Chapter 17
Marco
My phone rings, and I check the screen before answering. Rafa. I look around to make sure Elena isn't within earshot—she's been holed up in her room since returning from her run with obvious finger marks on her throat—then step out of the apartment into the hallway for privacy.
"What's up, Raf?"
"Hey man! I—I have some news." He stutters, sounding nervous in a way that immediately puts me on edge.
"Alright," I say, though his tone tells me this isn't good news.
"Well, it's actually lack of news, I guess. Elena still hasn't had any communication out of the ordinary. Everything looks legitimate. She either has another phone or she's making contact outside of electronic communication."
I rub my hand down my face. Frustration builds like pressure in a steam pipe. This is getting ridiculous. She can't be this good at evading surveillance without help, and the fact that she is suggests this situation is far more serious than I initially thought.
"What about social media? Bank transactions? Credit cards?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary. Her spending patterns are normal, no large withdrawals, no suspicious activity. If she's in some kind of trouble, she's not using her own accounts to get out of it."
"Thanks, Raf. Keep digging. She's communicating somehow, and I need to know how."
After we hang up, I stand in the hallway staring at Elena's apartment door. I know what I have to do. I've been avoiding it, telling myself it was an invasion of privacy. But that was before someone put their hands around her throat.
Time to search her room.
I didn't want it to come to this but she's left me no choice. She thinks she can hide from me, but she's wrong. Whatever game she's playing, whatever danger she's walking into, I'm going to find out.
Our kiss last night doesn't change my job—protecting her. Even if it's from herself at this point. Her decision-making isn't about self-preservation. It's self-destruction, and I won't stand by and watch her get herself killed.
My phone buzzes. A text from Ren: Got something. Call me.
I dial immediately. "What've you got?"
"After Elena came back from her run, I reviewed the footage from the guy I had tailing her.
" Ren's voice is tight. "She lost him in Central Park.
But I had another guy positioned on the other side near her building.
He caught her coming out of an alley a block away.
Few minutes later, some guy in a black hoodie came out the same way. "
My grip tightens on the phone. "And?"
"She looked scared, Marco. Really scared. I got pictures of the guy. Sending them now."
My phone buzzes with incoming photos. I pull them up. The image quality isn't great—taken from across the street with a zoom lens—but it's good enough.
"Good work. Follow him."
"Already tried. He got on a bus, lost him in traffic. But I got clear shots of his face. Should be enough for facial recognition."
"Send everything to Rafa. I want to know who this guy is within the hour."
I hang up and lean against the hallway wall. Elena ran into Central Park to lose my tail. Then she went to meet someone. Someone who hurt her.
The marks on her neck weren't an accident. They were a message.
Forty-five minutes later, Rafa calls back.
"Got him. Lee Rivato. Low-level criminal, no permanent address. Makes his living running errands for anyone willing to pay him. The kind of guy who'd threaten a woman in an alley for the right price."
"Where is he?"
"Last known address is in Queens. Sending it now."
The address comes through. I stare at it for a long moment.
I should wait. Should gather more information. Should bring this to Vito.
But the image of those finger marks on Elena's throat burns in my mind.
I text Tony and Lorenzo that I'm heading out. Strict instructions not to let Elena leave the building. I don't like leaving her here without me, especially after what happened this morning. But this guy is the first real lead I've had in weeks.
I text Dante on my way to my car: Wanna play?
His response comes immediately: See you there.
The drive to Queens takes thirty minutes. Dante's already waiting when I pull up to a rundown apartment building. Peeling paint. Broken windows. The kind of place where people mind their own business.
"Third floor," I tell him. "Apartment 3B."
We take the stairs. The hallway smells like piss and old cooking grease. I don't bother knocking. One good kick and the door splinters off its hinges.
Lee's inside. Sitting on a ratty couch watching TV and eating cereal out of the box. The look of terror that crosses his face when he sees us tells me everything I need to know.
He knows exactly why we're here.
"Lee Rivato," I say, stepping into his apartment like I own the place. "We need to talk."
"I don't know who you are, man." He's already backing away from us. "I haven't done anything wrong."
"See, that's where you're mistaken." Dante closes the door behind us. What's left of it anyway. "You put your hands on someone very important to us this morning."
Lee's face goes white. "I don't know what you're talking about."
I pull out my phone. Show him one of Ren's photos. "This you?"
He looks at the image. His shoulders slump in defeat. He knows he's caught.
"Look, man, I was just doing a job, okay?" His voice cracks. "Someone paid me to deliver a message. I didn't want to hurt the girl."
"But you did hurt her." My voice comes out deadly quiet. "You put your hands around her throat."
"She wasn't supposed to fight back! I was just trying to scare her a little. Make sure she took the message seriously."
I'm across the room before I can process what I’m doing. My hand is around his throat, slamming him against the wall. He makes a choking sound. Just like Elena probably did this morning.
"Marco." Dante's voice cuts through the red haze. "We need him talking."
I force myself to let go. Step back. Lee slides down the wall, gasping.
"Get up," I tell him. "We're taking a ride."
"Where—" he starts.
