Chapter 8 - The Betrayal from Within
The house was dark when we arrived, but it wasn't the quiet dark of a family sleeping. It was the tense, held-breath dark of an ambush.
Marco stopped the car fifty yards from the main entrance, the headlights turned off, the engine idling with a low, wet gurgle in the sleet.
"Dante," Marco said over his shoulder. "The lane lights are on. But the guard at the lodge isn't answering the clicker."
Dante reached into his coat and pulled out the pistols—the matte-black one and a smaller silver one he handed to Marco. "Stay with the girl. If anyone comes near the doors, you take the sedan through the hedge."
"Dante—"
"Do it, Marco."
He was out of the car before I could say anything, his long coat trailing behind him like a shadow as he vanished into the dark toward the stone cranes.
"Wren," Marco said, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror. "Get down on the floor."
"No," I said, my hand already on the door handle. "Enzo is in there. Gabi is in there. I'm not sitting in the dirt while someone burns the house down."
"Wren, get back—"
I didn't listen. I opened the door and ran through the freezing sleet toward the side entrance—the kitchen door where Gabi’s rye bread had been cooling on the counter three hours ago.
The kitchen was empty, but the smell of burnt sugar was heavy in the air. A large copper pot had been overturned on the slate floor, a pool of dark molasses spreading toward the island.
Gabi was sitting on a stool by the pantry, her hands tied behind her back with a piece of heavy twine, a strip of grey duct tape over her mouth. Her eyes were wide, white all around, staring at the door behind me.
I lunged for her, my fingers tearing at the tape on her face. "Gabi, where is he?"
"The library," she gasped, her voice raw from the tape. "The old man... he thought it was Felix. He went out to the hall."
I turned, my work shoes slipping on the molasses, and ran toward the main corridor.
The library doors were wide open.
Enzo was standing by the mantelpiece, the silver spoon in his hand, his blanket gone. He was looking at a man who stood by the desk—a man I hadn't seen before, tall, with silver hair like Enzo’s but eyes that looked like Dante’s, dark and hard and empty of anything but the count.
Felix.
"You're taller," Enzo was saying, his voice bright with a child's satisfaction. "I told the girl you were taller. Did you bring the horses?"
"The horses are dead, Papa," Felix said. His voice was like Dante’s but older, drier, like wood that had been left in the sun for too long. He had the black ledger from the car in his hand. He must have taken it from the seat while Dante was on the lane. "They've been dead a long time."
"No," Enzo said, his face clouding. "The grey mare... she was in the stable this morning. Lucia sang to her."
"Lucia is in the ground, Papa," Felix said, his hand reaching into his coat for a small, silver pistol that looked like a toy in his huge fingers. "And you should have stayed in the street on Clark."
"Felix," a voice said from the door.
Dante was standing there. His coat was gone, his white shirt covered in mud and blood from the lane. He had his gun down at his side, the barrel pointing at the Persian rug.
"You took the money from the Morettis to fix the gate," Dante said.
Felix didn't look surprised. He didn't lower the gun from Enzo. "They offered five million, Dante. Five million for the ledger from eighty-eight. The judge is eighty-four now; he’s dying in a house in Palm Springs. He wants the pages before the grand jury calls his name next month."
"Our father paid for your life," Dante said, his voice dropping into that quiet, terrifying register that made the room feel like it was losing its air. "He gave up the pier for you. He let mother die in this house alone because he was always at the court house dealing with the state."
"He paid for a life I didn't want," Felix said. "He made me a ghost in New York while you got the house with the cranes. You got the ledger, Dante. You got the name."
"The name is a tomb," Dante said. "Look at him."
May you like
Enzo looked between his two sons, the spoon trembling in his hand. "Dante... Felix... why are you shouting? The connection is very bad. Lucia... I can't hear the song."
He raised the silver spoon to his ear.
