Chapter 6 - THE BROTHER WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
I had never heard a man sound so calm while threatening his own brother.
Carmine's voice carried through the dark corridor.
“Salvatore, you have no idea what you're holding.”
Salvatore kept me behind the pillar.
“Then enlighten me.”
“Not with her listening.”
“She stays.”
“She's a dentist!”
“She's the reason we're having this conversation.”
The emergency lights flickered on.
Carmine stood near the entrance with two armed men.
Marco had taken cover behind a storage cabinet.
No one fired.
For several seconds, the brothers stared at each other.
Then Salvatore spoke.
“Did you arrange the harbor ambush?”
Carmine's expression tightened.
“No.”
“Did you lie about Anthony Russo?”
“Yes.”
The admission hit me like a slap.
I stepped forward.
Salvatore caught my wrist.
“Lena.”
I pulled free.
“You told your brother my father betrayed him?”
Carmine looked at me.
“I had to.”
“Why?”
“Because your father saw something he wasn't supposed to see.”
“What?”
Carmine's gaze shifted toward the flash drive.
Salvatore lowered his voice.
“Tell me everything.”
Carmine laughed bitterly.
“You think I can? You think eight years of silence disappears because a dentist found a piece of metal?”
“Start talking.”
Carmine took a breath.
“Vincent Hale called me the morning after the shooting. He said you would die unless I followed his instructions.”
“What instructions?”
“Blame Anthony Russo. Destroy the hospital records. Never investigate the bullet.”
Salvatore went completely still.
“And you obeyed?”
“He showed me photographs of Isabella.”
At the name, Salvatore's face changed.
I remembered the rumors.
Isabella Lombardi.
Salvatore's wife.
She had died seven years earlier in a car accident.
Carmine swallowed.
“He said Isabella would be next if I talked.”
Salvatore's voice became dangerously quiet.
“My wife died anyway.”
Carmine's eyes filled.
“I know.”
For the first time, he looked less like a criminal and more like a frightened younger brother.
I glanced at the flash drive.
“We need to see what's on it.”
Salvatore nodded.
Marco retrieved a laptop from his security bag.
The drive contained one video.
Dated the night of the harbor shooting.
I pressed play.
The footage was grainy.
My father appeared beside an unconscious Salvatore.
He was speaking urgently to someone off-camera.
Then a woman entered the frame.
She wore a white coat.
Her face was partially hidden.
But her voice was unmistakable.
“Move him before Vincent gets here.”
Salvatore gripped the table.
The woman turned toward the camera.
He stopped breathing.
“No,” he whispered.
I looked at him.
“Who is she?”
His answer came out broken.
“That's Isabella.”
Then he looked at the timestamp.
The recording had been made eight years ago.
One year before her supposed death.
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And the final frame showed Isabella holding a medical file labeled:
SALVATORE LOMBARDI — SECOND ASSASSINATION PROTOCOL.
