Chương 5
Damiano took out his phone. “Find him.”
Enzo did not move.
“What?”
“Before we do this, you need to decide whether we are finding Maeve or protecting the organization.”
“They are not separate.”
“They may be now.”
Damiano looked toward the ceiling again.
Elena laughed once upstairs. It was a small, surprised sound, probably caused by Bruno. It ended quickly, as if she had remembered laughter was not allowed.
“Find Mercer,” Damiano said.
Sofia took Elena to her apartment because a café back room was not a safe place for a child, regardless of how many men claimed to control it. Elena refused to go until Damiano promised to call the moment he found Maeve.
“You’ll call even if it’s bad?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Adults say that, and then they only call when it’s good.”
“I’ll call.”
“Promise?”
He hesitated.
Maeve used to accuse him of treating promises as ceremonial objects—beautiful, displayed, never touched.
“I promise.”
Elena looked at his face as if storing evidence against a future lie. Then she allowed Sofia to lead her outside. Bruno was wrapped in the white towel, his head emerging near Elena’s elbow. Damiano’s suit jacket remained around her shoulders.
Sofia stopped beside him.
“A caseworker will need to be called,” she said quietly.
“Tonight?”
“Soon. A kidnapped mother and a child brought into a criminal meeting are not things we conceal.”
“She didn’t come into a criminal meeting.”
Sofia stared at him.
Damiano adjusted his cuff. “She interrupted one.”
“That distinction should help enormously.”
“I need a few hours.”
“You always need a few hours. Then everybody else spends years paying for what you did with them.”
Her words were quiet enough that Elena could not hear.
Sofia’s anger had rarely been dramatic. Their father had taught the family that shouting belonged to people without power. Sofia had responded by making silence unpleasant.
“I’m trying to find her mother,” Damiano said.
“And after that?”
He had no answer.
Sofia nodded, not because she agreed but because she had expected none. She took Elena’s hand. The girl tolerated it for three steps, then shifted Bruno and let go.
Leon Mercer’s son was found at a sports bar near the highway. Paolo and Nicky brought him to Café Nate just before midnight.
His name was Anthony. He wore a puffy vest over a golf shirt, despite the cold rain, and kept insisting he had a heart condition. He was thirty-six and looked healthy enough to resent being considered otherwise.
Damiano sat across from him at the cleared table. The cash had been locked away. The ledger remained open. There was no pistol.
Anthony noticed its absence without knowing it had been there.
“I do inspections,” he said. “That’s it.”
“For East Ferry Restoration?”
“I inspect properties.”
“They pay you every Friday.”
“They pay a consulting company.”
“Your consulting company.”
“It’s allowed.”
“Is kidnapping allowed?”
Anthony’s face changed.
The change was small but sufficient.
Enzo leaned against the wall behind him. “Where did they move her?”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Maeve O’Shea.”
Anthony looked at the ceiling.
Damiano folded his hands. “You are calculating whether Vittorio is more dangerous than I am.”
“No.”
“You should include the police in your calculation.”
That startled him. “Police?”
“Ms. O’Shea works for a legal nonprofit. She has been taken from her home. Her daughter escaped. Someone will report it.”
Anthony’s knee began moving beneath the table.
Damiano continued. “You can tell us where she is, and when the police ask why your name appears beside payments from shell companies, I can say you cooperated.”
“Or?”
“Or I tell them the truth.”
Anthony gave a nervous laugh. “Since when do you tell police the truth?”
“Since tonight, perhaps.”
Enzo’s eyes moved to Damiano.
Anthony saw it. Frightened men were often more observant than calm ones.
“You’re bluffing,” he said.
Damiano pushed the ledger across the table. “Then call it.”
Anthony stared at the entries.
“They used the lower room at La Rosa because the building’s waiting for demolition,” he said finally. “I signed off on an environmental inspection that never happened.”
“Who is they?”
“I dealt with Vittorio.”
“Who else?”
“A guy named Rocco. Rocco Venn.”
Paolo muttered something.
Damiano knew the name. Rocco had collected loans for Vittorio, then supposedly moved to Philadelphia after an argument with another crew.
“Where would Rocco take a hostage?”
“I don’t know.”
Damiano closed the ledger.
Anthony spoke faster. “There are three East Ferry properties. Warehouse Twelve, an office on Brant, and the old St. Agnes school. I swear, that’s all.”
“The school?”
“Condemned. They’ve been billing stabilization work to the city for a year.”
“What does four-seven mean?”
Anthony blinked. “Building permit. Forty-seven.”
“For which property?”
“I’d have to check.”
“Check.”
“My phone’s in my car.”
Paolo placed it on the table.
Anthony looked at him, then unlocked it with his thumb.
Permit 47-EF belonged to the old St. Agnes school.
Damiano stood.
Enzo stepped away from the wall. “We don’t know she’s there.”
“No.”
“It may be another trap.”
“Yes.”
“You planning to bring police?”
Anthony looked between them.
Damiano took the inspector’s phone. “Not yet.”
Enzo’s disappointment showed before he hid it.
The old school occupied half a block behind a chain-link fence. Its brick walls were blackened by decades of exhaust. Most windows had been boarded. A stone saint above the main entrance had lost both hands.
Damiano arrived with Enzo, Paolo, and Nicky shortly after one in the morning. They parked two streets away and approached on foot. Rain softened to a mist.
A side door showed fresh scratches around the lock.
Paolo reached beneath his coat.
Damiano caught his wrist. “No guns unless you see one.”
“What are we supposed to do if we see one?”
“Try not to become stupid.”
May you like
They entered.
The building smelled of wet plaster and old gym mats. Their flashlights moved along children’s murals faded by damp. Cartoon planets floated above a corridor where ceiling tiles had collapsed.
