Chapter 3 - THE BODY IN MY APARTMENT
The drive to my apartment took nineteen minutes.
I remember every one.
Rain streaked across the SUV windows while New York blurred beyond the glass. Dominic sat across from me, one hand resting near his knee, his expression unreadable.
Maria had wanted to come.
Dominic refused.
For once, I was grateful.
I didn’t want her seeing whatever waited upstairs.
“You don’t have to go inside,” Dominic said.
“It’s my apartment.”
“It may also be a crime scene.”
“Then why are we going?”
“Because my people arrived before the police.”
I stared at him.
“That sentence is not comforting.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
The SUV stopped.
My building looked exactly the same.
That somehow made everything worse.
A yellow light flickered above the entrance.
Dominic exited first.
I followed.
His security chief, Anthony, waited upstairs.
Tall. Shaved head. Gray suit.
He looked at me with surprising gentleness.
“Ms. Bennett.”
“Where is he?”
“Bedroom.”
I stepped forward.
Dominic caught my attention without touching me.
“Stella.”
“I need to see.”
“You don’t.”
“Yes.”
He studied my face.
Then nodded.
“Stay beside me.”
The apartment smelled wrong.
Bleach.
Metal.
Rain from an open window.
Drawers had been pulled out.
Cushions cut open.
Books scattered.
Someone had destroyed the place methodically.
My childhood photographs covered the floor.
I stepped over one of my parents holding me at Coney Island.
Then I saw the bedroom.
The man sat against the wall.
Dead.
A gun lay beside his hand.
A photograph rested against his chest.
Mine.
I had never seen him before.
“Who is he?”
Anthony answered.
“Peter Cole.”
Dominic went still.
“You know him?”
“He worked for Gabriel.”
My skin crawled.
Anthony crouched near the body.
“Single gunshot.”
“Suicide?” I asked.
“No.”
Dominic pointed.
“No powder burns on his hand.”
I stared.
“How do you know that?”
He looked at me.
“Experience.”
I decided not to ask.
Anthony lifted the photograph using a handkerchief.
There was writing on the back.
Dominic read it.
His expression darkened.
“What does it say?”
He didn’t answer.
I took it.
Three words.
FIND THE LEDGER.
I almost dropped it.
“What ledger?”
Dominic looked around the destroyed room.
“The evidence your father hid.”
“I told you, I don’t have it.”
“Someone thinks you do.”
A floorboard creaked in the hallway.
Every man in the room moved simultaneously.
Anthony drew a gun.
Dominic stepped in front of me.
A figure appeared.
I screamed.
My neighbor Mrs. Donnelly stood in the doorway wearing a pink robe.
“Oh my God.”
Anthony lowered his weapon.
Mrs. Donnelly stared at the body.
Then at me.
“Stella?”
I moved toward her.
Dominic stopped me gently with one arm.
“Did you see anyone come in?”
Mrs. Donnelly’s face had gone pale.
“A man yesterday.”
“What man?”
“Your boyfriend.”
My stomach twisted.
“Derek?”
She nodded.
“He still had that nice smile.”
Nice smile.
I nearly laughed.
“What did he say?”
“He said you’d asked him to pick up some things.”
“I never—”
“I know.”
Her voice trembled.
“I didn’t believe him.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“What happened?”
“I told him Stella moved.”
“And?”
“He asked where.”
“Did you tell him?”
“No.”
I could have hugged her.
Mrs. Donnelly looked toward my bedroom.
“But he already had a key.”
My stomach dropped.
Of course he did.
Derek had copied it.
“He went inside?”
“For maybe twenty minutes.”
“What did he take?”
“I don’t know.”
Then Mrs. Donnelly frowned.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“He carried something out.”
Dominic’s eyes sharpened.
“What?”
“A wooden box.”
My jewelry box.
The antique one.
The box Derek had supposedly bought at a flea market.
Suddenly I understood.
“He didn’t buy that box for me.”
Dominic turned.
“What?”
“The jewelry box. Derek said he found it at a flea market.”
My pulse accelerated.
“He asked me to try my father’s key in it.”
Dominic’s expression changed.
“The box was bait.”
“Yes.”
“But the key didn’t fit.”
“No.”
“So he kept the key.”
“And now he took the box.”
Dominic looked at Anthony.
“Find out where that box came from.”
Anthony nodded.
I walked into my bedroom.
The mattress had been cut open.
My closet emptied.
Then I noticed something.
The framed photograph of my father was gone.
“Dominic.”
He came beside me.
“What?”
“That picture.”
I pointed.
“There was a photograph there.”
“Of?”
“My father.”
“When was it taken?”
“A few weeks before he died.”
“Where?”
I closed my eyes.
Memory returned.
My father standing beside an old carousel.
Me sitting on a painted horse.
“Coney Island.”
Dominic became very still.
“What?”
He took out his phone.
“Anthony.”
Anthony appeared.
“Find everything the Russo organization owned at Coney Island twenty years ago.”
“Why?”
“Daniel Bennett used to meet my father there.”
I stared at him.
“You knew that?”
“I knew they met somewhere public. I didn’t know where.”
My phone vibrated.
I jumped.
Nobody had this number except Maria and work.
Unknown caller.
Dominic saw the screen.
“Don’t answer.”
It stopped.
Then a message appeared.
A photograph.
I opened it.
Derek.
Standing beside an old carousel.
My father’s brass key hanging between his fingers.
Below the photograph was a message.
YOU ALWAYS WERE TERRIBLE AT REMEMBERING THINGS, STELLA.
A second message arrived.
ASK RUSSO WHAT HIS FATHER DID TO YOURS.
I looked slowly at Dominic.
His face had changed.
“You know something.”
“Stella—”
“What did your father do?”
He didn’t answer quickly enough.
I backed away.
“Tell me.”
“My father and yours had an argument the night before Daniel died.”
“About what?”
“The missing money.”
“You said my father discovered it.”
“He did.”
“And your father blamed him?”
Dominic said nothing.
“Oh my God.”
“He believed Daniel might have stolen it.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because we found out later.”
“Later?”
“After your father was dead.”
I stared at him.
“Did your father kill mine?”
“No.”
The certainty surprised me.
“How can you be sure?”
“Because my father spent the next fourteen years trying to prove who did.”
I swallowed.
“Did he?”
“No.”
My phone vibrated again.
Another message.
This time, a video.
I pressed play.
Derek appeared on screen.
He looked directly into the camera.
“Hey, Stell.”
That nickname made my skin crawl.
“You’re probably standing beside Dominic Russo right now.”
He smiled.
“You always did have a weakness for men who lie beautifully.”
Dominic’s jaw hardened.
Derek continued.
“Want to know why your father died?”
The video shifted.
An old newspaper clipping appeared.
Then a photograph.
My father.
Dominic’s father.
Gabriel Voss.
And a fourth man.
Derek’s father.
I stopped breathing.
Derek’s voice returned.
“Ask Dominic who ordered the car off the road.”
The video ended.
I turned toward Dominic.
Before either of us could speak, Anthony’s phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
“What?”
Dominic asked.
Anthony looked at him.
“We found Derek.”
“Where?”
Anthony swallowed.
“At your house.”
Dominic went completely still.
May you like
Then Anthony said:
“And he’s with your mother.”
