Chapter 3 - DAMIAN’S UNCLE CALLED BEFORE ANYONE TOLD HIM ABOUT THE SHOOTING
The mansion remained under lockdown until morning.
Damian refused to return to his bedroom.
Martha did not blame him.
They stayed in the private study while Victor isolated security systems floor by floor.
At 5:18 a.m., Damian’s personal phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
“Enzo.”
Martha immediately straightened.
“Does he know?”
“He shouldn’t.”
“Answer.”
Damian raised an eyebrow.
“You’re giving orders now?”
“You can fire me later.”
“I never hired Martha Bellini.”
“Excellent. Then there’s no paperwork.”
Damian answered.
“Uncle.”
Enzo Falcone’s voice came warm through the speaker.
“Damian, thank God.”
Martha stared at him.
Damian’s expression went blank.
“For what?”
A pause.
“Victor called.”
Martha’s eyes narrowed.
Damian asked,
“When?”
“An hour ago.”
“Interesting.”
“Why?”
“Because Victor is currently locked out of external communications.”
Silence.
Enzo recovered quickly.
“Then one of the guards.”
“Which one?”
“Damian, does it matter?”
“Yes.”
Enzo sighed.
“I heard there was trouble.”
“What kind?”
“Gunfire.”
Martha watched Damian carefully.
He did not confirm anything.
Enzo continued.
“I’m coming over.”
“No.”
“What?”
“The estate is locked.”
“I’m your uncle.”
“No visitors.”
“Since when am I a visitor?”
Martha saw Damian react to the phrase.
Access assumed by family.
Andrew’s warning.
Who enters without being searched?
Damian answered,
“Since someone tried to kill me.”
Silence.
There.
Information finally confirmed.
Enzo spoke more softly.
“You’re hurt?”
“No.”
“Lucia?”
“She wasn’t here.”
“Thank God.”
Martha watched Damian.
Enzo asked,
“Who did it?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
The silence that followed felt different.
“Excuse me?”
“North Crest Holdings.”
Enzo did not speak.
Martha’s pulse quickened.
Damian continued.
“Do you remember it?”
“Of course.”
“Who owns it?”
“No one.”
“Someone disagrees.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Money is moving through it.”
Enzo laughed once.
“You call me before sunrise to ask about a company your father closed thirty years ago?”
“You called me.”
Another pause.
“Damian.”
Enzo’s voice changed.
Less affectionate.
“Whatever happened tonight, you are tired.”
“Get some sleep.”
“Let Victor handle security.”
Martha looked sharply at Damian.
Enzo had just directed him back toward Victor.
Damian said,
“I’ll handle it.”
“You always say that.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means your father had the same disease.”
“What disease?”
“Believing control and responsibility were the same thing.”
Martha almost reacted.
It echoed Damian’s own admission about Andrew.
Enzo continued.
“Don’t repeat his mistakes.”
Damian’s voice cooled.
“Which mistake killed him?”
Silence.
Martha turned.
That was new.
Enzo finally said,
“Your father had enemies.”
“So do I.”
“Yes.”
“And if you start accusing family because you’re frightened, you’ll create more.”
Damian looked toward Martha.
“Good morning, Enzo.”
He ended the call.
Martha exhaled.
“You did not tell me your father’s death was suspicious.”
“It wasn’t officially.”
“What does officially mean in your family?”
“It means there was never evidence.”
“How did he die?”
“Heart attack.”
“Age?”
“Fifty-eight.”
“History?”
“No.”
Martha stared.
“And the house doctor?”
Damian’s expression changed.
“Doctor Vale signed the death certificate.”
The room became silent.
Andrew’s warning returned.
Do not call the house doctor.
Martha whispered,
“That cannot be coincidence.”
“It can.”
“You really enjoy precision when it is inconvenient.”
“I enjoy not hanging a man because a dead accountant left a sentence on a memory card.”
“Andrew had a name.”
“I know.”
Damian turned away.
Martha softened slightly.
Only slightly.
“Tell me about Enzo.”
“My uncle helped my father build the organization.”
“Legal business or illegal?”
“Both.”
Martha waited.
Damian’s answer did not come immediately.
Finally:
“My father believed legitimate businesses gave the family durability.”
“And the criminal side?”
“He believed fear gave them protection.”
“You?”
Damian looked at her.
“I inherited more than I chose.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No.”
His answer was almost a smile.
Then he became serious.
“I have been shutting down parts of the organization for five years.”
Martha frowned.
“What parts?”
“The ones that create victims.”
“That is a convenient moral line for a mafia boss.”
“Yes.”
“You still collect debts.”
“Yes.”
“You still use intimidation.”
“Sometimes.”
“You still make money from things normal companies don’t.”
“Yes.”
Martha stared.
“You’re not going to pretend to be innocent.”
“No.”
That answer unsettled her more than a denial would have.
“Then why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn’t.”
Damian sat behind the desk.
“You should trust evidence.”
He opened Andrew’s file again.
“North Crest.”
Martha stood beside him.
“What are we looking for?”
“Ownership.”
They searched old corporate files stored on an internal archive.
Most were incomplete.
North Crest Holdings had been incorporated by Damian’s father thirty-one years earlier.
Operations ceased eighteen years ago.
Yet tax records showed small annual filings continuing.
Martha pointed.
“Who signed these?”
Damian leaned closer.
An accountant.
Different names.
Then one recurring mailing address.
A law office.
Martha frowned.
“Does that mean something?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“It belongs to Enzo’s attorney.”
Martha looked at him.
“Still coincidence?”
“Less likely.”
The study door buzzed.
Victor.
“I have something.”
Damian answered through the intercom.
“Say it.”
“I need to show you.”
“No.”
Victor cursed under his breath.
Martha almost smiled.
