Chapter 6 - WHAT GIUSEPPE RUSSO DID
Domenico stared at his father.
“You killed her?”
Giuseppe Russo closed his eyes.
“No.”
“That’s what you just said.”
“I said she died because of me.”
“Explain the difference.”
Giuseppe walked slowly to a chair.
Age had changed him.
The father Domenico remembered had filled rooms.
This man looked smaller.
But his eyes were still sharp.
“I worked with Mercer,” Giuseppe said. “Not officially.”
“Why?”
“To fix Marco’s mess.”
Marco scoffed.
Giuseppe looked at him.
“You were laundering money for men who had bodies buried under highways.”
“I didn’t know how deep it went.”
“You knew enough.”
Domenico slammed a hand onto the table.
“Isabella.”
Giuseppe nodded.
“She found the transfers. She confronted Marco. Then she came to me.”
“Why you?”
“She didn’t want to hurt you until she knew the truth.”
Domenico swallowed.
“She thought I was involved.”
“For a little while.”
That stung.
Giuseppe continued.
“I arranged her meeting with Mercer.”
“The photograph.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Mercer offered protection. Isabella refused.”
“Why?”
“She wouldn’t take Camilla away without telling you.”
Domenico glanced at his daughter.
Camilla was crying silently.
“The night Isabella died,” Giuseppe continued, “she was supposed to meet me at the old garage.”
Domenico’s stomach tightened.
“The garage.”
“She had copies of bank records. Names. Dates. Everything.”
“But she never arrived.”
Giuseppe shook his head.
“I called her. No answer. Twenty minutes later, I heard sirens.”
Domenico sat down.
He remembered that night.
Rain against windows.
A police officer at the front door.
Camilla asleep upstairs.
The sentence no husband ever wanted to hear.
There’s been an accident.
“Why did you say her death was your fault?”
Giuseppe looked down.
“Because I told her to drive there alone.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I knew people were watching us.”
Domenico’s eyes narrowed.
“Was the crash an accident?”
“No.”
Silence.
Camilla whispered, “Oh my God.”
Giuseppe looked at her.
“The brake line had been cut.”
Domenico stood so quickly his chair fell backward.
“The police said mechanical failure.”
“A detective changed the report.”
“Who?”
Giuseppe hesitated.
“Name him.”
“Frank Delaney.”
Domenico knew the name.
Everyone in North Jersey construction did.
Frank Delaney had later become police commissioner.
He was now running for mayor.
Marco muttered, “There it is.”
Domenico looked at him.
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“And you still kept quiet?”
“If I spoke, they killed me. Maybe you. Maybe Camilla.”
Domenico laughed bitterly.
“So instead you let my wife die and buried the truth.”
“I didn’t know they were going after her!”
“You threatened her!”
“Yes!”
Marco’s voice cracked.
Everyone fell silent.
He looked at Domenico.
“I threatened her because I was terrified. I told her to back off. I told her terrible things.”
His eyes reddened.
“But I swear to God, Dom, I didn’t touch that car.”
Domenico wanted not to believe him.
But fear looked different from guilt.
And Marco looked afraid.
Giuseppe stood.
“The evidence Isabella carried never disappeared.”
Domenico looked at him.
“You have it?”
“No.”
“Then who does?”
Giuseppe pointed toward Isabella’s letter.
“She left a trail.”
“The garage.”
“That was only the first stop.”
Domenico stood.
“Then we go.”
Giuseppe shook his head.
“You can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because somebody already went there.”
He reached for a remote.
A television turned on.
Security footage filled the screen.
The old Russo garage.
Timestamped twenty-seven minutes earlier.
Three men entered.
They tore apart shelves.
Broke cabinets.
Then one of them turned toward the camera.
Domenico recognized him.
So did Camilla.
She whispered:
“That’s M.”
On the screen stood Michael Mercer.
May you like
The son of FBI agent Daniel Mercer.
And the man Camilla had been secretly seeing for almost a year.
