CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MINA
I put the ring on my finger while Gabe is arguing with a florist.
“No lilies,” he says into the phone.
The florist answers loudly enough that I hear the word memorial.
“I understand what they symbolize. Use white anemones.”
I hold out my hand.
Bianca’s gold band fits my right ring finger loosely and my left perfectly. I have known that for years without trying it.
Gabe stops speaking.
“Yes,” he tells the florist. “That’s final.”
He ends the call.
We stand in the chapel Thursday evening, drafting Saturday’s order of service. Evidence presentation is not standard memorial programming, but neither is the guest list.
“The ring,” he says.
“I found the intended anatomy.”
“Why?”
“Do you want me to remove it?”
“No.” The answer comes too fast. He looks at my hand again. “I want to know why.”
Because he returned my key. Because he let me choose Carlo’s consequence. Because he tested Felix instead of shooting him. Because he gave me every route log and did not follow me into my bedroom while I slept injured.
Because none of those repairs the contract, and all of them matter.
“I chose it today,” I say.
His face changes. Grief does not leave it. Control does not leave. Something makes room beside them.
“May I?” he asks.
He points to the ring, not my hand.
I hold it out.
Gabe touches the gold with one finger. “Your grandmother’s?”
“Then Bianca’s. Now mine.”
“Not Corso.”
“Correct.”
“Good.”
The answer surprises me.
“Why good?”
“Because I did not give it to you.”
The first ceremony turned Bianca’s ring into an object passed between Jo and Gabe while forty-three people watched. Putting it on myself returns the chain of custody to the correct owner.
“You understand symbolism now?”
“I live above a funeral home.”
“Exposure therapy.”
We return to the order of service.
Jo insists the memorial begin with names, not evidence. Elena chooses one photograph of Paolo at twenty and one at forty. I choose Bianca holding a red pencil beside the old account desk. Gabe places Antonio Greco’s name between them because the first victim should not remain a container code.
“His family has been located,” Gabe says. “Daughter in New Jersey, sister in Palermo. They were told his ashes arrived five years ago.”
“Then whose ashes did they receive?”
“Unknown.”
The investigation widens beyond our families. Victor’s efficiency has faces.
“Invite his daughter privately,” I say. “Tell her what we know before the captains hear it. Do not use her grief as proof in the room.”
“Agreed.”
Gabe writes it down.
Evan tests the chapel microphone. A burst of feedback sends everyone reaching for their ears.
“That is one way to discourage speeches,” Jo says.
Felix adjusts the gain. “Hard line only. No network bridge. Victor cannot loop this feed.”
“He can cut power,” I answer.
“Battery backup for ninety minutes.”
“Fire doors?”
“Manual and remote.”
I test the red and green transfer switches. Green opens the old loading channel. Red locks the west corridor while leaving emergency release from inside. A system built for moving bodies becomes a language for the living.
Gabe watches me memorize it.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“You are measuring.”
“I am noticing.”
“Difference?”
“I don’t intend to use the information to stop you.”
That answer stays with me when my phone rings.
Unknown number.
Gabe does not reach for it.
I answer on speaker. “Mina Vassallo.”
Breathing. Ferry noise. A public announcement blurred by distance.
Then my father says, “You wore Bianca’s ring.”
My hand closes.
“Sal.”
Gabe moves closer but stays out of reach of the phone.
“Do not say my name,” Sal whispers. “He watches the house.”
“Who?”
“Victor. He watched before the fire. He watches now.”
“Where are you?”
“I tried to come back. The chapel—Bianca had the original manifests. Victor knew. I thought if I moved the money—”
“Where are you?”
“The old South Ferry route. Not safe. Listen to me. Saturday is a trap.”
“Our trap.”
“No. His. He has men in Gabe’s house.”
Gabe’s gaze sharpens.
“Felix?” I ask.
“Not Felix. The credential—”
A sound interrupts him. Metal striking metal. Sal gasps.
