Chương 15
Then a car arrived on the main drive.
Celeste stepped out.
Mara stared.
Celeste hurried into the house wearing a raincoat over the metallic pink dress. Her wet hair hung loose. Nadia followed several steps behind, holding a phone against her chest.
Victor’s composure slipped.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded when Celeste entered.
“You told Adrian not to let me leave town.”
“I told your father to manage the situation.”
“You erased the salon footage.”
“Go home.”
“You knew who he was.”
Victor looked toward Rocco. “This does not concern you.”
“You have a man tied to a chair in my family’s house.”
Rocco said, “Technically, I’m only using the chair.”
Celeste looked at his bruised face and flinched.
Victor stepped closer to her. “Give me your phone.”
She backed away.
Nadia remained near the doorway, recording.
Leon saw her first. “Phone.”
He moved.
Ortiz entered with her weapon raised. “State police. Hands where I can see them.”
Everything happened at once.
The armed man near the hall turned toward Ortiz. Ellis struck his wrist from the side. The gun fired into the ceiling.
Leon grabbed Nadia.
Celeste screamed—not dramatically, not like someone in a movie, but with the short ugly sound of a person who had believed danger recognized social boundaries.
Victor moved behind Rocco and pressed a pistol beneath his jaw.
“Drop it,” he told Ortiz.
Mara entered from the service hall.
Rocco saw her and closed his eyes briefly, furious.
Victor smiled. “The baker.”
Mara held the blue ledger against her chest.
Ortiz did not lower her gun.
Victor pressed the barrel harder into Rocco’s skin. “The documents.”
“They’re not here,” Mara said.
“The ledger is enough.”
“No, it isn’t. That’s why you kept looking.”
Victor’s smile faded.
Mara continued, “Carlo’s manifests are already with state investigators. Elena’s notebook too.”
Rocco looked at her.
Victor said, “You’re lying.”
“Your sister-in-law wrote down every meeting with Samuel Vale.”
“Her mind was failing.”
“She predicted you’d say that.”
That part was a lie.
Victor’s grip shifted.
Rocco moved.
He drove his head backward into Victor’s face. The gun fired.
The shot struck the floor.
Rocco threw his weight sideways, taking the chair down with him. Victor stumbled. Mara lunged for the pistol.
Victor kicked her in the shoulder. The ledger slid across the floor toward the fireplace.
Leon released Nadia and ran for it.
Celeste stepped into his path.
He shoved her hard enough that she struck the wall.
Nadia swung her phone into the side of his head. It was not a powerful blow, but it surprised him. Ellis tackled him before he recovered.
Victor reached for the ledger.
Mara reached first.
He caught her braid and dragged her backward.
Rocco lay on the floor, wrists still bound. He hooked one heavy arm around Victor’s ankle and pulled.
Victor fell.
The pistol skidded beneath the sofa.
Mara crawled after it, but Rocco shouted, “Leave it!”
She stopped.
Victor twisted free and reached inside his coat.
Rocco’s expression changed.
There was no restraint left in it.
Mara saw what he intended before he moved. Victor saw it too.
Rocco rolled onto his side, seized Victor by the coat, and dragged him close. His forearm pressed across the older man’s throat.
Victor clawed at him. “You think Ray would be proud?”
Rocco tightened his hold.
His face emptied.
Mara knelt beside him. “Rocco.”
He did not look at her.
Victor’s movements weakened.
“Rocco.”
“He killed them.”
“I know.”
“He killed Ray.”
“I know.”
“He put me in that truck.”
“I know.”
Victor made a wet choking sound.
Mara placed her hand over Rocco’s fist. The black onyx ring pressed against her palm.
“He doesn’t get to take the rest of you,” she said.
Rocco’s eyes moved to hers.
For one second, she thought he would continue.
Then his arm loosened.
Ortiz pulled Victor away and secured his wrists. Ellis cut the cords binding Rocco.
Rocco remained on the floor.
Mara sat beside him.
Neither spoke while officers entered through the front and shouted commands already made unnecessary.
Nadia was crying silently, furious at herself for it. Celeste sat against the wall holding one wrist. Leon cursed from beneath Ellis’s knee. The second armed man stared at the bullet hole in the ceiling as though he had just discovered where he was.
Victor lay facedown on the rug.
He turned his head toward Rocco. “Ray made you weak.”
Rocco looked at him.
“No,” he said. “He made me late.”
The sentence was not triumphant. It carried seventeen years of prisons, shelters, hospital rooms, lost evidence, and questions asked after the people who could answer them were gone.
Ortiz told Victor he was under arrest for kidnapping, assault, weapons offenses, and conspiracy pending further investigation. She did not mention murder. Not yet.
Real life did not move as quickly as midnight wanted it to.
Rocco was taken to Saint Agnes.
His shoulder was dislocated, two ribs were cracked, and the bullet had missed him by less than a foot. The doctor recommended observation. Rocco argued until Mara threatened to remove one wheel from his chair and store it in the bakery freezer.
“You wouldn’t,” he said.
“You barely know me.”
He stayed.
Peter was moved to Rocco’s room after complaining so persistently that the nurses decided proximity might exhaust both men.
For several hours, they did not speak.
Mara sat between the beds with a paper cup of vending-machine coffee. She did not drink it. Every time she looked at the lid, she saw coffee running through Rocco’s hair.
At three in the morning, Peter said, “I should have gone to the police.”
Rocco stared at the dark television.
“Yes.”
“I thought Samuel would kill me.”
“He might have.”
“I thought keeping Mara safe made the lie reasonable.”
Rocco turned his head. “It made it understandable.”
Peter swallowed. “That isn’t forgiveness.”
“No.”
The monitor continued its soft rhythm.
Peter asked, “Did Ray ever talk about me?”
May you like
“Once.”
“What did he say?”
