Chapter 4 - Inside the Inner Circle
The car ride to the Upper East Side brownstone was entirely silent, save for the hum of the luxury sedan's engine. Gabriel sat beside me in the back seat, his jaw clenched, staring straight ahead. Up front, the massive bodyguard who had pulled me out of my apartment kept his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror, watching my every move.
The brownstone didn't look like a mob stronghold from the outside. It looked like an expensive, historic home with wrought-iron railings and warm amber lights glowing behind clean windows. But inside, the atmosphere changed instantly. Heavy Persian rugs muffled our footsteps, and the walls were lined with dark wood paneling and oil paintings that looked centuries old.
We were led into a sprawling study lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Salvatore Rossi sat behind a massive mahogany desk, a glass of amber liquid in front of him. He didn't look frail anymore; under the bright desk lamp, he looked like a king holding court in exile.
"Sit," Salvatore said, gesturing to the leather chair opposite him.
I didn't move. I kept my hands buried deep in my coat pockets, clutching the gold signet ring. "I'd rather stand."
Salvatore offered a faint, dry smile, showing teeth that were too white for his age. "Spoken like Gaetano. He always hated being told what to do, even when a gun was pointed at his chest."
"Why am I here, Your Grace?" I asked, dropping the honorific title slightly to show I wasn't intimidated.
"Because that ring in your pocket belonged to my brother," Salvatore said softly, the room suddenly dropping ten degrees in atmosphere. "Twenty-five years ago, before I took control of the family, my brother disappeared along with half our holdings and a ledger containing the names of every official, judge, and cop on our payroll. Everyone thought he was dead. Everyone thought the ledger was gone."
He leaned forward, resting his weathered hands on the desk. "When you spoke that dialect tonight—when you used phrases only my hometown circle used—I knew Gaetano hadn't just been your neighbor. He had been hiding in plain sight, grooming someone. And when you pulled out that accent, I knew he hadn't taken that secret to his grave."
Gabriel finally broke his silence, stepping between his father and me. "Father, enough. She’s just a kid who helped an old man carry groceries. She didn't know what was in that box until tonight."
"Quiet, Gabriel," Salvatore commanded without raising his voice. He looked back at me. "Open the box for me, Tessa. Let's see what else my dear, departed friend left behind."
I pulled my hand from my pocket, but instead of the ring, I placed Mr. Cosenza's letter flat on the desk, just out of reach.
"You can have the ring," I said steadily. "And you can have the cash. But before I open anything else, you're going to answer one question: why did Mr. Cosenza have to hide from you in the first place?"
May you like
Salvatore stared at the letter, his expression hardening into stone. Slowly, a dark, dangerous light entered his eyes.
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