“Dad?”
The word escapes before I can decide whether he deserves it.
“Mina, I am sorry.”
The line goes dead.
I call back. No connection.
Gabe sends the number to Felix. “Ferry terminal audio. Trace all public phones and prepaid signals near the South route.”
“He is alive.”
“Yes.”
“Say it again.”
Gabe looks at me. “Your father is alive.”
Hope hurts again, but this time someone sees it happen.
He opens his arms without moving toward me.
I go into them.
His coat is cold from the chapel. His body beneath it is not. I hold the back of his shirt and count the seconds until I stop bracing for him to turn comfort into instructions.
He does not.
When I step away, Gabe gives me his phone. Felix is already on speaker.
“Call lasted sixty-eight seconds,” Felix says. “Public terminal on the lower South Ferry concourse. Camera system is city-owned. I’m requesting it through three channels.”
“Victor will know,” I say.
“Victor already knows,” Gabe answers. “Your father said he watches the house. The call was not hidden from him. It may have been permitted.”
“Sal sounded hurt.”
“He may be.”
The old version of Gabe would say the uncertainty as a reason I should do nothing. This version leaves it on the floor between us.
“What do you think I’ll do?” I ask.
“Try to find terminal footage. Review ferry schedules. Search for the sound that interrupted him. Consider going there before security is ready.”
“Specific.”
“What do you think I’ll do?”
“Put six men at every ferry exit and lock my car.”
“I won’t lock your car.”
“Progress.”
“I want four men at the exits.”
“Two, visible. Two remain with the camera office. I go if the footage identifies him.”
Gabe’s first answer reaches his face. No.
He replaces it with a question. “Will you wait until we know whether he left the terminal voluntarily?”
“Until midnight.”
“Ten tomorrow morning.”
“Two.”
“Six.”
“Four, and you play the full audio when the analyst finishes.”
He holds my gaze. “Agreed.”
Felix is silent on the phone.
“Are you writing this down?” I ask.
“I am witnessing history.”
Gabe ends the call.
We spend the next hour with ferry maps spread across the front pew. The route announcements changed three years ago after the lower concourse reopened. Sal’s recent recording could not have been made earlier. A vending machine hum audible behind his voice exists only beside platform C.
“He wanted us to locate him,” I say.
“Or Victor wanted us to.”
“Both can be true.”
Gabe looks at me. “Everyone uses that sentence now.”
“It is efficient.”
He almost smiles.
For a while, the chapel contains no strategy. His hand cups the back of my head, careful of the fading bruise. I press my face against his shirt and allow myself to want a father who does not yet deserve the wanting.
Upstairs later, I find Gabe at the kitchen table reviewing ferry maps.
“Come to bed,” I say.
He looks at the laptop. “Felix will call.”
“He knows how phones work.”
“Mina—”
“I am not asking you to stop looking. I am asking you to look from closer.”
He closes the laptop.
In my room, we undress slowly. No frantic buttons, no lamp nearly broken. The ring stays on my hand. Gabe touches it with his thumb before touching anywhere else.
“Still yes?” he asks.
“Yes.”
This time, intimacy is quieter and no less intense. I learn that his control loosens when I hold his gaze, that he says my name differently when it is not warning. He learns where the bruise still hurts and avoids it without turning me fragile.
Afterward, I lie with my cheek on his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear.
“What happens when the contract ends?” I ask.
The beat changes once.
“The property is released.”
“I did not ask about property.”
His hand moves along my back, then stops.
“I don’t know,” he says.
It is not the answer I want.
It is honest enough to keep listening.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“You, without needing paper to keep you here.”
The simplicity scares me more than possession would.
“Then you may have to ask.”
“I’m not good at it.”
“I noticed.”
His chest moves beneath my cheek, almost a laugh.
On the nightstand, my phone stays silent.
For once, waiting does not feel like failure.