Chapter 3 - THE LOCK MY FATHER LEFT BEHIND
The brass key didn’t fit anything in Dante’s townhouse.
They tried old desks, cabinets, storage rooms, even a private wine cellar.
Nothing.
Then I remembered Dad’s storage unit.
Queens.
Locker 418.
I hadn’t opened it since his funeral.
Dante wanted three guards and an armored SUV.
I wanted the subway.
We compromised at one SUV and two guards.
Apparently that was what compromise looked like when one person controlled half the city’s underworld.
The storage facility smelled like dust and concrete.
I opened Dad’s unit and stood there for several seconds.
His old toolbox.
Christmas ornaments.
A folding chair.
Boxes labeled in his blocky handwriting.
It felt more painful than his grave.
Orion entered behind me.
He immediately went to the red toolbox.
Dante noticed.
“Open it.”
“I was planning to.”
Inside were ordinary tools.
Wrenches.
Voltage meters.
Screwdrivers.
Then I noticed scratches beneath the removable tray.
The brass key opened a hidden lockbox.
My hands started shaking.
Inside were photographs.
Security badges.
A flash drive.
A folded map.
And an envelope.
OLIVIA — ONLY IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO ME.
I sat down on the floor.
Dante remained several feet away.
He didn’t ask to read it.
I appreciated that.
I opened the letter.
Liv, if you’re reading this, I failed to keep my work separate from your life.
Tears blurred the words.
You grew up believing your old man fixed elevators because that was the safest truth I could give you.
He explained that during a repair job at a Moretti warehouse, he discovered unauthorized surveillance equipment hidden inside camera housings.
Someone had been recording private meetings.
Selling routes.
Names.
Schedules.
Dad copied the evidence instead of reporting it through normal security because the person responsible seemed to know every internal response before it happened.
Matteo Moretti believed me.
I looked at Dante.
His jaw tightened.
Dad continued.
We planned to tell Dante together.
My eyes burned.
If we fail, trust the dog before you trust any man who tells you he was loyal to us.
Orion lay beside my knee.
Then came something stranger.
Dad had coated a technician’s gloves with a harmless veterinary scent marker after catching someone tampering with cameras.
Orion had been trained to recognize it.
If Orion reacts to old black deerskin gloves, pay attention.
I stopped.
Dante saw my expression.
“What?”
“One of your guards wore black gloves at the restaurant.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know his name.”
I described him.
Dante’s face changed.
“Vincent Russo.”
A noise came from the hallway.
Orion stood.
The fur along his spine lifted.
A low growl filled the unit.
We turned.
Vincent Russo stood in the doorway.
Dark suit.
May you like
Calm expression.
And black leather gloves on both hands.
