Chapter 8 - THE TRAITOR INSIDE
They did not go to the freight terminal immediately.
Lorenzo refused to walk into Salvatore’s trap blind.
Instead, they went beneath a shuttered Italian restaurant in Bridgeport that had once belonged to Lorenzo’s grandmother.
There were no digital locks.
No security cameras.
No connected alarm systems.
Only brick walls, old wine racks, and a telephone line installed before Evelyn was born.
Lorenzo called twelve men.
Only seven answered.
Of those seven, three were dead within the hour.
One had been attacked at his home.
Another disappeared.
The third answered the phone while someone else was in the room.
Lorenzo knew because he used a phrase from childhood.
The man responded incorrectly.
By 4:00 a.m., Lorenzo’s empire had become a question mark.
Evelyn sat at a table with the ledger.
Celeste sat opposite her.
Neither woman spoke.
Finally Celeste said, “You hate me.”
Evelyn looked up.
“I don’t know you well enough.”
“That didn’t stop you earlier.”
“I thought you set up a massacre.”
“I helped create the opportunity.”
“That isn’t better.”
“No.”
Celeste stared at the table.
“It isn’t.”
Evelyn had expected denial.
The honesty unsettled her.
Celeste continued.
“My father told me Salvatore wanted Lorenzo frightened.”
“Why?”
“To force him out of certain neighborhoods.”
“Why would Lorenzo agree after an attack?”
“He wouldn’t.”
“Then your father is stupid.”
Celeste almost smiled.
“My father has been called many things.”
“Stupid isn’t usually one?”
“No.”
Evelyn turned another ledger page.
Names.
Payments.
Properties.
She stopped.
One line had been written recently.
E. Carter.
Her blood went cold.
Celeste noticed.
“What?”
Evelyn pointed.
The entry was dated two weeks earlier.
E. Carter - Obsidian placement confirmed.
Celeste leaned closer.
Below it was another line.
G. Pike cooperative.
Gilbert Pike.
Evelyn stared.
Gilbert had been involved after all.
But maybe not in the way she assumed.
Another line.
M. Alvarez replacement prepared.
Marissa Alvarez.
The dead hostess.
Celeste whispered, “You were placed at The Obsidian.”
Evelyn shook her head.
“I applied online.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Who interviewed you?”
“Gilbert.”
“Who called you back?”
Evelyn tried to remember.
A woman from human resources.
Generic voice.
Generic email.
Nothing unusual.
Celeste looked toward Lorenzo.
“Lorenzo.”
He came over.
Evelyn showed him the entries.
His face hardened.
“You were not an accident.”
Evelyn felt sick.
“Why put me there?”
Lorenzo looked at the ledger.
“To see if Thomas would surface.”
Celeste nodded.
“Or to use you as bait.”
Evelyn stood.
“I need air.”
Lorenzo blocked the stairs.
“No.”
“Seriously?”
“There may be shooters outside.”
“I have been shot at, tracked, kidnapped by circumstance, and informed that my dead father is probably alive.”
Her voice rose.
“I need ninety seconds without a Moretti breathing near me.”
Lorenzo stared at her.
Then stepped aside.
“Marco goes.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then the answer is no.”
Evelyn glared.
“Fine.”
She went upstairs.
Marco followed at a respectful distance.
The restaurant kitchen was dark.
Dust covered the counters.
Evelyn stood near the back door and breathed.
For the first time since 8:50, there was silence.
Then Marco spoke.
“You saved him.”
Evelyn looked back.
“So?”
“So he won’t forget.”
“You say that like it’s comforting.”
“It can be.”
“Or dangerous.”
Marco nodded.
“That too.”
Evelyn studied him.
“How long have you worked for Lorenzo?”
“Thirteen years.”
“Then you knew his father.”
“Yes.”
“Did Vittorio die of a heart attack?”
Marco looked away.
That was enough.
Evelyn sighed.
“Everybody in this city communicates by refusing to answer.”
Marco almost smiled.
Then a floorboard creaked behind him.
Evelyn saw movement.
“Marco.”
He turned.
A suppressed shot cracked.
Marco staggered.
A second man came from the pantry.
Evelyn grabbed a metal bowl and threw it.
It hit the attacker’s face.
Marco fired.
The attacker fell.
Another shot came through the back window.
Evelyn dropped.
Marco crawled behind a counter.
Blood ran down his arm.
“Basement!”
Evelyn scrambled toward the stairs.
Then stopped.
The attacker on the floor was still alive.
He wore a Moretti ring.
Not Salvatore’s people.
Lorenzo’s.
Evelyn kicked away his weapon.
“Who sent you?”
He laughed.
“You still think there are two sides.”
Evelyn froze.
Footsteps pounded up from below.
Lorenzo appeared.
The wounded attacker saw him.
His smile widened.
“Boss.”
Lorenzo aimed.
“Who gave the order?”
The man coughed.
“You did.”
Lorenzo’s face went cold.
The attacker reached inside his jacket.
Marco fired first.
The man collapsed.
Lorenzo searched the body.
Inside the jacket was a folded order sheet.
Lorenzo opened it.
His own signature appeared at the bottom.
Marco stared.
“That looks real.”
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.
“It is.”
Evelyn looked at him.
“You signed an order to kill me?”
“No.”
“But that’s your signature.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Lorenzo read the document.
Then his expression changed.
“It’s from my emergency protocol book.”
Marco understood first.
“Those orders are kept in the vault.”
Lorenzo nodded.
“Only four people know the access sequence.”
“Who?”
Marco’s face darkened.
“You.”
Lorenzo nodded.
“Me.”
He looked toward the basement.
“My attorney.”
“Dominic.”
“And?”
Lorenzo said nothing.
Evelyn already knew.
“Celeste.”
Lorenzo turned toward the stairs.
They rushed down.
The basement was empty.
The chair where Celeste had been sitting was pushed back.
The ledger case remained on the table.
But the ledger was gone.
In its place sat a note.
Lorenzo picked it up.
Evelyn read over his shoulder.
I’m sorry.
My father is alive.
I have to choose him.
Evelyn closed her eyes.
Lorenzo crushed the note in his fist.
Then the old telephone rang.
Nobody moved.
It rang again.
Lorenzo answered.
May you like
Salvatore’s voice came through.
“Now we can negotiate.”
