Chapter 4 - The Dead Brother's Secret
Jonathan had spent three years hating the Bianke family for Luca's death.
Salvatore had spent three years blaming Moretti retaliation for the death of two nephews.
Men had been beaten.
Warehouses burned.
Contracts sabotaged.
Politicians purchased.
Millions lost.
Now Jonathan stared at a photograph suggesting Luca and Salvatore had been meeting privately before everything began.
He drove directly to the Bianke residence outside Boston.
Rocco sat beside him.
Vivien followed in another car.
"Don't kill anyone before lunch," Rocco said.
Jonathan looked out the window.
"Helpful."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
Rocco had known Jonathan since they were sixteen.
He was one of the few men alive who could recognize the difference between Jonathan's calm and the calm that came immediately before violence.
"This thing smells wrong," Rocco said.
"Everything smells wrong."
"Marco disappears the morning of your wedding."
"Yes."
"Meline reappears."
"She never left."
"Exactly."
Jonathan looked at him.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying somebody has been arranging your life like furniture."
That stayed with Jonathan.
At Salvatore's estate, twelve armed men waited outside.
Jonathan brought only Rocco.
Salvatore met them in his library.
Vivien stood beside her father.
"Show him," she said.
Salvatore placed the photograph on the desk.
Jonathan stared.
Luca wore a gray coat.
Salvatore looked five years younger.
Behind them stood Pier Nine.
"When?" Jonathan asked.
Salvatore poured whiskey.
"Six weeks before Luca died."
"You met him."
"Yes."
"And said nothing."
"Neither did he."
Jonathan's jaw tightened.
"Why?"
Salvatore drank.
"Your brother thought someone was moving cargo through our docks using both our names."
"What cargo?"
"I didn't know."
"Did you investigate?"
"Of course."
"And?"
"My own records showed nothing."
Jonathan laughed coldly.
"So you forgot about it."
Salvatore slammed the glass down.
"No."
The older man leaned forward.
"Luca came to me because he did not trust someone in your organization."
Jonathan became still.
"Who?"
"He never said."
"Convenient."
"He said the man was close to you."
"Marco?"
Salvatore shrugged.
"Perhaps."
Jonathan wanted to strike him.
Instead he asked, "Why wasn't I told?"
"Luca asked me not to."
"I'm his brother."
"Exactly."
The word landed hard.
Salvatore continued.
"Luca believed you would confront the traitor immediately."
Jonathan said nothing.
"Was he wrong?"
No.
That was the problem.
Luca had known him.
"If you'd known someone inside your house was selling both families' shipping identities," Salvatore said, "you would have called a meeting."
"And?"
"The guilty man would have disappeared."
Rocco looked at Jonathan.
Same conclusion.
"So Luca investigated quietly," Jonathan said.
"Yes."
"And died."
"Yes."
"Then our war started."
Salvatore nodded.
"Very convenient for someone making money from chaos."
Vivien walked toward a cabinet.
She removed a ledger.
"Papa didn't show me this until today."
She opened it.
Shipping losses.
Security expenses.
Emergency leases.
Insurance settlements.
During the conflict, several small logistics companies had benefited enormously.
One appeared repeatedly.
Atlantic Meridian.
Meline's shell company.
Jonathan flipped pages.
"Who owns it?"
"We've never found the true owner," Vivien said.
Rocco leaned closer.
"Payments?"
"Look."
Every time Moretti and Bianke routes were disrupted, Atlantic Meridian received replacement contracts.
The company had earned nearly eighteen million dollars over three years.
Jonathan looked at Salvatore.
"You didn't notice?"
"I noticed."
"Then why keep paying them?"
"Because they were always the only carrier available."
Jonathan understood.
Someone created emergencies.
Then profited from solving them.
"Marco had connections to freight brokers," Rocco said.
"So did fifty men."
Vivien shook her head.
"Not like this."
She showed another document.
A consulting payment from Atlantic Meridian to Vitali Strategic Services.
Marco's private entity.
Two hundred fifty thousand dollars.
Jonathan stared.
