Chapter 8 - The Enemy Vincent Blamed Brought Proof He Never Fired

Adrian Moretti entered the Romano estate without a weapon.

At least, none that Marco found.

He was in his early forties, lean, gray beginning at his temples, dressed like a man arriving for a board meeting rather than entering the home of someone who had spent fourteen months considering killing him.

Vincent waited in the library.

Ruby was ordered upstairs.

She stayed behind the half-open service door instead.

It was dishonest.

It was also the only reason she heard Adrian’s first sentence.

“You should have killed your uncle before you buried your wife.”

Vincent did not answer.

Adrian placed a flash drive on the table.

“My men intercepted the shooter at Port Authority after he missed you.”

Ruby’s stomach dropped.

“Alive?” Vincent asked.

“For nine minutes.”

Marco swore.

Adrian continued. “He carried a burner with one outgoing call. Gabriel Romano’s logistics office.”

“That can be planted.”

“Everything can be planted if you are committed enough to stupidity.”

Vincent’s chair scraped.

Ruby imagined Marco reaching for a gun.

Adrian did not lower his voice.

“Sofia came to me because she knew you would turn suspicion into blood. She wanted records from Pier Twenty-Six. I gave them to her.”

“Why?”

“Because Gabriel was moving fentanyl through my territory and letting police believe it was mine.”

Silence.

Vincent’s voice became dangerously soft. “You met my wife behind my back.”

“Yes.”

“You let me believe you killed her.”

“No. Your uncle let you believe it. You were simply eager to agree.”

The cruelty of the sentence made Ruby close her eyes.

When Vincent spoke again, the anger was different.

“What is on the drive?”

“Camera footage from the waterfront the night she died. My warehouse cameras caught her car at 10:42. She never entered. A blue van followed her past the gate.”

Caleb’s photograph.

The vanished paint evidence.

Ruby stepped into the room before she could reconsider.

All three men looked at her.

Vincent’s face hardened. “I told you to stay upstairs.”

“And I ignored you.”

Adrian’s gaze settled on her. “Caleb’s sister.”

Ruby stopped.

“You knew him?”

“Once.”

Vincent stood.

Adrian lifted a hand. “If I intended to hide that, I would not have come here.”

Ruby walked closer.

“What did my brother do for you?”

“He brought me copies of garage invoices three days after Sofia died. He wanted money.”

Pain flashed hot behind Ruby’s eyes.

“Of course he did.”

Adrian watched her.

“I did not pay him.”

“Why?”

“Because he was shaking so badly he could barely hold the envelope. I told him money would make him a seller when what he needed to become was a witness.”

Ruby laughed once, without humor.

“That sounds noble for a crime boss.”

“It was practical. Purchased testimony is weak testimony.”

There it was. Not nobility.

Strategy.

That she could believe.

“What happened after that?”

“He disappeared.”

Vincent looked at Adrian. “You never told me.”

“You had men burning my gambling rooms and following my nephews. We were not exchanging Christmas cards.”

Ruby turned to Vincent.

He looked away.

Fourteen months of violence had been built on a lie Gabriel found convenient.

Adrian pushed the flash drive forward.

“There is more. Sofia asked me to investigate a trust account opened in Luca’s name. Someone moved twelve million dollars through it in six months.”

Vincent’s face changed.

“That account was dormant.”

“Not according to the bank.”

“Who had authority?”

“You, Sofia, and the trustee.”

Ruby already knew.

“Gabriel.”

Adrian nodded.

Vincent sat very still.

His criminal empire had rules, Ruby understood now. Terrible rules, but rules he believed separated his violence from chaos. He had forbidden narcotics after his sister died of an overdose as a teenager. Gabriel had used Luca’s name to hide the exact trade Vincent refused.

It was not hypocrisy erased by ignorance.

Vincent had built the structure Gabriel exploited.

Ruby could see that realization settling over him.

“What do you want?” Vincent asked.

Adrian smiled without warmth. “The truth to become expensive for the right person.”

Marco plugged in the drive on an isolated laptop.

The footage was grainy, time-stamped, silent.

Sofia’s Mercedes passed the warehouse.

Forty-seven seconds later, a blue van followed.

They froze the frame.

The license plate was unreadable.

But the driver leaned forward under a streetlamp.

Ruby recognized him from a photograph in Caleb’s folder.

Martin Vale.

The witness who later withdrew his statement about the vehicle that killed Caleb.

Ruby felt cold.

“He drove the van that followed Sofia.”

“And eight months later,” Marco said, “he witnessed Caleb’s hit-and-run.”

Adrian shook his head. “No.”

Ruby looked at him.

“Martin Vale was not a witness.”

He pointed at the screen.

“He was the driver.”

The room went silent.

Vincent’s phone rang.

He answered.

A man’s frantic voice came through the speaker.

“Boss, we found Vale.”

Ruby stopped breathing.

“Where?”

“Staten Island. Apartment over a pawn shop.”

“Bring him in.”

A pause.

“That’s the problem.”

Vincent’s eyes narrowed.

“He’s dead?”

“No.”

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The man lowered his voice.

“He says he’ll only speak to Ruby Jenkins.”