Chapter 7 - THE PRICE OF A SANTORO NAME
For one dangerous second, I forgot Stella had a gun against her.
“What did you say?”
Vescari smiled.
“You heard me.”
“You killed my mother.”
“I certainly benefited from her silence.”
My stomach twisted.
“But I didn’t give the order.”
“You expect me to believe you?”
“No.”
He looked toward the darkness beyond me.
“I expect him to.”
Niko’s voice crackled faintly through the hidden receiver.
Do not react.
I forced myself to breathe.
“Let Stella go.”
“Ledger first.”
I held up the leather folder.
Vescari extended his hand.
“No.”
His smile disappeared.
“Excuse me?”
“She walks halfway.”
“Sloane,” Stella whispered.
Her face was bruised.
I wanted to run to her.
Instead, I held my ground.
“You want this?” I said. “She moves.”
Vescari studied me.
Then nodded to the man holding Stella.
They moved five steps.
“Again.”
Five more.
Vescari’s eyes narrowed.
“You’ve learned quickly.”
“My husband is an excellent teacher.”
The words were deliberate.
I wanted Niko to hear them.
I wanted Vescari to understand that whatever he was trying to create between us had failed.
For now.
“Interesting,” Vescari said. “You’ve known him three days.”
“I knew my father thirty years. Apparently time isn’t proof of anything.”
Vescari laughed.
Then Stella stumbled.
I moved instinctively.
“Stop,” Vescari warned.
I froze.
“The ledger.”
I tossed it.
His man caught the folder.
The instant Vescari opened it, his expression changed.
“Fake.”
Everything happened at once.
A spotlight exploded to life.
Federal agents shouted.
Stella dropped.
Gunfire cracked across the pier.
I ran toward her.
Someone grabbed my coat from behind.
I screamed.
Niko appeared out of nowhere.
He hit the man hard enough to throw him sideways, then shoved me behind a concrete barrier.
“Stay down!”
“Stella!”
“Marco has her!”
I looked.
Marco dragged Stella toward cover.
She was alive.
Vescari’s sedan accelerated toward the exit.
Federal vehicles blocked one side, but a second SUV crashed through a temporary barrier.
“He’s getting away!”
Niko lifted his weapon.
Then stopped.
Too many agents.
Too many civilians beyond.
Vescari disappeared into Manhattan.
Niko lowered the gun with a curse.
I stared at him.
“Your grandfather.”
His expression hardened.
“Not here.”
“He said Salvatore ordered my mother’s murder.”
“Vescari lies.”
“So does everyone else!”
“Sloane.”
“Did your grandfather know about my mother’s evidence?”
“Yes.”
“Did he know she planned to go federal?”
“I don’t know.”
“Would that have hurt your family?”
Niko said nothing.
That was an answer.
I stepped backward.
The distance between us suddenly felt enormous.
Three days ago, I feared him because of his name.
Then I had started seeing the man underneath it.
Now I remembered what Santoro meant.
Power.
Violence.
Secrets.
Marco approached with Stella.
I ran to her.
She wrapped both arms around me.
“I’m sorry,” she cried.
“For what?”
“They followed us. Your security guys—two were shot.”
“That isn’t your fault.”
She pulled away.
“There’s something else.”
Her face made my stomach drop.
“What?”
“They kept asking about your mother.”
“Why?”
“They thought I knew where you kept her journals.”
“I don’t have journals.”
Stella stared.
“Yes, you do.”
“What?”
“The blue notebooks.”
My heart stopped.
In college, I had found a box of old blank notebooks in my father’s attic.
I had assumed they belonged to Mom.
Most pages seemed empty, so I used three of them for class notes.
“Those?”
“They kept asking where they were.”
Niko moved closer.
“How many?”
“Six,” I whispered.
“Where?”
“Three at my apartment. One in my school locker. Two at Dad’s Hamptons house.”
Marco was already giving orders.
Niko looked at me.
“We need them.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because your mother may have written in invisible ink.”
Stella blinked.
“Is that a mafia thing?”
“No,” Niko said. “It’s an intelligence thing.”
I almost laughed.
Instead I looked at his hands.
Blood covered one knuckle.