"Doesn't matter. You're coming either way."
Lee looks between Dante and me. Realizes he doesn't have a choice. "Okay. Okay, I'll come."
Dante zip-ties his hands behind his back. We walk him down the back stairs to avoid any nosy neighbors. Shove him into the trunk of my car.
The warehouse is twenty minutes away. One of our older properties in Red Hook. The kind of place where screaming doesn't matter because there's no one around to hear it.
We drag Lee down to the basement. Dante cuts the zip ties and shoves him into a metal chair. New zip ties secure his wrists to the armrests.
Lee is shaking now. Full-body tremors. He knows what happens in places like this.
"I'll tell you whatever you want to know," he says before we even start. "Just please don't kill me."
"That depends on how helpful you are." I pull up another chair. Sit down across from him. "Start with who hired you."
"I don't know his real name. Irish guy, goes by Murphy. Found me through a guy who knows a guy, you know how it works."
I nod. I do know how it works. "What was the message?"
"Something about a debt. Gambling debt, I think." Lee swallows hard. "I was supposed to rough her up a little. Make sure she understands they're serious."
My blood turns to ice. "How much money?"
"Didn't say exactly, but it's gotta be a lot. Murphy said if the debt isn't paid soon, they're gonna start taking payment in other ways." Lee swallows hard. "Said something about the girl being pretty enough to work off what's owed."
I'm on my feet before I realize I've moved. My hands are fisted at my sides. Dante puts a warning hand on my shoulder.
"Easy, brother," he murmurs. "Let's get all the information first."
I force myself to sit back down. The rage is still burning in my chest like acid. "What else?"
"That's it, I swear. Murphy gave me an envelope to deliver along with the message. I don't know what was in it. The girl took it before I could... before things got rough."
So Elena has whatever was in that envelope. Hidden somewhere in her apartment.
"Describe Murphy."
Lee gives us a description. Average height, stocky build, Dublin accent, scar on his left hand shaped like a crescent moon. It's not much but it's more than we had an hour ago.
"How are you supposed to contact him?"
"I'm not. He contacts me when he needs something. Uses different numbers every time. Burner phones probably."
"When's the last time he contacted you?"
"This morning. Around six. Told me to meet the girl in the park, deliver the message and the envelope."
"How'd he know she'd be there?"
Lee shrugs. "I don't know, man. Maybe he's been watching her too."
The thought makes my skin crawl. How long have the Irish been surveilling Elena?
"What else?" I lean forward. "And think carefully before you answer. Because if I find out later you held something back, I'm coming for you."
"That's everything, I swear." Tears are streaming down his face now. "I'm just a runner, man. I deliver messages. I don't ask questions. Murphy pays cash, I do the job, that's it."
I study him for a long moment. He's telling the truth. He's too scared to lie.
I stand up and nod to Dante. We step away to the corner of the basement.
"What do you want to do with him?" Dante asks quietly.
"Let him go."
Dante raises an eyebrow. "You sure?"
"He's nobody. A messenger. Murphy will use someone else next time anyway." I glance back at Lee. "But I want him scared enough that he never forgets this conversation."
Dante grins. "I can make that happen."
"Nothing permanent. Just... memorable."
"Got it."
I walk back to Lee. Crouch down so we're eye level.
"Here's how this works. You're going to walk out of here. You're going to forget you ever met Elena Messina. You're going to forget this conversation. And if Murphy or anyone else ever asks you to go near her again, you're going to say no. Are we clear?"
He nods frantically. "Crystal clear. I won't go near her, I swear."
"Good. Because I'll be watching. And if I ever see you within a hundred yards of her, if I ever hear that you've taken another job involving her, I'll make sure you disappear so completely that even God won't be able to find you. Understand?"
"Yes. Yes, I understand."
I stand and nod to Dante. "He's all yours. Just make sure he can still walk when you're done."
I head upstairs, leaving Dante to put the fear of God into Lee. Or the fear of the Rossos, which is arguably worse.
Outside, I lean against my car and pull out my phone. Call Rafa.
"I need you to dig deeper into Elena's background," I say when he answers. "Not just her official records. I need to know if there's any other identity she might be using. Different last name, different documentation."
"You think she's been living under an alias?"
"I think she's been a lot more careful than we realized. And if she's got identity documents we don't know about, that's how the Irish found her."
"I'll get on it right away."
"And Rafa? Run a full background check on Elio Messina. I want to know everything—his finances, his associates, his gambling habits. Where he's been, who he owes. Everything."
"You got it, boss."
I hang up and stare at the warehouse. Through the small basement window, I can hear Dante's voice. Calm. Methodical. Explaining in graphic detail what will happen if Lee ever forgets this conversation.
Elena's in deeper trouble than I thought. And she's been handling it alone.
The marks on her throat this morning were just the beginning. The Irish aren't making idle threats. They're escalating. And whatever was in that envelope is probably another turn of the screw.
I get in my car and head back to her apartment. She's not alone anymore. Whether she likes it or not, I'm in this fight with her now.
And the Irish are about to learn what happens when someone threatens what's mine.