Chapter 10 - THE CHURCH
Rain began halfway to Newark.
Of course it did.
Domenico almost laughed at the cruelty of it.
The same city.
The same weather.
The same secrets.
Only this time, Isabella wasn’t there to pay for them.
St. Michael’s had been closed for renovation for six months.
Scaffolding covered one side.
The parking lot was empty.
Domenico stopped across the street.
Giuseppe checked his watch.
11:31.
Marco opened his door.
Domenico locked it.
Marco looked at him.
“Seriously?”
“You were in Isabella’s car.”
Marco’s face went still.
“Michael sent that?”
“Yes.”
“It’s complicated.”
“People only say that when the simple version makes them look guilty.”
Marco exhaled.
“I was in her car earlier that night.”
Domenico stared.
“When?”
“Eight-thirty.”
“Why?”
“She came to my apartment.”
“For what?”
“She wanted me to confess.”
“To me?”
“To the FBI.”
“What happened?”
“We fought. I grabbed her keys.”
Camilla whispered, “You tried to stop her.”
“Yes.”
“Did you damage the brakes?”
“No.”
Domenico unlocked the doors.
“If you’re lying, I’ll know soon enough.”
They entered the church through a side door.
The inside smelled of dust and damp wood.
Plastic covered the pews.
Moonlight filtered through stained glass.
“Basement,” Domenico whispered.
They reached the stairs.
Halfway down, the lights came on.
Camilla jumped.
At the bottom stood Michael Mercer.
Thirty-two.
Dark suit.
Gun in hand.
He looked exhausted.
Not crazy.
Not angry.
Just tired.
“Hi, Cam.”
Camilla’s voice broke.
“Michael.”
He looked at Domenico.
“You brought everyone.”
“I’m bad at following instructions.”
Michael almost smiled.
“I noticed.”
Giuseppe stepped forward.
“Where’s Daniel?”
“Safe.”
“You sent a photograph of him bleeding.”
“He’s alive.”
“Where?”
“After I get the ledger.”
Domenico looked around.
“This isn’t about blackmail.”
Michael’s expression changed.
“No.”
“You want Delaney.”
“Yes.”
“Then why threaten us?”
“Because every Russo I’ve ever met lies.”
Marco snorted.
“Can’t argue with that.”
Michael’s eyes moved to him.
“You.”
Marco lifted his hands.
“You’re not my favorite person either.”
“You killed Isabella.”
Domenico watched Marco.
Marco shook his head.
“No.”
Michael raised the gun.
“My father saw you leave her car.”
Domenico stepped between them.
“Put the gun down.”
“Move.”
“No.”
“Mr. Russo—”
“You love my daughter?”
Michael’s jaw tightened.
Camilla stared at him.
Domenico continued.
“You want to convince her you didn’t use her? Start by not shooting her uncle in front of her.”
Marco muttered, “Touching.”
Michael lowered the gun slightly.
Giuseppe pointed toward the back wall.
“The cabinet used to be there.”
Renovation had removed most of the old storage area.
Domenico walked closer.
A section of original wooden paneling remained.
He ran his hand across it.
Then he found the carving.
D + I.
His throat tightened.
He pushed the panel.
Nothing.
Giuseppe said, “Try underneath.”
Domenico crouched.
A small metal latch.
Click.
A narrow compartment opened.
Inside was a black ledger.
And a cassette tape.
Marco went pale.
Michael raised the gun again.
“Give them to me.”
Domenico picked up the tape.
A handwritten label was stuck to the front.
ISABELLA — 10/14.
The date she died.
Then footsteps sounded upstairs.
Many footsteps.
Michael’s face changed.
“You were followed.”
Domenico shook his head.
“No.”
Marco looked toward the stairs.
“Yes, we were.”
Everyone turned toward him.
Marco closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
Domenico’s heart stopped.
May you like
Marco whispered:
“They have my son.”
