Chapter 3 - The Ghost of the North End
Nora blinked, thrown entirely off balance by the abrupt change in direction.
“My mother’s maiden name? What does that have to do with anything? Her name was Rossi. Elena Rossi.”
The glass in Vincent’s hand didn't shatter, but his fingers tightened around the crystal until his knuckles turned pure white. Across the kitchen, Sam let out a low, sharp breath through his teeth.
“Elena Rossi,” Vincent murmured, the name tasting like ash in his mouth. “The sister of Marcus Rossi.”
“You knew my uncle?” Nora stepped forward, the defensive walls she had built around her entire life suddenly beginning to crumble. “Marcus vanished twenty years ago after the federal RICO indictments hit the North End. My mother always said he ran off to South America with a bag of stolen cash and a bad conscience.”
“Your mother lied to protect you,” Vincent said, pushing away from the counter and walking slowly toward her, his movements measured, almost reverent. “Marcus Rossi didn't run to South America. He was the chief witness for the federal government in the biggest corruption trial in Boston history. And when the trial collapsed because of tampered evidence, the government hid him—and his family—under deep federal witness protection.”
Nora staggered back a step, her knees hitting the edge of a leather barstool. “Witness protection? Are you out of your mind? I grew up in a three-room apartment in Dorchester sharing a bathroom with four other families! We lived on food stamps and instant ramen! My mother worked three cleaning jobs until her hands bled!”
“Because the federal marshals handling your uncle’s relocation embezzled the trust fund set up for your family twenty years ago,” Vincent said quietly. “They left your mother stranded with nothing, hoping she would keep her head down and never ask questions. But two weeks ago, a probate lawyer in Providence filed an inquiry into the dormant Rossi estate.”
The room seemed to spin.
Nora clutched the edge of the counter, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. “A probate inquiry. That’s why... that’s why my mother’s rehabilitation center suddenly received that anonymous fifty-thousand-dollar grant last month.”
“I didn't send the grant,” Vincent said, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. “I didn't even know you existed until you poked me in the chest and told me to get out of your section.”
Sam tapped his tablet. “Boss, we’ve got movement outside. Perimeter sensors on the alley gate just tripped. Two unmarked sedans. No plates.”
Vincent didn't look at Sam. His eyes remained fixed on Nora, whose face had gone chalk-white.
“They aren't here for me,” Nora whispered, the terrifying truth finally clicking into place. “They’re here for the heir to the Rossi estate. They’ve been hunting my family for twenty years, and tonight... tonight they thought I had the ledger.”
“What ledger?” Vincent demanded.
May you like
“My grandfather’s safe deposit box key,” Nora gasped, her hand flying to the small, tarnished silver locket resting against her collarbone. She popped the tiny clasp open; inside wasn't a picture, but a tiny, serrated brass key stamped with a serial number. “My mother gave this to me on her deathbed three months ago. She said it was a family heirloom. She said never to let anyone take it.”
Sam’s hand dropped instantly to the butt of the Glock holstered beneath his jacket. “Boss, they’re breaching the ground-floor service door.”
