Chapter 3
608 Words
I returned to the estate at two in the morning.
The study light was still on.
Matteo stood at the top of the staircase.
Watching me.
His gaze traveled from my tangled hair to the bloodstain I hadn't
managed to scrub from my cuff.
"Where were you?"
Not a question.
An interrogation.
"Taking a walk."
"A walk?"
He descended one step at a time.
The air around him felt dangerous.
"There was gunfire in Red Hook tonight."
"Two unidentified gunmen ended up dead."
His hand closed around my wrist.
His thumb brushed the dried blood.
"And you come home smelling like gunpowder and someone else's blood."
His eyes locked onto mine.
"Who did you meet, Sera?"
There was more than suspicion in his gaze.
Something older.
Something darker.
The fury of a man whose possession had been touched.
I laughed.
"What?"
"Afraid I'm cheating on you?"
"You'd better not be."
Each word came through clenched teeth.
"Because if you are, I'll make sure he never sees another sunrise."
"And then I'll make you bury him yourself."
A psychopath.
And the worst part?
My heart still stumbled.
Even now.
Three years later.
Even his hatred was wholehearted.
"Then where were you, Matteo?"
I grabbed his collar.
Three years of fury igniting at once.
"Where were you the night Bianca died?"
His pupils contracted.
"You don't get to say her name."
"I do."
I stared straight into him.
"Because I want the truth more than you do."
"What have you done in three years besides hate me?"
"You won't even reopen the case file."
"Because you're terrified."
"Terrified that if you keep digging, you'll discover you've hated the
wrong person all along."
"And that these last three years made you a fool."
"Enough!"
He released me abruptly.
His chest rose and fell.
The desk lamp illuminated his profile.
For the first time, I noticed the red veins in his eyes.
They looked permanent.
He reached into his jacket and took out his Zippo.
Click.
My heartbeat skipped.
The same sound.
Exactly the same.
The brass casing.
The scratch on the lower corner.
The one from the recording.
Was it him?
Could a man who still mourned his sister after three years really have
orchestrated her death?
I didn't believe it.
But evidence didn't care what I believed.
I needed more.
Something undeniable.
Something even he couldn't argue against.
Back in my room, I removed a tiny receiver hidden inside my jewelry box
and put in an earpiece.
Three months ago, I had sewn a micro-bug into the lining of Chloe's
makeup bag.
Tonight, her voice came through sharp with panic.
【Sal, the dockworker didn't die! That woman went to Red Hook. If Eddie
talks---】
【Relax.】
Sal sounded calm.
Like a man moving chess pieces.
【Move up the schedule. Bianca's memorial is in two days. Put it in her
car. Make Matteo enforce family law himself.】
【When the Lawrence heiress dies at Romano hands, her brothers will burn
Brooklyn to the ground.】
【Then Volkov's shipment moves through our routes, and the Feds focus
entirely on Lawrence.】
【I've already had the shipping manifests rerouted through Pier Eleven
under their name.】
Static buzzed in my ears.
My fingertips turned cold.
What a beautiful plan.
Use Matteo's hands to kill me.
Use my death to start a war.
Use the war to destroy the Lawrences.
Sal wanted both families buried together.
I removed the earpiece and sat motionless in the dark.
Outside, the study light was still on.
Matteo...
I'm betting you're innocent.
And the stake on the table was my life.
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