Page 153 of The Cost of Silence

“So that was your father’s estate?”

I roll my lips, thinking of Matteo and how close he came with them on the estate, and I know he’ll blame himself. “It is.”

“Huh. Maybe next time we come, you can show me around.”

I take her hand and kiss her knuckles. “You got it.”

40.Isabella

The docks smelllike salt and oil and rust and the faint, sour memory of things that used to move through here under the cover of night. The city skyline is a jagged line of light behind us; in front, the river stretches out, black and slow, swallowing reflections whole. There is a whole lot of Mancini history here, and most of it is bad.

We park two blocks away, behind a row of derelict warehouses. From there, the old Mancini dock is a short walk, hidden until the last second by the curve of the river wall.

Nico checks the gun at his hip, movements efficient, eyes scanning the shadows. He offered me one; I said no. I’ve written about shootings. I’ve tended the aftermath. The idea of pulling a trigger makes my stomach knot. It’s the first time I’ve seen him with one, and I can’t say that I like it. But it’s part of the man he was and is, and I love that man, so I’ll deal.

What I can do is see. Listen. Remember.

“I stay behind you,” I say, before he can repeat it.

He nods once, jaw tight. “Only step out if I tell you. Or if something goes very wrong, then you run and you don’t look back, no matter what.”

“That seems like it would be implied,” I say, but I don’t like it.

He doesn’t smile, but his hand squeezes mine briefly. “Then let’s go.”

We move along the path, keeping close to the corrugated wall. The air is damp, mist hovering low over the water. Somewhere a foghorn sounds, long and mournful.

The warehouse comes into view, a long, low building, brick sagging in places, windows boarded over or broken. Light spills out through a gap in the big sliding door, a warm, false glow.

Inside, voices, men speaking in low, angry tones.

We edge closer.

“—always yours.”

That’s Adi, his tone cool but edged in controlled anger.

“Don’t insult me,” another voice says, rich with disdain and nicotine. Domenico. “You three have been dining out on my work for years. You sit in your clean offices and pretend what I did doesn’t exist. What Enzo did. What this dock meant.”

We find a crack in the brickwork, just wide enough for me to see through if I press my eye to it. Nico leans over me, a shield even here.

Inside, the space is mostly empty. A few old crates are stacked near the back wall, dusty and forgotten. Rusted hooks hang from beams above. The floor is slick in patches with old oil and what might once have been something darker.

In the center of it all: three men.

Adi stands with his hands loose at his sides, suit immaculate, expression carved out of stone. Matteo is half a step back, weight balanced, his usual easy grin long gone. His eyes flick constantly, taking in exits, angles, the half-dozen men scattered around the space.

Opposite them, Domenico holds court.

He wears a dark coat, open over a charcoal suit, the same one he had on in the penthouse and at the cottage. He looks perfectlyat home here, legs apart, hands gesturing as he talks, like this is an old stage and he knows every board.

Orlov stands just behind him to the right, hands clasped over a walking stick that I’m ninety percent sure isn’t decorative; he had it at the cottage, too. His face is calm, watchful, like he’s at a play and waiting for the climax.

“Enzo did what needed doing,” Domenico goes on. “Then he got squeamish about the cost. He dragged you boys into offices and pretended that it made you clean, but the money stayed the same. My money. Our money. You think that absolves you?”

“It changed what we did with it,” Adi says. “And how we made more. There’s a difference between building condos on the river and running people through them at night.”

Domenico laughs, delighted. “Listen to you. You sound just like your mother. ‘We can be better, Dom. We can be different’.” His smile curdles. “She forgot whose name she married into.”