Chapter 11 - THE RECORDINGLuca instructed us to meet him inside a parking structure near Navy Pier.
No police.
No federal agents.
Dante agreed, then informed both Detective Ruiz and Agent Ward.
“I thought he said no police,” I said.
“I do not follow instructions from frightened men holding stolen evidence.”
“Neither do I.”
“You have made that clear.”
For the first time in twenty-four hours, there was the faintest warmth beneath his words.
It disappeared when my father entered.
Thomas had spent the morning defending himself.
“I never ordered anyone to hurt Sofia,” he said again.
Dante did not look at him.
“The recording will determine that.”
“You trust a recording from your uncle?”
“No.”
“But you suspect me.”
“I suspect everyone.”
“Including Emma?”
Dante’s gaze moved toward me.
“Yes.”
The answer hurt.
It also made sense.
Trust built too quickly was another form of blindness.
We entered the parking structure just before sunset.
Luca stood beside a concrete pillar on the sixth level.
Blood covered his shirt.
He held one hand against his abdomen.
Dante approached alone.
“You’re injured.”
“Vittorio’s men found me.”
“Why did you run?”
“Because the page had my name beside Adrian’s.”
“Did you take Sofia home that night?”
“Yes.”
Dante’s face became stone.
“She begged you not to.”
“Yes.”
“And you delivered her to him.”
“I was twenty-three. Your father gave the order.”
“My father ordered you to return a visibly injured woman to her husband?”
“He said family disputes stayed inside the family.”
Dante looked away.
The sentence had killed many women long before Sofia.
Luca removed a cassette tape from his coat.
“Two years after her death, Thomas Foster contacted me. He said he had recorded Vittorio discussing the operation.”
My father stepped forward.
“I never contacted you.”
Luca frowned.
“You called yourself Thomas Foster.”
“It wasn’t me.”
Luca’s expression changed.
Dante took the cassette.
“Where did you get this?”
“From the man who gave me Sofia’s missing page.”
“Who?”
A gunshot cracked across the garage.
Luca jerked backward.
Dante caught him.
More shots struck the pillar.
We dropped behind parked vehicles.
Rosa pulled me behind an SUV.
My father fired toward the opposite level.
“Shooter on seven!”
Detective Ruiz’s officers moved in from the stairwells.
The attacker ran.
I saw only a dark coat and gray hair.
Dante pressed both hands against Luca’s chest wound.
“Stay with me.”
Luca coughed blood.
“I’m sorry about Sofia.”
“Save your strength.”
“She was afraid.”
Dante’s voice broke.
“I know.”
“She asked me to drive her to you.”
Dante closed his eyes.
“I know.”
“I should have.”
“Yes.”
Luca’s hand closed around Dante’s wrist.
“Don’t become your father.”
Then his fingers loosened.
Paramedics rushed forward, but the truth was visible in Dante’s face.
Luca Santoro died on the concrete floor.
The cassette remained in Dante’s hand.
We played it later inside a secure federal conference room.
The recording was old and damaged.
Two male voices spoke beneath static.
The first was Vittorio.
“The girl has been talking to Foster.”
A second voice answered.
“Then silence her.”
My father stood.
“That is not me.”
Agent Ward paused the tape.
“The voice is distorted.”
“Play the rest,” Dante said.
The recording continued.
Vittorio laughed.
“Salvatore will blame the husband. Dante will blame himself. And Thomas Foster will receive the body of his informant.”
The second voice spoke again.
“Afterward, I want my payment.”
“What payment?”
“Protection for my son.”
The tape ended.
Everyone looked at Thomas.
“I don’t have a son other than Liam.”
Agent Ward studied him.
“Not that your family knows.”
My mother sat beside me.
Her face went white.
I turned toward her.
“Mom?”
She stared at Thomas.
“What is she talking about?”
Thomas looked at the floor.
“Before I met Eleanor, I was involved with another agent.”
My mother stood.
“You told me there was no one.”
“It ended before us.”
“Did you have a child?”
“I didn’t know until years later.”
“What is his name?” I asked.
Thomas did not answer.
Dante moved toward him.
“What is his name?”
“Adrian Bell.”
The room exploded into silence.
Sofia’s husband.
Her abuser.
The man Dante killed after her death.
My father’s son.
My half-brother.
My knees nearly failed.
Thomas continued, his voice breaking.
“Adrian’s mother placed him for adoption. Vittorio discovered the connection and used it to control him.”
“You knew Adrian was your son?” Dante asked.
“Not until after Sofia died.”
“You recorded Vittorio discussing her murder.”
“Yes.”
“Why does the other voice sound like you?”
“It may have been Adrian. People said our voices were similar.”
Dante crossed the room and struck my father.
Thomas fell against the table.
Agents moved forward.
Dante stepped back before they touched him.
“Your son murdered my sister.”
“And you murdered my son.”
Thomas wiped blood from his mouth.
Both men looked destroyed by truths they had inherited too late.
I walked out.
The hallway stretched endlessly.
Dante followed several minutes later.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For which part?”
“All of it.”
“My father’s son killed your sister. You killed my brother.”
“I didn’t know who he was.”
“Does that change what you did?”
“No.”
I turned toward him.
Jake’s violence had taught me that dangerous men always justified themselves.
Dante did not.
That made hating him harder.
“I need distance,” I said.
He nodded.
“I will arrange protection that does not report to me.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“Then accept it from Detective Ruiz.”
I walked away.
He did not follow.
For three days, I stayed beside my mother at the hospital.
Liam’s conviction was placed under emergency review.
Jake remained in federal custody.
Vittorio remained missing.
Dante did not call.
On the fourth night, I returned to the apartment I had shared with Jake.
Police had cleared it.
The locks had been changed.
I needed clothes, documents, and the photograph of the baby’s ultrasound hidden inside my dresser.
The apartment smelled like stale beer and Jake’s cologne.
I found the photograph beneath a stack of sweaters.
When I turned, Jake stood in the bedroom doorway.
He wore a federal agent’s jacket.
May you like
Blood covered one sleeve.
“You really should stop trusting locked doors,” he said.
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