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“They stole from a cartel?” My jaw drops, and fear hums in my veins for a young Hayes.
“Yeah, and they paid the ultimate price,” he whispers. “They waited for us,” he says, looking at my fireplace. “I was kneeling on the floor in their blood when they came in laughing. They took my brothers, leaving me.”
“Hayes,” I murmur, slapping my hand to my mouth as my tears fall.
“I needed you to understand what I have at stake here. The FBI can take me off the case, but… Well, here.” He pushes the photo into my hand. “My mother took that picture the day prior.”
I look at the picture in my hands, the old Polaroid reminding me of better days for both of us. There are three boys in the photo, all with wild blond hair and curls, sun-kissed skin littered with freckles, and gleaming smiles focused on the cameraman. One boy, the tallest of the three, holds up a fish, the middle boy holds a red tackle box, and the youngest glares at the camera with a mischievous gaze.
I can tell the three boys are brothers. All have the same glittering blue eyes, each with a touch of the ocean green, yet each of their eyes holds a different story. One is serious, one is mischievous, and the other is playful.
My fingers dance over the middle boy with playful eyes, his arms crossed as he stares at the camera. “This is you?” I question, not entirely sure, but I am relatively confident of my choice.
Hayes smiles at me. “That’s me.” He taps the older boy holding the fish. “That’s Kelly, my older brother. I tracked him down last year in Mexico. Nineteen years. That’s how long it took me to find him, and when I did, I tracked him to a little cemetery. He died the year before. According to the priest, it was gun related, but he wouldn’t say much. They won’t when it’s cartel related. I was a year late.”
My heart aches for him, for the painful journey he’s been on. “I’m so sorry, Hayes.”
“Now, this kid.” He chuckles, gesturing toward his younger brother. “We were inseparable. Partners in crime for everything.”
I nibble my lip, my gaze on the faded photograph in my hands. The image captures a moment frozen in time, a testament to their unbreakable bond. “I can see that,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
“I’ve been tracking him for a decade, Charlotte,” he confides, his tone taking on a grave seriousness that instantly alters the atmosphere. A shiver courses through me, making my spine tingle with an unsettling anticipation. “He’s become a phantom, eluding radar, cameras, and even social media. To the government, my brother died that day.”
“You believe he’s still alive,” I venture cautiously.
“I know he’s alive,” he asserts with unwavering conviction, and his words carry the weight of undeniable truth. “Because he’s the man who killed Sal.”
The photograph slips from my trembling fingers, landing softly on the floor. My heart races within my chest, its frantic beats echoing in the quiet room. I resist the urge to glance nervously at the shadows lurking in the corners of the dimly lit kitchen.
“The boss of the lost Genovese family ordered the hit on Sal,” he continues, his voice low and conspiratorial. “Sal had been feeding vital information back to his family in Arizona, keeping tabs on a missing sect of the Genovese family. Somehow, they caught wind of it.”
“But Sal claimed he had been loyal to the family for years,” I interject, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Yes, for years,” he acknowledges, his gaze distant as he contemplates the intricate web of loyalty and deceit. “Because he was meant to marry the missing daughter.”
I raise an eyebrow, intrigued by this revelation. “How do you know all of this?” I question, aware that he possesses more information than he did just days ago.
“I have my ways,” he replies with a sly smirk, though the amusement fades quickly. “Even if you hadn’t called the police that day, the Bonanno family had a lead on the whereabouts of the missing Genovese daughter. At least, that’s what my informant told me.”
“So, Sal and this missing daughter were betrothed to marry.” I piece together the puzzle in my mind. “And she disappeared after becoming pregnant.”
“I believe Sal followed her,” he confirms, his eyes reflecting the genuine loyalty Sal harbored for the missing woman.
“He was loyal to her,” I murmur, my mind racing to understand the complexity of it all. “But why betray her now?”
He shakes his head, a hint of frustration in his expression. “I don’t know.”
“How do you know the killer is your brother?” I finally ask the question, still unable to coax his name from him. My curiosity gnaws at my stomach, and the knowledge that Lyric is lurking in the shadows makes the situation even more surreal.
“He slipped up,” he replies with a Cheshire cat grin. “My brother had this bizarre obsession with chickens. Those hens in that damn coop were practically his family. He loved them like most people love cats. Right as I knelt at Kelly’s grave, I got word that someone had placed a hit on a Genovese captain. No one knew the source of the hit. The network—”
“Network?” I interject, my curiosity piqued.
“Too complicated to explain right now,” he says dismissively with a strained laugh. “The network informed me that an outsider authorized the hit. Only members of the families can order hits. I had this gut feeling that my brother was behind it.”
“How did you even know he was a hitman?” I inquire.
“That was his first slipup,” he teases, clearly enjoying the suspense he’s building. “But I’ll get back to that. I flew from Mexico to a quaint little farmer’s market where they make the best pretzels.”
