Chapter 3
Roman kept talking because Arthur could no longer stop him without proving there was something to hide.
The Bennetts had prepared their mountain house for what they called reconciliation.
Clara had been told she could return to the family if she brought me with her.
“She knew it was a trap,” Roman said.
Arthur slammed one hand against the armrest.
“Enough.”
I ignored him.
“What kind of trap?”
Roman looked at his brothers.
None helped.
Finally he answered.
“They wanted you at the long table.”
I knew the Bennett long table.
Every Mafia family has some version of it.
The place where threats wear dinner clothes.
“What happened after I sat down?”
Roman hesitated.
Arthur laughed.
“He was going to be offered a choice.”
I turned toward him.
“By men who thought I sold hotels.”
Arthur’s face hardened.
“We knew you had money.”
That almost amused me.
Money.
He thought this was about money.
“What did you want?”
“Access.”
“To what?”
“Your freight corridors. Your warehouses. Your private transport network.”
Antonio looked at me.
Now it made sense.
The legitimate businesses I used to shield Vale movement had always appeared unusually efficient from the outside. Arthur thought I had built a commercial empire.
He never realized why it ran so cleanly.
Arthur continued.
“The Bennett organization is expanding.”
“No.”
He stopped.
I leaned forward.
“It’s dying.”
Every son behind him reacted.
Good.
Antonio had already told me enough.
Crews leaving.
Captains refusing Arthur’s orders.
Eight brothers competing for the same shrinking authority.
Arthur needed my infrastructure to keep his family from breaking apart.
“So Clara was supposed to lure me in.”
“She was supposed to help her blood.”
“And when she refused?”
Silence.
I looked at Elias.
He was the one who bragged that she begged.
“What did she beg for?”
His expression hardened.
I stood.
“What did my wife beg you for?”
Elias finally answered.
“The baby.”
The room went still.
I heard the monitor through the wall.
One steady electronic rhythm.
The only one left.
Then Elias added:
“She kept saying we were hurting the baby.”
My hands became very still.
Arthur looked at his son with irritation, not grief.
And that was when I understood the worst part.
May you like
They had known.
They kept going anyway.
