Chapter 2 - The Accountant’s Ledger
The private library smelled of aged leather, pipe tobacco, and the faint, bitter tang of burning cedar from the fireplace. Mrs. Bellini had already placed the heavy leather-bound ledger on the mahogany reading table, alongside a crystal decanter of amber scotch.
Casius didn't touch the liquor. He stood by the arched window, looking out over the rain-slicked courtyard where tail-lights of the enforcers' vehicles were just disappearing into the New York night.
“Put it on speaker,” Casius commanded, nodding toward the burner phone resting on the edge of the desk.
Nadia looked at the screen. The caller ID was a string of restricted digits. She tapped the speaker icon and placed it on the polished wood.
“Speak,” Nadia said.
For a second, there was only static and the sound of heavy breathing against the receiver. Then a raspy, panicked voice cut through the quiet.
“Nadia? God, thank Christ you answered. You shouldn't have worn that dress. You’ve no idea what you’ve kicked over.”
Casius stepped away from the window in two long strides, his hand hovering inches from the phone. “Identify yourself.”
“Who is this? Is that—is that Leone?” The voice on the other end choked on a dry cough. “Listen to me, Don Leone. The hit on your grandfather wasn't an isolated contract. Salvatore didn't just buy poison; he bought a blueprint. And your missing brother—he wasn't snatched by a rival family.”
Nadia gripped the edge of the table. Her knuckles went white. “Leo? Where is Leo?”
“He found the second ledger,” the accountant gasped, a sudden background crash of metal echoing through the line. “The one Victoria kept on the internal council. She didn't just know about the Rizzo hit—she was blackmailing half the commission. And your brother walked right into the vault at the downtown shipping yard three nights ago, thinking he could cash out.”
“Who has him?” Casius’s voice dropped to a lethal whisper that made the air in the room feel thin.
“Not the Rizzos,” the accountant wheezed. “The Commission itself. They’re voting on the Leone succession at dawn. And with you marrying your assistant instead of an alliance bride, they’re planning to—”
CRACK.
The line went dead with a sharp, electronic shriek, followed immediately by a dial tone.
Nadia stared at the screen as the call disconnected. The blood drained from her face. Her mind raced back through the past three years of managing Casius’s calendar—every meeting requested by the elder capos, every sudden adjustment to the shipping schedules, every subtle shift in the Commission’s behavior. It hadn't been routine business. They had been tightening a noose around the Leone estate while she was busy organizing flight manifests.
“The shipping yard on Pier 44,” Casius said, his face carved from granite. He reached for his coat. “Get your coat, Nadia. We’re leaving.”
“Wait,” Nadia said, her voice cutting through his momentum. She stepped between him and the door.
Casius stopped, surprised by the barrier. His dark eyes flashed with impatience. “There’s no time to argue. If the Commission has Leo, every minute we waste—”
“If we walk into Pier 44 right now with your enforcers, we walk straight into a trap,” Nadia interrupted, her tone sharp, analytical, and entirely devoid of panic. “Think about it. The accountant knew about the second ledger. He knew about the vote at dawn. But how did he know my brother was there? Leo didn't tell anyone where he was going except me.”
Casius went completely still. The raw fury in his expression flickered, replaced by the calculating coldness of a master tactician. “You think the accountant was set up to call us.”
“I think,” Nadia said, walking over to the heavy leather ledger Mrs. Bellini had left on the desk, “that we’ve been looking at the wrong family history.”
She flipped open the thick leather cover. The pages were filled with Victoria Leone’s sharp, slashing cursive—columns of names, dates, and financial transfers dating back to the 1980s. But near the back, wedged between two unlined pages, was a thin, modern piece of cardstock—a dry-cleaning receipt dated three days ago, bearing a barcode from a shop two blocks away from the Leone estate.
“My brother didn't go to Pier 44 three nights ago,” Nadia whispered, tracing the barcode with her index finger. “He was right here in the estate's private annex. And whoever dragged him out didn't use force. They used a key.”
Casius slowly walked back to the desk, staring down at the receipt. The realization hit him like a physical blow. The security system in the private annex could only be bypassed by two people: himself, and the head of internal security—a man who had served the Leone family for thirty years.
“Vance,” Casius whispered.
Before Casius could reach for his phone to call the guards, the heavy library doors swung open silently.
Vance stood in the doorway. He wasn't holding a gun. He was holding a silver tray with two cups of black coffee, exactly the way Nadia used to bring them every morning at 8:00 AM sharp.
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And behind him, standing in the hallway with a quiet, unsettling smile, was a woman Nadia had never seen before in the boardroom—holding Leo’s burner phone in her palm.
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