Victor continued.
“The sniper casing had no useful trace.”
“But?”
“The rooftop access camera recorded one vehicle leaving the adjacent building before the feed went dead.”
“Plate?”
“Obscured.”
“Vehicle?”
“Black sedan.”
Martha shrugged.
“Boston narrows down to twelve thousand suspects.”
Victor ignored her.
“Passenger door had a Crest Security permit.”
Damian froze.
Martha asked,
“Crest?”
Victor continued.
“Private contractor.”
“Who owns it?”
Victor answered slowly.
“North Crest Holdings owns sixty percent.”
Martha stared at Damian.
The dead company had a living subsidiary.
And that subsidiary’s vehicle had been across the courtyard when somebody fired into Damian’s bathroom.
Damian pressed the intercom.
“Victor.”
“Yes?”
“Who approved Crest Security as a vendor?”
Silence.
Victor finally said,
“Your uncle.”
Martha’s pulse jumped.
Damian remained still.
“When?”
“Six years ago.”
“Why didn’t I know?”
“Because they service secondary properties, not the main estate.”
“Except somebody from Crest just knew my bathroom schedule.”
Victor did not answer.
Martha looked at Damian.
“Schedule?”
Damian’s jaw tightened.
“I shower after training every morning.”
“Same time?”
“Usually.”
She stared.
“You switch cars but shower on a schedule?”
“I didn’t say I was perfect.”
Victor spoke again.
“There’s more.”
Damian waited.
“The service cart outside the bathroom carried a container tagged from the house clinic.”
Doctor Vale.
Martha closed her eyes.
“There.”
Damian asked,
“Where is Vale?”
“No one’s seen him since midnight.”
“When did he leave?”
“His car is still here.”
Martha whispered,
“Inside the house.”
Victor heard.
“Maybe.”
Damian replied,
“Find him.”
“I already have teams searching.”
“Not alone.”
Victor went silent.
“You still don’t trust me.”
Damian looked at Martha.
“I trust that Andrew had a reason to warn us.”
Victor exhaled.
“Fair.”
That response mattered.
No outrage.
No insistence.
Martha noticed.
Victor continued.
“I’ll report every fifteen minutes.”
The intercom clicked off.
Martha folded her arms.
“You think Victor is innocent.”
“I think he may be.”
“Because he accepts suspicion gracefully?”
“Because he could’ve lied about Crest Security.”
“Unless he wants us looking at Enzo.”
“Exactly.”
She frowned.
“That means you still suspect him.”
“Yes.”
“You must be exhausting to work for.”
“I pay well.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“You lied on the application.”
“You’re never letting that go?”
“Probably not.”
For the first time, Martha laughed.
It lasted less than a second.
Then the laptop chimed.
A new file on Andrew’s card unlocked.
Not by timer this time.
By network connection.
Damian stared.
Title:
MARTHA, ASK HIM ABOUT THE BRIDGE.
Her laughter vanished.
“What bridge?”
Damian went very still.
Martha looked at him.
“Damian.”
He did not answer.
“What bridge?”
“The Longfellow.”
Her heart began pounding.
“The bridge where Andrew’s car went into the river?”
“Yes.”
“What do you know?”
Damian’s eyes met hers.
“I was there that night.”
Martha stopped breathing.
“You told me he left you three days earlier.”
“He did.”
“And you were at the bridge?”
“Yes.”
Her hand moved before she thought.
She slapped him.
Hard.
Damian’s face turned with the impact.
Neither spoke.
Martha’s voice shook.
“You let me sit in this room all night.”
“I was waiting for the file.”
“You were there.”
“Yes.”
“Did you see him die?”
Damian looked back at her.
“No.”
“Then what did you see?”
He reached toward the laptop.
Martha slapped his hand away.
“No files.”
“Tell me.”
Damian’s jaw tightened.
“I followed him.”
“Why?”
“Because he stopped answering.”
“Then?”
“I saw his car turn onto the bridge.”
“Then?”
“A second vehicle followed.”
“What vehicle?”
“Black sedan.”
Martha’s stomach dropped.
“Crest?”
“I didn’t know then.”
“What happened?”
“I lost them in traffic.”
“That’s it?”
“No.”
Damian’s voice lowered.
“I reached the riverbank after the crash.”
Martha’s eyes filled.
“Was Andrew alive?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“The car was already in the water.”
“What did you do?”
“Called emergency services anonymously.”
“Why anonymously?”
“Because I was Damian Falcone standing beside a dead accountant who had just accused my organization of corruption.”
Martha stared at him in disgust.
“You protected yourself.”
“Yes.”
“And Andrew?”
“I went into the river.”
She stopped.
Damian’s expression did not change.
“I couldn’t reach him.”
Martha stared at the old scars along his shoulder and side.
Scars she had seen in the shower.
Some older.
One pale line across his ribs.
“What happened?”
“The current pushed me into concrete.”
“You almost died?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t the police record you?”
“I left before they arrived.”
“Of course.”
Damian looked away.
Martha whispered,
“You could’ve told me.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because every version made me look exactly like the man you believed killed him.”
She stared.
“And because?”
He looked at her again.
“Because I was ashamed I failed twice.”
“First by waiting.”
“Then by reaching him too late.”
Martha’s anger did not disappear.
But certainty did.
Andrew’s next file was waiting.
They opened it.
A map appeared.
One point marked beside the Longfellow Bridge.
Another beside North Crest’s warehouse.
A line connecting them.
Below it, Andrew had written:
The car that followed me belongs to the same company moving the money.
Martha looked at Damian.
The man she came to expose had indeed been at her brother’s death.
But not in the role she had imagined.
May you like
The real killers had been moving around both of them while grief and guilt kept them looking at each other.
And now the trail was leading directly toward Enzo Falcone.
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