"Date?"
"Four days after Luca died."
The room went silent.
Rocco muttered, "Son of a bitch."
Jonathan closed the ledger.
"Where is Marco?"
Nobody knew.
But Meline might know why he had targeted her.
Jonathan returned to Providence that evening.
At the hospital, Meline was being discharged.
The doctor wanted bed rest.
Jonathan had arranged a private house with security.
Meline refused.
"I'm not living in one of your compounds."
"Someone photographed you this morning."
"I know."
"They followed us."
"I know."
"Then stop arguing."
She stared at him.
"You don't get to control me because you're afraid."
"I'm trying to protect you."
"Those aren't always different things with you."
Jonathan absorbed that.
"Where do you want to go?"
"My apartment."
"Address?"
"No."
He almost smiled.
"You think I can't find it?"
"I think finding it without permission would prove my point."
He breathed through his nose.
"Fine."
Meline looked suspicious.
"Fine?"
"Give me an option."
"My friend Nora owns an apartment above the flower shop."
"Security?"
"Her husband is a firefighter."
Jonathan stared.
"That's your security plan?"
"People like me don't normally have armed men."
"You're carrying my child."
"And somehow I've survived twenty-seven years without bodyguards."
"Badly, apparently."
Her eyes flashed.
Jonathan immediately regretted it.
Meline picked up her bag.
"Goodbye."
"Meline."
"No."
"That came out wrong."
"It came out exactly like you."
She walked toward the elevator.
Jonathan followed two steps behind.
He did not grab her.
Did not order anyone to stop her.
That was progress, though he hated how small it felt.
At the lobby, she stopped.
A television showed breaking news.
Police had identified a body recovered from the Providence River.
Male.
Late forties.
No name released.
Meline watched.
Jonathan watched.
Then Rocco called.
"It's not Marco."
Jonathan relaxed slightly.
"Who?"
"Harbor Crown accountant."
Jonathan's eyes narrowed.
"The warehouse company?"
"Yes."
"Cause?"
"Police aren't saying."
"Murder?"
"Looks that way."
Meline had heard enough.
She turned.
"His name?"
Jonathan asked Rocco.
"Peter Lang."
Meline went white.
Jonathan ended the call.
"You knew him?"
Meline nodded.
"Peter gave Luca the invoice."
Now the dead had become a chain.
Luca.
Peter.
Possibly others.
Jonathan looked toward the street outside the hospital.
If Marco had disappeared because he was afraid, the threat was bigger than Marco.
If Marco had disappeared because he was cleaning up evidence, then Peter Lang would not be the last body.
Meline whispered, "There's someone else."
"Who?"
"Agent Shaw."
Jonathan looked at her.
"The federal agent?"
"Peter introduced us."
"When did you last speak to her?"
"Eight months ago."
"Call her."
"I don't have her number anymore."
Jonathan pulled out his phone.
"I can get it."
"No."
He stopped.
Meline looked terrified.
"If Peter is dead and Marco disappeared, Rebecca may already be in danger."
Jonathan's phone rang before he could answer.
Unknown number.
He picked up.
A woman spoke.
"Mr. Moretti?"
"Who is this?"
"Rebecca Shaw."
Meline stared.
Jonathan put the call on speaker.
The agent continued.
"If Meline Donnelly is with you, do not take her home."
"Why?"
"Because somebody entered her apartment two hours ago."
Meline stopped breathing.
"What did they take?" Jonathan asked.
"Nothing."
"Then why enter?"
Rebecca's voice became quiet.
"They left something."
"What?"
"A photograph of an ultrasound."
Meline covered her mouth.
Rebecca continued.
"Across the baby's face, someone wrote one sentence."
Jonathan's hand tightened around the phone.
"What sentence?"
Rebecca read it.
YOUR CHILD SHOULD HAVE DIED WITH THE TRUTH.
Jonathan looked at Meline.
In that moment, every negotiation, alliance and rule became secondary.
May you like
Someone had threatened his unborn child.
And whoever they were had just made the worst mistake of their life.
