Chapter 9
Owen Pike’s property was empty.
Coffee warm.
Fireplace burning.
One chair pushed back from the kitchen table.
He had left minutes before Enzo’s men arrived.
Again, someone knew when the Caradonnas were coming.
Enzo hated the feeling.
Luca stood beside him in Owen’s garage.
Nineteen years apart and already they were repeating the same hunt.
“Who knew we were coming?” Enzo asked.
“Mason.”
“Maria.”
“Helena.”
“Three men in the convoy.”
Luca looked at him.
“And you.”
Enzo stared.
Luca almost smiled.
“Just making the list complete.”
Enzo did not.
They searched the garage.
No papers.
Owen had never been a man of records.
Tools.
Old parts.
Car photographs.
An oil-stained radio.
Then Luca found something beneath a workbench.
A piece of black paint.
Curved.
Freshly cut.
Same finish as Helena’s car.
Owen had worked on it recently.
Beside it lay an old photograph.
Rebecca Caradonna standing outside a grocery store.
Pregnant.
Taken from a distance.
Enzo stopped.
Luca looked at him.
“This is what I meant.”
Enzo picked up the photograph.
On the back:
SHE ASKED THE RIGHT QUESTION.
No signature.
Enzo’s hands shook.
He hated that.
Luca saw.
Said nothing.
Another photograph.
Rebecca entering Owen’s property six years earlier.
She had been here.
The retired garage master had lied to Enzo at her funeral.
Pretended to barely know her.
“Why would she come to him?”
“Owen knew the car.”
“The exile.”
“Yes.”
Enzo searched harder.
Inside an old metal toolbox he found a small voice recorder.
Newer than Luca’s tapes.
He pressed play.
Rebecca’s voice.
Enzo sat down without realizing it.
“Owen, I’m not asking you to betray the family.”
Pause.
“I’m asking you to tell me if the family betrayed itself.”
Owen:
“You don’t know what you’re opening.”
Rebecca:
“Everyone says that when they want a woman to stop asking.”
Luca glanced at Enzo.
He almost smiled through the grief.
Rebecca continued.
“Luca is alive.”
Owen did not answer.
“That silence is yes.”
Then:
“Who has been sending Enzo false warnings?”
Owen’s voice became quieter.
“You need to go home.”
“Who?”
“Rebecca.”
“Who?”
Static.
Then Owen:
“Someone he trusts more than he trusts himself.”
Recording stops.
Enzo replayed it.
Nothing more.
Luca frowned.
“Who does that describe?”
Enzo thought.
Carmine when alive.
Rebecca before death.
Maybe Maria about Leo.
No.
A boss rarely trusted anyone more than himself.
But there was one person whose security judgments Enzo almost never questioned.
Grant.
Except Grant was false.
The man using Grant’s name.
Enzo called Mason.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
His chest tightened.
Then Maria called.
“Mr. Caradonna.”
“What?”
Her voice was controlled.
Too controlled.
“Mason is here.”
Enzo exhaled.
“Good.”
“No.”
He stopped.
“What?”
“He’s bleeding.”
Enzo stood.
“What happened?”
“He came through the side entrance.”
“Leo?”
“With me.”
“Lock the nursery hall.”
“Already done.”
Enzo looked at Luca.
“What did Mason say?”
Maria lowered her voice.
“He said someone opened the south gate from inside.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
Then Mason’s weak voice came through.
“Owen.”
Enzo listened.
“He was here.”
“When?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
“What did he want?”
“The boy.”
The world inside Enzo became cold.
Luca stepped closer.
Enzo asked:
“Why Leo?”
Mason coughed.
“He said Rebecca hid something with him.”
Enzo’s face hardened.
“He’s three.”
Mason answered:
“Not in him.”
May you like
Pause.
“In his room.”
