Chapter 2 - The Lightning Scar
Marco did not reach for his gun.
That was the first reason Dante did not have him restrained.
The second was simpler.
A scar was not proof.
“Lily,” Dante said, “come here.”
Elena tightened her grip.
Dante saw the fear immediately.
Not fear of Marco.
Fear of him.
That knowledge struck harder than he expected.
He stepped backward instead.
“She stays with you.”
Elena nodded.
Dante crouched again, keeping several feet between himself and the child.
“What did the man in the tailor shop look like?”
Lily frowned.
“He had a hat.”
“What color?”
“Blue.”
“Was he tall?”
She looked at Marco.
Then Victor.
Then Dante.
“Everybody is tall.”
Victor almost smiled despite himself.
Marco did not.
Dante asked, “Did you see his face?”
“He had glasses.”
“Sunglasses?”
Lily nodded.
“And gloves.”
Dante glanced at Marco’s scar.
“Then how did you see the lightning?”
“One glove was broken.”
She pinched two fingers together.
“Here.”
Marco finally spoke.
“Half the men who worked docks in the nineties have burn scars.”
Victor turned toward him.
“You never worked the docks.”
“My brother did.”
Silence returned.
Dante knew the story Marco rarely mentioned.
Nico Bellini.
Twenty-two years old.
Killed in a warehouse fire in Red Hook when Marco was twenty-three.
The official report had blamed faulty electrical wiring.
Marco had joined Moretti security less than a year later.
Dante had always assumed his father had given the grieving older brother employment as an act of loyalty.
Now Victor was staring at Marco as though the dead man had just walked into the room.
“Enough,” Dante said.
He pointed toward the library.
“Both of you.”
Victor went first.
Marco followed.
Dante turned to Elena.
“Take Lily to the upstairs family sitting room. Rosa will stay with you.”
“We can leave.”
“No.”
Elena went pale.
Dante immediately heard how the word sounded.
A command.
A prison door closing.
He corrected himself.
“If you leave now, whoever planted that device may assume Lily saw something important. I can protect her better here until we understand what happened.”
Elena searched his face.
“Can you?”
It was not disrespectful.
It was a mother asking whether a Mafia boss could guarantee anything.
Dante glanced toward the library door.
“I’m going to find out.”
Inside the library, Victor poured himself water without permission.
Marco remained standing.
Dante shut the door.
“Phones.”
Both men placed them on the desk.
“Guns.”
Marco’s eyes hardened.
“Dante.”
“Gun.”
Marco removed his pistol and set it down.
Victor carried none.
Dante placed the copper transmitter beneath the desk lamp.
“Start talking.”
Victor exhaled.
“I ordered six ties from Bellucci three weeks ago. Same measurements, same silk house you’ve used since your father’s funeral.”
“Who knew?”
“My assistant, Bellucci, Elena when I sent her to collect them, and anyone with access to household purchasing.”
Marco said, “Including me.”
“Yes.”
“Convenient.”
Victor’s eyes moved to him.
“So is your scar.”
Marco leaned closer.
“I wasn’t at Bellucci’s.”
“Prove it.”
“I don’t answer to you.”
“You may soon answer to a grave.”
Dante struck the desk with his palm.
Both men stopped.
“No threats in my house.”
Victor looked surprised.
Ten years earlier, Dante would have welcomed the threat.
His father would have demanded one.
But the image of four guns appearing around a four-year-old girl had changed something that morning.
Perhaps only temporarily.
Perhaps not.
Dante looked at Marco.
“Where were you three days ago between nine and eleven?”
“Queens.”
“Doing what?”
“Meeting Sal DeLuca about perimeter vehicles.”
“Anyone confirm it?”
“Six people.”
Victor said, “Men on your payroll.”
Marco smiled without humor.
“You want to compare payrolls?”
Dante noticed it again.
History.
Not ordinary rivalry.
“Tell me about Nico.”
Marco’s face emptied.
Victor turned away.
Dante saw that too.
“My brother has nothing to do with this.”
“Victor thinks he does.”
Marco looked at Victor.
“Ask him why.”
Dante did.
Victor said nothing.
“Why?”
Victor walked to the window.
Outside, East 74th Street looked ordinary.
Delivery trucks.
Dog walkers.
A yellow cab.
Inside, decades were shifting.
Victor finally spoke.
“The warehouse where Nico died belonged to a company your father controlled.”
Marco’s jaw flexed.
Dante knew about the shell company.
He had never known about the fire.
“Keep going.”
Victor turned.
“Your father ordered records destroyed that night.”
Marco’s eyes fixed on Dante.
“What records?”
Victor answered him instead.
“Shipping ledgers.”
Marco’s voice became almost inaudible.
“You told me it was electrical.”
“I told you what Salvatore told everyone.”
“You knew.”
“I knew after.”
“You knew for fifteen years.”
Dante stood between them.
“Did my father start that fire?”
Victor did not answer quickly enough.
Marco closed his eyes.
When he opened them, something inside him looked older.
Victor said, “I don’t know.”
Marco laughed once.
It contained no amusement.
“That means yes.”
Dante picked up the copper bug.
His father had been dead seven years.
Yet somehow Salvatore Moretti had entered the room.
Dante thought the morning’s question was who had planted a surveillance device.
Now he understood they were dealing with something larger.
Someone had chosen a scar.
Someone had chosen Victor’s purchase order.
Someone had chosen a meeting involving five families.
The bug had not merely been hidden.
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It had been designed to make Dante look backward.
And whoever had designed the trap knew exactly where every old body was buried.
