Chapter 4
We found Emma two hours later.
Alive.
Barely.
The call came from Elias.
“Boss.”
I answered before the first ring finished.
“Talk.”
“Found her.”
“Where?”
“Old laundry vault.”
That room hadn't been used in twelve years.
“Condition?”
Pause.
“She's conscious.”
I knew what that pause meant.
Not good.
“Bring her here.”
“No.”
I frowned.
Elias continued.
“She says don't move her until she talks to you.”
That sounded like Emma.
Nine years in my house.
Quiet woman.
Never dramatic.
Never late.
Never asked for anything.
If she refused a hospital, there was a reason.
I left Noah with doctors and took four men back to the estate.
Helena and Dominic came too.
Not by choice.
The laundry vault smelled like dust and damp stone.
Emma sat against the wall wrapped in a blanket.
Her lip was split.
One eye swollen.
Both wrists bruised.
The second Lily saw her, she ran.
“Mom!”
Emma caught her.
Held her.
And cried silently into her hair.
I waited.
Nobody rushed that moment.
Even I knew better.
Eventually Emma looked at me.
“Mr. Castellano.”
“Who did this?”
Her eyes went to Dominic.
He looked away.
“Dominic?”
She nodded.
Helena stepped forward.
“He would never—”
Emma flinched.
Lily did too.
I turned toward Helena.
“Back.”
She stopped.
I looked at Emma.
“What did you hear?”
She took a breath.
“Three nights ago, I was cleaning the lower dining corridor.”
“Near the wine wall.”
“Yes.”
“I heard Dominic arguing with someone inside.”
“Who?”
“I couldn't see.”
“What did they say?”
Emma looked at Lily.
“Sweetheart, go with Mr. Elias.”
Lily clung to her.
“No.”
Emma kissed her forehead.
“Please.”
Lily finally went.
Then Emma looked at me.
“They were talking about Friday.”
“What happens Friday?”
“Your meeting with Victor Sanz.”
I knew the name.
Every capo in the room did.
Victor ran the Sanz organization south of the city.
Not friend.
Not enemy.
Useful neutrality.
We had been negotiating a shipping arrangement for months.
“He's coming here Friday.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Emma swallowed.
“They said Victor had to die inside your hidden room.”
Silence.
“Using Varela weapons.”
“Yes.”
That confirmed Noah.
I looked at Dominic.
He stared at the floor.
“Why?”
Emma answered.
“Because if Victor dies in your home with Varela guns around him, Sanz blames Varela.”
“And I blame them too.”
“Yes.”
“Two families go to war.”
She nodded.
I waited.
“What happens while we're fighting?”
Emma's face changed.
That's what she had been afraid to say.
“What?”
“They take the south route.”
I frowned.
“Who?”
She whispered:
“Dominic said, ‘By the time Angelo understands, the docks will belong to us.’”
Us.
Not me.
Not Castellano.
Us.
I looked at Dominic.
“Who is us?”
He said nothing.
Helena did.
“Enough.”
I turned slowly.
She was crying.
Not much.
But enough.
I had known Helena my entire life.
She cried at funerals.
Nothing else.
“You know.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“You know who he's working with.”
“I know nothing.”
Emma spoke.
“She does.”
Helena stared at her.
Emma continued.
“She was there last night.”
The room changed.
I looked at my aunt.
“Where?”
Emma pointed toward the hidden room.
“She told Dominic the Varela markings weren't convincing enough.”
Helena's face emptied.
I said nothing.
Didn't need to.
Emma had just moved Helena from protective mother to participant.
I walked toward her.
“Who is us?”
Helena whispered:
“You won't understand.”
I almost smiled.
“Try me.”
She looked at Dominic.
Then at me.
“Your brother.”
Every sound disappeared.
I had one brother.
Matteo Castellano.
He had been dead for eleven years.
I stared at Helena.
“My brother is buried.”
She shook her head.
“No, Angelo.”
And suddenly Dominic looked far less afraid.
May you like
Helena whispered:
“Matteo never died.”
