Chapter 4 - The Phone in the Tenement and the Guard at the Gates
“The phone is inside the locked box,” Mia said, her voice dropping to a cautious whisper.
“And where is the box?” Damon asked.
“Under the floorboards beneath the radiator in my apartment,” Mia replied.
Captain Cross leaned forward, his face etched with deep lines of dread.
“Did he tell you to turn the phone on?”
“No,” Mia said.
“He made me promise never to turn it on unless three months passed without a word from him.”
“Did you turn it on?” Damon asked.
“No,” Mia admitted.
“I was terrified.”
“I thought if I turned it on, whoever made him run might trace the signal to my apartment.”
“I needed to survive.”
“I needed to find work to pay rent.”
“That was the only reason I applied for this job through the domestic agency.”
Damon stood up from behind the desk, towering over the room.
“We are going to your apartment right now.”
“We retrieve the box.”
“We bring it back here to my private security team.”
Mia immediately backed toward the study door.
“No.”
Damon stopped, his brow arching in cold surprise.
“No?”
“I am not letting your private mafia security take Evan’s belongings,” Mia said firmly.
“I don't know who you are.”
“I don't know who Evan was running from.”
“For all I know, he was running from you.”
Damon’s jaw tightened, a dangerous flicker of anger crossing his eyes.
“Evan is my blood, Mia.”
“His father and my father built this family’s business together.”
“If someone tried to murder him, or if someone forced him into exile, that is an insult to the Marino name.”
“I don't care about your family name!” Mia shouted, her voice echoing off the high wood-paneled walls.
“I care about my baby!”
“I care about the man who held me when I had a fever!”
“I am walking out of those front gates, I am going to my apartment, and I am calling the federal authorities!”
Mia turned toward the heavy mahogany doors of the study and reached for the brass handle.
A heavy wooden cane slammed against the doorframe, blocking her path.
Mia jumped back.
William Cross stood in front of the door, his tall frame blocking the exit entirely.
The elderly retired captain was no longer looking at her with gentle sympathy.
His expression was grim, resolute, and unyielding.
“You are not leaving this estate, Miss Collins,” Cross said quietly.
Mia’s heart leaped into her throat.
Panic surged through her chest.
“Get out of my way,” she warned, her voice trembling.
“You are a retired police officer.”
“You cannot hold me here against my will.”
“I am doing this to save your life, child,” Cross said, his voice low and raspy.
“You think walking out those gates will lead you to safety?”
“If Marcus Vale falsified that autopsy, he did not do it alone.”
“The Brookfield police department has compromised officers in every division.”
“The coroner’s office is compromised.”
“If you walk out of this house and start asking questions about Evan Marino, you will be dead before morning.”
“And the baby you are carrying will die with you.”
Mia stared at the old man, tears of frustration and terror spilling down her cheeks.
“You don't have the right to keep me prisoner.”
“I am not keeping you prisoner,” Cross said, his eyes softening slightly with sorrow.
“I am keeping you alive.”
“Because six months ago, after I signed that fraudulent death certificate, I received a warning.”
Damon walked over, standing directly behind Mia.
“What warning, William?” Damon asked, his tone lethal.
“You never told me about a warning.”
Cross closed his eyes for a moment, as if recalling a nightmare he had tried for months to forget.
“Three days after the warehouse fire, an unmarked envelope was left inside my personal mailbox at my home.”
“Inside was a single handwritten note on plain white paper.”
“No name.”
“No return address.”
“What did it say?” Mia asked, her breath catching.
Cross opened his eyes and looked directly into Mia’s face.
“It said: The debt at the warehouse is paid.”
“Do not look for the survivor, Captain.”
“If the survivor surfaces, everyone who shares his blood will burn.”
The words hung in the quiet room like a death sentence.
“I assumed it was a warning from the cartel,” Cross whispered.
“I thought they were threatening Damon and the rest of the Marino family.”
“I thought they meant there had been a witness inside the warehouse who had fled.”
“I never imagined the survivor was Evan himself.”
Cross reached out a weathered hand and touched the sleeve of the torn leather jacket in Mia’s arms.
“Someone wanted Evan Marino erased from existence.”
“Evan agreed to stay dead to protect someone.”
“And now, young lady, you have walked directly into the lion’s den wearing his ghost on your sleeve.”
Before Damon could respond, the red light on his desk intercom flashed violently.
A sharp electronic buzzer broke the tension in the room.
Damon strode over to the desk and hit the speaker button.
“What is it?” Damon demanded.
The voice of his head of security, Frank, crackled through the speaker.
“Mr. Marino, we have a situation at the main security gate.”
“What situation?”
“Marcus Vale is here, sir.”
“He drove through the outer checkpoint without clearance.”
“He says he needs to speak with you immediately about an urgent matter regarding Evan.”
Damon and William Cross exchanged a look of pure, chilling alarm.
“Did anyone tell Vale about the jacket?” Damon barked into the intercom.
“No, sir,” Frank replied.
“Only the internal house staff saw it.”
“Then how does he know?” Mia whispered, her blood running cold.
Damon did not answer her.
He hit the button on the intercom again.
“Hold him in the receiving parlor downstairs, Frank.”
“Search him for weapons.”
“And Frank?”
May you like
“Yes, Mr. Marino?”
“Do not let him leave the room under any circumstances.”
