If you breathe a word, Mr. Moretti, we both die before we hit the floor.
The weight of the new information pressed down on me. Salvatore’s desperation, Clara’s secret maneuvers. It was a complicated game, and I was just trying to keep my head above water.
My phone, a burner Elena had given me, buzzed. A text message. “Atlantic Avenue parking garage. Fifth level. Now. Alone.” The number was unknown, but I knew who it was. Marco.
“It’s Marco,” I told Elena and Brody. “He wants to meet.”
“Alone?” Elena asked, her brow furrowed.
“That’s what it says.” A cold knot of dread formed in my stomach. Was this a trap? Another attempt? But Marco had seen me, and he hadn’t fired. There was a desperate edge to his message.
“It’s too risky,” Brody said. “He led a hit squad tonight, Vince.”
“I have to go,” I insisted, already standing. “He’s my nephew. My brother’s son. I need to understand what happened.”
Elena slipped a compact 9mm pistol into my hand. “Take this. Don’t engage unless absolutely necessary. Just listen.”
The drive to the parking garage was tense. I kept the pistol tucked into my waistband, the cold steel a constant reminder of the night’s events. The garage was mostly empty, the concrete structure echoing with the hum of distant traffic. I drove slowly to the fifth level, my headlights cutting through the dimness.
Marco stood by a concrete pillar, his silhouette stark against the glow of the city lights outside. He looked young, terrified, nothing like the hardened enforcer I’d seen earlier in my study. He wasn’t holding a weapon.
I parked a few spaces away, turned off the engine, and stepped out, keeping my hand near the pistol. “Marco,” I said, my voice low, controlled. “Why?”
His shoulders slumped. He took a hesitant step toward me, then stopped, tears welling in his eyes. “Uncle Vince, I’m so sorry. I swear to God, I didn’t want to.”
My initial anger, the belief that he had sold me out for ambition, began to waver. His face was pale, his hands shaking. This wasn’t the face of a cold-blooded killer.
“Talk to me,” I urged, stepping closer, but still keeping a wary distance.
“Salvatore… he showed me pictures,” Marco choked out, his voice cracking. “Of Gianna.”
Gianna. Marco’s younger sister, my niece. She was twenty-one, studying at NYU, completely innocent of our world. A fresh-faced girl with Clara’s smile.
“He showed me pictures of her apartment, of her walking to class,” Marco continued, tears streaming down his face. “He told me he had men watching her. He said if I didn’t lead the squad, if I didn’t personally bring your body to the docks before morning, Gianna would disappear. He said he’d make it look like an accident.”
The air went out of my lungs. My nephew hadn’t betrayed me out of greed. He had been blackmailed, forced into this unspeakable act with his sister’s life as collateral. Salvatore wasn’t just desperate; he was utterly ruthless, exploiting the deepest fear of a young man who had no other choice.
Marco broke down, sobbing openly, his face buried in his hands. “He threatened to harm her, Uncle Vince. What was I supposed to do?”
I stood there, the pistol a dead weight in my hand, the misunderstanding of Marco’s betrayal dissolving into a raw, sickening truth. Salvatore had truly gone too far. He had shattered a family, all for a piece of real estate.
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