Chapter 4 - THE MAN WHO BROUGHT BASEBALL CARDS
Anthony Moretti had brought Sam baseball cards every Friday.
That detail made me sick.
He knew which players Sam liked.
He remembered birthdays.
He once spent twenty minutes explaining batting averages at our kitchen table.
All while knowing my father’s secret.
Dominic listened to the recorded call.
Then said:
“You are not going.”
“I am.”
“No.”
“Wrong answer.”
“Chloe—”
“He has my brother.”
“I understand.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You understand losing men. Territory. Money. I understand Sam.”
His face changed.
Maybe I crossed a line.
I did not care.
Then Dominic said:
“We make him believe you’re going alone.”
Better.
Moretti wanted my father’s letter.
Why?
It contained no ledger.
Only accusations.
Unless he feared something in it identified the hiding place.
Sam knows the place.
That was the key.
“What place?” Dominic asked.
I closed my eyes.
My childhood with Sam.
Father moving constantly after Mom died.
Cheap apartments.
Motels.
A storage locker.
The cemetery.
Then I remembered a wooden box.
Dad once gave Sam an old metal compass.
Said it had belonged to our mother.
Sam kept it in his backpack for years.
“His compass.”
Dominic looked at me.
“What?”
“Dad said Sam thinks he’s carrying something from our mother.”
I called Sam’s school.
His backpack had been taken with him.
The compass might contain the clue.
Moretti knew Sam had something.
Maybe he had not yet found it.
Dominic arranged the meeting.
A parking structure under an abandoned shopping center.
My car.
My phone.
No visible guards.
But Dominic’s people stayed far enough away not to be obvious.
I hated every second.
Moretti appeared from behind a concrete pillar.
No Sam.
“Where is he?”
“Safe.”
“Show me.”
He held up his phone.
Video.
Sam sitting in a small office.
Scared.
Unhurt.
My throat tightened.
“Now the letter.”
I held up an envelope.
Copy.
Not original.
Moretti did not know.
He stepped closer.
“You look like your father when you’re angry.”
“Do not talk about him.”
“He was a fool.”
“So are you.”
His expression hardened.
Then:
“Thomas should’ve taken the money.”
“What money?”
“To disappear.”
That stopped me.
“Who offered?”
“Dominic.”
My blood went cold.
No.
Moretti smiled.
“He didn’t tell you?”
I stayed silent.
“Ask your employer why he met your father six months before Thomas died.”
I remembered Dominic’s certainty:
I never hired your father.
Not the same as never met him.
Moretti held out his hand.
“Letter.”
I gave it.
He read quickly.
Then his face changed.
“This isn’t enough.”
“Then release Sam.”
“Where is the ledger?”
“I don’t know.”
“Your brother does.”
He turned.
I grabbed his sleeve.
“Don’t touch him.”
Moretti spun and shoved me backward.
Before I hit the concrete, another hand caught my shoulder.
Dominic.
Moretti went white.
“You were supposed to stay out.”
Dominic’s voice was terrifyingly quiet.
“You kidnapped a child.”
“He has something that belongs to me.”
“No.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“He has something you stole first.”
Moretti reached inside his coat.
Paulie appeared from the shadows.
Weapon drawn.
Moretti froze.
No fight.
No cinematic execution.
Dominic simply said:
“Where is the boy?”
Moretti smiled.
“You kill me, you never find him.”
Dominic looked at me.
Then back at Moretti.
“I wasn’t asking for myself.”
Sirens sounded above us.
Moretti’s smile vanished.
I had called police before entering.
Dominic had not known.
He stared at me.
I shrugged.
May you like
“You said I could make choices.”
For once, Dominic Rossi looked almost proud.
