She lives off our parents, my brother Anthony said to his inner circle in the back room of the port tavern.
The cold truth of the paternity test settled heavy in my gut. Leo wasn’t just my nephew; he was Enzo Moretti’s son, and that made Salerno’s maneuver far more dangerous for him than he realized.
I drove back towards South Philly, the envelope sealed tightly in the lockbox. The clock on the dashboard read 11:34 PM.
As I neared the familiar grid of streets, a sickening orange glow pulsed in the distance. Not just any glow. It was a fire. A big one. The kind that lights up the entire sky.
My heart seized. The docks. The repair garage.
I pushed the accelerator, my mind screaming. Please, not the garage. Please, not Leo.
Earlier that evening, after being cast out by Dominic and Teresa, Leo had been upset. Anthony had yelled at him for being “too fragile,” for “getting in the way” during their earlier argument. Leo, seeking refuge, had slipped into the back office of the DeLuca repair garage, a quiet place away from the family chaos, hoping to spend the night unnoticed. His asthma was acting up, and he just wanted to be alone.
Salerno, frustrated by my resistance and my inquiries into Geno Kroll’s forged documents, had decided to escalate. He’d sent a silent message. He ordered Cousin Ray to light up the DeLuca repair garage, thinking it would break Anthony’s will.
By the time I was two blocks away, the flames were a roaring inferno, devouring the old wooden structure. The scent of burning oil and melting rubber filled the night air. Fire trucks wailed in the distance, but they were still a few minutes out.
“No, no, no,” I whispered, slamming my fist on the steering wheel.
I parked haphazardly and jumped out, running towards the blaze. Cousin Ray and his two men stood across the street, watching the spectacle with grim satisfaction. Ray saw me. His eyes widened, a flicker of something that looked like horror crossing his face.
“Leo!” I screamed, realizing the terrible, unimaginable truth. “Leo’s inside!”
Ray froze, his jaw slack. He knew. He had put the boy in there. He hadn’t intended to. He just wanted to scare Anthony.
Thick black smoke billowed from the garage doors, punctuated by the crackle and roar of the fire. The wooden beams groaned, threatening to collapse. The heat was immense, even from a distance.
I ran towards the entrance, ignoring the shouts of the first responders who were just arriving. “My nephew! He’s inside!”
The firemen tried to hold me back, but I was already past them, lunging into the choking, suffocating smoke.
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