Chapter 6: The Number He Called
The number belonged to a man named Caruso.
Dominic Caruso.
Fifty-three years old.
Ran a private security firm out of Midtown that was, in practical terms, a collection service for people who couldn't use lawyers.
He had done work adjacent to my organization twice in the past decade — nothing direct, nothing that left a clear line.
The kind of man who existed in the space between legitimate and not, and had made a comfortable living there for thirty years.
I knew him well enough to know he was dangerous.
I knew him well enough to know that if Marco had called him from the car before walking into that apartment, it was not a social call.
I had two of my own men outside the building within the hour.
Another two on Elena's floor.
A car at the back entrance.
Elena watched me make the calls from the kitchen doorway.
"What's happening?" she asked.
"Precaution."
"Luca."
I set the phone down.
"Marco called someone before he came upstairs.
A man named Dominic Caruso.
Do you know that name?"
She shook her head slowly.
"He's the kind of man you call when you want something handled quietly," I said.
"Marco knew what I was going to do when he walked out of here.
He may have decided to manage the situation before I could."
The color left her face.
"Gia."
"She's safe.
My men are in the building."
"You brought your men here.
To this building.
To her—" She stopped herself.
Pressed one hand flat against the door frame.
"This is exactly what I spent seven years trying to keep away from her."
"I know."
"You can't just—" Her voice broke slightly.
"She doesn't know what you are, Luca.
She knows you're her father.
She knows you're going to help.
She doesn't know the rest of it and I need her to not know the rest of it for as long as possible."
"I understand."
"Do you?" She looked at me directly.
"Because understanding it and actually keeping it away from her are two very different things.
And right now there are men with guns standing in my hallway and my daughter is in the next room."
I crossed the kitchen and stopped in front of her.
"I am going to move you both tonight," I said.
"Somewhere safe.
Somewhere clean.
No connection to me, no connection to anything.
Just you and Gia and the medical care you need." I held her gaze.
"And then I am going to deal with Marco and Caruso.
And when that is done, we are going to figure out the rest of this.
Together.
But right now I need you to trust me for the next six hours."
"You're asking a lot."
"I know what I'm asking."
She searched my face for a long moment.
"Six hours," she said finally.
Gia appeared between us, looking up at both of us with that calm, assessing expression.
"Are we going somewhere?" she asked.
Elena looked down at her.
"Yes, baby."
"With him?"
"Yes."
Gia considered this.
"Does he have a car?"
"He has several," I said.
She nodded, apparently satisfied, and went to get her shoes.
Elena watched her go.
Something in her posture shifted — not relief exactly, but the very beginning of it.
The first loosening of something that had been pulled tight for seven years.
"She's going to ask you questions," Elena said quietly.
"She asks a lot of questions."
"I'll answer them."
"She'll know if you're lying."
"I won't lie to her."
Elena looked at me for another moment.
Then she went to pack.
I stepped into the hallway and called my man downstairs.
"We're moving in twenty minutes," I said.
"Tell me about Caruso."
"Two of his people picked up Marco forty minutes ago from the corner of the block.
They drove north."
"Where?"
"We're tracking it."
"Stay on it." I looked at Elena's closed bedroom door.
"And I need a doctor at the new location.
Tonight.
Someone who can review her records and tell me exactly what we're dealing with and exactly what it costs to fix it."
"Understood."
"One more thing." I paused.
"The new location — nothing in my name.
Nothing connected to the organization.
A clean address.
A normal building."
A brief silence on the other end.
"Boss, that limits our security options significantly."
"I know." I looked at Gia's drawing still taped to the refrigerator — a yellow sun, a woman with dark hair, a small figure in a yellow dress.
"Do it anyway."
I was still looking at the drawing when my phone buzzed.
A message from the man tracking Marco's car.
May you like
Four words.
*They're heading to you.*
