Chapter 6 - THE LIGHTHOUSE
Dominic stared at the crayon drawing. It was old, the wax fading into the brittle paper. The lighthouse was crude, drawn by a child’s hand, but distinct: red and white stripes, sitting on a rocky cliff.
"What is this, Claire?"
"Twenty years ago, the Moretti family didn't run real estate. They ran human trafficking," Claire said, her voice shaking with disgust. "They used the ports. My father found out. He wasn't a good man, Dominic, but he couldn't stomach that. He found a ledger detailing every bribe, every route, every official they bought."
"The shipment," Dominic realized. "It was the ledger."
"Yes. He hid it. The Morettis thought he stole their money, but he was holding their death warrant. If the FBI gets this ledger, the entire Moretti family goes to federal prison for the rest of their lives."
Dominic looked at the drawing. "Where is it?"
"Cape May," Claire said. "My family used to have a small cottage near the lighthouse. My father took me there when I was seven. He hid it in the floorboards. He left this drawing in the jewelry box as a map for me, in case something happened to him."
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder. The police were arriving for the hitman.
"We need to go," Dominic said. "Now. If Marcus tipped off the rest of the Morettis, they'll realize he failed here. They'll come after us with everything they have."
They left Salvo tied to a kitchen chair for the police. Dominic swapped the SUV for a nondescript sedan from the garage. They drove south toward the New Jersey coast, the rain turning into a heavy, blinding storm.
The silence in the car was thick. Dominic kept glancing at Claire. She was looking out the window, her hand resting over her right shoulder.
"Claire."
She looked at him.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked quietly. "About the bullet. About the pain. We've been married for two years. Every time I touched you, you were in agony, and you let me think you hated me."
Claire closed her eyes. A tear slipped down her cheek. "I don't hate you, Dominic. I never hated you."
"Then why?"
"Because you were trying so hard to be a good man," she whispered. "You paid my father's debts. You built the foundation. You were trying to leave the violence behind. If I told you someone shot me trying to get to you, you would have gone back to being the monster you used to be. You would have burned the city down to find them."
Dominic’s grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles turned white. She was right. If he had known, he would have killed everyone in the room that night.
"I was protecting your soul, Dominic," she said softly.
He reached over and took her hand. "My soul isn't worth your pain."
They arrived at Cape May just as dawn began to break over the Atlantic. The storm had passed, leaving a cold, gray mist clinging to the water. The lighthouse stood tall against the bruised sky.
The old Bennett cottage was a half-mile down the beach, practically falling apart. The wood was rotted from sea salt, the windows boarded up.
Dominic kicked the front door open. The inside smelled of mildew and time.
"Under the fireplace," Claire said, stepping inside.
Dominic knelt by the old stone hearth. He used his pocket knife to pry up the loose, warped floorboards. Beneath the dust and sand, wrapped in thick waterproof canvas, was a heavy leather-bound book.
He pulled it out and opened it. Pages and pages of names, dates, offshore accounts, and shipping manifests. The Moretti family's entire empire, laid bare.
"We have them," Dominic breathed.
"Well, isn't that sweet."
Dominic spun around, pushing Claire behind him.
May you like
Standing in the doorway was Vincent Moretti. He held a suppressed pistol, pointed directly at Claire's chest. Behind him stood three men with automatic rifles.
Vincent smiled, a cold, empty expression. "Thank you for finding that for me, Mrs. Vale. Now, hand it over, and I'll let you pick which one of you dies first."
