Chapter 6
Grant was gone.
Not Leo.
That was the first thing Enzo checked.
He reached the estate forty-seven minutes later and did not stop until he saw his son sitting beside Maria eating toast.
Leo smiled.
“Daddy.”
Enzo crouched and touched his face.
“Hey.”
“You went away.”
“I came back.”
The words meant more now.
Enzo stood.
“Where is Grant?”
Maria shook her head.
“He left twenty minutes ago.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Did he come near Leo?”
“He tried.”
Enzo’s expression changed.
Maria continued quickly.
“I didn’t let him.”
“What did he want?”
“He said you told him to move Leo to the east guesthouse.”
“I didn’t.”
“I knew.”
Simple.
Maria had no criminal instincts.
No mafia training.
She simply knew Enzo would not move his son without telling her after what happened.
So she locked the nursery hall and called Mason.
Grant left before Mason answered.
“Did he say anything?”
Maria nodded.
“He told me I was making a dangerous choice.”
Enzo looked at her.
“What did you say?”
“That feeding a hungry child shouldn’t be dangerous.”
Enzo almost smiled.
Almost.
He went downstairs.
Mason had already opened Grant’s room.
Mostly empty.
Not hurriedly.
Grant had prepared for this.
Inside the wardrobe were three dark suits.
A spare phone.
Two knives.
Nothing dramatic.
Then Mason found an old photograph beneath the dresser.
Grant as a boy.
Maybe twelve.
Standing beside a younger man Enzo recognized instantly.
Luca.
Enzo stared.
On the back was a date.
Twenty-four years ago.
Before Luca vanished.
Mason whispered:
“Grant knew him.”
Enzo looked at him.
“Apparently.”
Helena entered.
She saw the photograph.
Her face changed.
“That isn’t Grant.”
“What?”
“The boy.”
“Who?”
Helena took the photograph.
“I knew Grant’s family.”
She looked at Enzo.
“Grant Hale grew up in Chicago. His father worked with mine.”
“This?”
“Not him.”
Enzo’s eyes narrowed.
The man who had served beside him for nine years was using someone else’s identity.
Again, invisible power.
People nobody questioned because they had stood nearby long enough.
A phone rang.
The spare phone on Grant’s table.
Enzo answered.
No greeting.
A voice said:
“Little brother.”
Enzo stopped breathing.
Luca.
Older.
Lower.
Still unmistakable.
“Where is Grant?”
A soft laugh.
“That is not his name.”
Enzo closed his eyes.
“Where are you?”
“Still bad at greetings.”
“Nineteen years.”
“Yes.”
“You let me think you were dead.”
“You let Father convince you.”
Enzo’s jaw tightened.
“Where are you?”
“Keep Helena alive.”
She heard.
Her face drained.
Luca continued.
“She deserves your anger.”
Helena looked away.
“But she only knows the first betrayal.”
Enzo stared at the phone.
“What does that mean?”
“Father started it.”
“Damian extended it.”
“And?”
Luca’s voice darkened.
“Someone inside your house kept it alive after both men were supposed to be gone.”
“Grant.”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“Meet me.”
“Where?”
“The old Caradonna boxing club.”
“Time?”
“Ten tonight.”
“Come here.”
“No.”
“This is my house.”
“That is why.”
The line went dead.
Enzo looked at the phone.
Helena whispered:
“He’s alive.”
“Yes.”
Her knees nearly failed.
Not because she loved Luca.
Because for nineteen years she had built her guilt around a dead man.
The living could speak back.
Mason looked toward Enzo.
“You’re going?”
“Yes.”
“With how many men?”
“Two.”
Helena laughed quietly.
“What?”
“Luca asked for you and you’re already turning it into a deployment.”
Enzo stared.
She continued.
“That is what Carmine would do.”
The comparison irritated him because it was accurate.
Enzo looked at Mason.
“You stay with Leo.”
“No.”
Mason’s answer was immediate.
Enzo’s eyes narrowed.
“Excuse me?”
Mason looked toward Helena.
Then Maria.
Then the photograph.
“I need to go.”
“Why?”
Mason swallowed.
Because the lies in the house were apparently not finished.
“My real name is Mason Hale.”
Enzo stared.
Mason pointed toward the boy in the photograph.
“And that’s my brother.”
Helena whispered:
“Grant.”
Mason nodded.
“Grant was his real name.”
Enzo looked at the loyal bodyguard he had trusted for eleven years.
Then at the photograph.
“Where is your brother?”
May you like
Mason’s voice came softly.
“He disappeared with Luca nineteen years ago.”
