Chapter 13 - Lucia Rossi’s Bargain
Lucia Rossi did not look like a gangster.
That was probably why she was dangerous.
She entered the federal conference room wearing a cream wool coat, black trousers, and pearl earrings. Her dark hair was tied neatly behind her head.
No tattoos.
No gold chains.
No theatrical bodyguards.
She looked like someone who might run an art gallery.
“Sophie Carter.”
I stared through the glass.
“You threatened me.”
“I got your attention.”
“You photographed my mother’s hospital.”
“I photographed you.”
“That distinction is not helping.”
Lucia almost smiled.
Adrian sat beside me.
We had barely spoken since I removed the ring.
The empty space on my finger seemed louder than anything in the room.
A federal prosecutor placed a recorder on the table.
“Ms. Rossi has requested immunity consideration in exchange for information regarding multiple unsolved homicides connected to Giancarlo Rossi and the former Voss organization.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“Former?”
The prosecutor looked at him.
“Let's not become philosophical.”
Lucia opened a leather case.
Inside were microcassettes.
Old-fashioned.
“My father recorded everyone,” she said. “Insurance.”
“Including Adrian’s father?” I asked.
“Especially Vittorio Voss.”
Adrian became still.
Lucia inserted one cassette into an ancient recorder.
Static filled the room.
Then two men began speaking.
One voice was Giancarlo.
The other belonged to Vittorio Voss.
I had never heard Adrian’s father speak.
His voice was colder than his son's.
Giancarlo said, “The accountant copied the ledgers.”
Vittorio answered, “Then recover them.”
“And Carter?”
A pause.
“Handle it.”
My stomach twisted.
Giancarlo laughed.
“Permanent?”
Vittorio did not hesitate.
“I don't repeat instructions.”
The tape clicked off.
I couldn't breathe.
Adrian stared at the table.
His face was white.
Lucia said quietly, “My father ordered two men to intercept Michael Carter.”
“Names,” I whispered.
“Frank Deluca and Owen Price.”
Adrian immediately recognized one.
“Price is alive.”
Everyone turned.
“Where?” the prosecutor asked.
“Arizona,” Adrian said. “My security firm tracked retired associates when I dismantled the old network.”
Lucia nodded.
“He lives under another name.”
The prosecutor leaned forward.
“Why give us this now?”
Lucia’s expression hardened.
“Because my father is dead.”
“That usually ends revenge.”
“Not mine.”
I stiffened.
She looked directly at Adrian.
“My father left his organization to my brother.”
Adrian frowned.
“You don't have a brother.”
“I didn't think so either.”
She pulled out a photograph.
A man in his late thirties stood beside Giancarlo at a marina.
Tall.
Dark-haired.
Scar beneath one eye.
“Matteo Rossi,” she said.
Marcus cursed quietly.
“Who is he?”
“My half-brother.”
“Where has he been?”
“Sicily. Serbia. Montreal.”
Adrian studied the photograph.
“And now?”
“Chicago.”
Of course.
“What does he want?” I asked.
Lucia looked at me.
“You.”
Adrian stood instantly.
“No.”
I grabbed his sleeve.
“Sit.”
He did not.
“Adrian.”
Slowly, he sat.
Lucia continued.
“Matteo believes killing Giancarlo destroyed the family’s honor.”
Adrian's voice turned cold.
“Giancarlo kidnapped my grandmother.”
“I am not defending him.”
“Then why Sophie?”
“Because killing you creates a martyr.”
Adrian stared.
“Killing Sophie destroys you.”
Silence.
I hated how logical that sounded.
Lucia pushed another photograph across the table.
It showed my brownstone.
Taken yesterday.
“He knows where your mother lives.”
I stood.
“We move Clara tonight.”
“She’s already being moved,” Adrian said.
I glared.
He raised one hand.
“She agreed.”
Fine.
Still irritating.
Lucia leaned closer.
“Matteo isn't only looking for revenge. He wants the original Voss ledgers Michael Carter copied.”
“Those disappeared,” Adrian said.
Lucia looked at me.
“No.”
My heart jumped.
“What?”
“Your father hid them before he died.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he told my mother.”
The room became silent.
“My mother?”
Lucia nodded.
“Your father trusted one person inside the Rossi network. My mother, Elena.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
“Because Elena Rossi was a federal informant.”
Another shock.
“She helped Michael copy the records.”
“Where are they?”
Lucia's eyes moved toward me.
“Your mother knows.”
I almost laughed from exhaustion.
Apparently every person in my life had a secret file.
We drove directly to the secure Voss estate where Clara had been relocated.
When I asked her about the ledgers, she closed her eyes.
Then she whispered, “Your father made me promise.”
“Where?”
She looked toward the old silver necklace around her neck.
The necklace she had worn my entire life.
She removed the pendant.
Inside was a tiny brass key.
“Union Station,” she said.
“Locker?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“A safety box beneath the old rail office.”
Adrian stood.
“We go with federal agents.”
For once, I agreed.
At Union Station, behind a maintenance wall untouched for decades, investigators found a steel box.
Inside were Michael Carter’s original ledgers.
Names.
Payments.
Murders.
Politicians.
Judges.
And one current account.
Still active.
Still receiving money.
The account belonged to Matteo Rossi.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A male voice said:
“Thank you for finding my father’s books for me, Sophie.”
I looked around.
Security everywhere.
Federal agents everywhere.
He continued.
“Now look at the ceiling.”
I did.
A small red light blinked above the old office.
Camera.
May you like
Matteo had been watching.
And he knew exactly what we had found.