“Are you hurt?”
“Not mine.”
The answer should have disturbed me.
It did.
But what disturbed me more was the relief I felt.
Arthur joined us ten minutes later.
I confronted him immediately.
“Did Salvatore kill Mom?”
He went still.
“Who told you?”
“Vescari.”
Arthur looked toward Niko.
“That man will say anything.”
“So no?”
My father hesitated.
My chest tightened.
“Dad.”
“I don’t know.”
Niko’s face hardened.
Arthur continued.
“Catherine was terrified in the final weeks. She believed someone inside the Santoro family had discovered what Lucia was doing.”
“What was Lucia doing?”
“Copying records from family businesses.”
Niko stared.
“My mother stole from us?”
“She documented transactions.”
“Why?”
“Because she discovered Vescari was using Santoro companies to move money without Salvatore’s knowledge.”
Niko went silent.
“So my grandfather wasn’t involved?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Nobody ever says anything!” I snapped.
Arthur flinched.
I was exhausted.
Stella was bruised.
Two security guards had been shot.
Helena was dead.
My mother had been murdered.
Niko’s mother had been murdered.
And every answer opened another door.
We returned to the penthouse just before dawn.
The broken windows had been boarded.
I stood in the kitchen staring at the sunrise.
Niko entered quietly.
He placed a cup of coffee beside me.
“No sugar.”
I looked at him.
“You noticed?”
“I notice things.”
“Yes. Your terrifying background file established that.”
He leaned against the counter.
Neither of us spoke for a while.
Then I asked, “What happens if Salvatore did it?”
Niko’s jaw tightened.
“I find the truth.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No.”
I turned toward him.
“What happens if your grandfather murdered my mother?”
Niko looked at me for a long time.
Then he said, “He answers for it.”
“He’s your family.”
“So are you.”
My heart stopped.
The words seemed to surprise him too.
“Niko.”
He looked away.
“We are married.”
“That’s not what you meant.”
“No.”
The room changed.
Not physically.
Something invisible shifted.
For the first time, I became aware of how close we stood.
His hand rested on the counter inches from mine.
Neither of us moved.
“Niko.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know what this is.”
“Neither do I.”
“I still hate how this marriage started.”
“So do I.”
“You thought I was shallow.”
“I was an idiot.”
I smiled despite myself.
“That might be the nicest thing you’ve said.”
His mouth curved slightly.
Then his expression became serious.
“May I kiss you?”
Everything inside me went quiet.
No assumption.
No entitlement.
A question.
My first kiss had happened at sixteen behind a school theater.
Awkward.
Forgettable.
But this felt entirely different.
“Yes,” I whispered.
Niko lifted one hand.
Slowly.
Giving me time to change my mind.
His fingers touched my cheek.
Then his mouth met mine.
Gentle.
Nothing like the ruthless man newspapers described.
Nothing like the husband I had feared.
It lasted only seconds.
But when he pulled away, my heart was racing.
His forehead almost touched mine.
Then an alarm sounded from the security system.
We separated instantly.
Marco rushed in carrying one of my mother’s blue notebooks.
“We found something.”
He placed it beneath an ultraviolet lamp.
Lines of handwriting appeared across pages I had believed blank.
My mother’s handwriting.
Dates.
Names.
Bank accounts.
And one sentence repeated three times.
SALVATORE IS NOT THE TRAITOR.
Niko and I stared.
Marco turned another page.
A name appeared.
DOMENIC SANTORO.
Niko stopped breathing.
“Your uncle?” I asked.
He nodded.
Then I remembered the man who had sat in the front pew at our wedding.
Domenic Santoro.
Niko’s father’s younger brother.
Smiling as I walked down the aisle.
Marco turned the final visible page.
My mother had written one sentence in large capital letters.
IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO US, DOMENIC IS WORKING WITH LUCA.
Niko’s phone rang.
He answered.
“What?”
His face changed.
“Where?”
He listened.
Then looked at me.
“My grandfather’s house.”
“What happened?”
Niko grabbed his jacket.
“Domenic is there.”
“Why is that bad?”
May you like
His eyes became cold.
“Because Salvatore just collapsed.”
