And said:
“The man who made sure Daniel never reached home.”
