Chapter 13 - The Theater Where an Old Empire Finally Showed Its Face

Claire refused to take Max to her father.

Max refused to let that matter.

They argued in Cece’s kitchen while Marcus checked weapons and federal agents tried to trace a call routed through six states.

“You walk into that estate,” Claire said, “and you give him exactly what he wants.”

Max buttoned his coat. “He has evidence tied to Thomas’s murder.”

“He says he does.”

“He has Nico.”

“Nico betrayed you.”

“He also may know where Vittorio is.”

Cece stood by the sink, exhausted beyond fear.

“What if Rusk doesn’t want Max?”

Everyone looked at her.

“He asked for him because that’s what you’re all trained to hear. A challenge. A power move.”

Max frowned.

“What else?”

“My mother’s locket.”

Cece thought about Margaret hiding evidence in plain sight for years.

“Rusk could have killed my parents before Dad died. He didn’t. He watched them. He searched my house only after we opened the archive.”

Claire understood.

“He doesn’t know what’s in the locket.”

“Exactly.”

Marcus leaned against the counter.

“So the thief took something Rusk wants but hasn’t opened yet.”

“Maybe can’t open.”

Sofia picked up the photograph.

“The casing looks custom.”

Cece remembered her mother rubbing the edge with her thumbnail whenever nervous.

A pattern.

Three taps, pause, two taps.

“She used to play with it.”

Max watched her.

“Could be a combination.”

Claire sat down.

“If the locket contains original proof, Rusk needs Cecilia to open it.”

That changed the plan.

At noon, Cece called him.

She used the number he had given Claire.

Rusk answered himself.

“You have your mother’s persistence.”

“You have her locket.”

“I do.”

“You can’t open it.”

Silence.

Cece’s heart slammed.

Then Rusk laughed.

“Clever girl.”

“Let Nico go.”

“Nico stole from men who dislike theft.”

“Then why is he alive?”

“Because punishment can be educational.”

Cece looked at Max.

“Where do you want to meet?”

“Not you. Massimo.”

“No. Me or nobody.”

Max’s jaw tightened, but he stayed silent.

Rusk considered.

“Old Hawthorne theater. Two o’clock.”

The theater had been closed for renovations since spring.

Federal agents placed teams around the block.

Claire remained out of sight.

Max entered through the front.

Cece walked beside him.

“I told you to stay behind me,” he murmured.

“You’ve told me many things.”

“This one is important.”

“So is not looking terrified.”

“You don’t look terrified.”

“I am an excellent actress.”

“You work at a train station.”

“Exactly.”

Inside, dust floated through shafts of light.

Malcolm Rusk sat alone in the first row.

He was smaller than Cece expected.

Eighty-one, silver-haired, immaculate, with a cane across his knees.

Vittorio stood near the stage.

Alive and smiling.

Age had thinned him but not softened him.

“Massimo,” he said.

Max stopped.

“Uncle.”

Vittorio opened his arms.

“No affection?”

“You murdered my father.”

Rusk sighed.

“Arturo murdered himself the day he confused regret with courage.”

Max took one step forward.

Cece touched his sleeve.

Next decision.

He stopped.

Rusk noticed.

“So Thomas Rowan’s daughter has influence.”

Cece looked at him.

“My mother’s locket.”

Vittorio produced it from his pocket.

“Open it.”

“Let me see Nico.”

A side door opened.

Nico limped into the aisle.

Alive.

His shirt was stained with dried blood, but he walked.

Behind him came Evan Voss.

Claire’s deputy.

E.V.

Cece’s stomach tightened.

Nico looked at Max.

“I’m sorry.”

Max said nothing.

Rusk held out the locket.

Cece approached.

Max moved with her.

Vittorio raised a gun.

“Only the girl.”

Max stopped.

Cece took the locket.

It was heavier than she remembered.

Her mother’s thumbnail rhythm returned to her mind.

Three.

Pause.

Two.

She pressed the seam three times, waited, then twice.

Nothing.

Rusk’s smile faded.

Cece tried again, rotating the oval first.

Click.

The back opened.

Inside was no photograph.

A tiny strip of photographic film.

Microfilm.

Rusk stood.

Vittorio reached for it.

Cece closed her fist.

“Let Nico walk out.”

Rusk’s expression hardened.

“You are not negotiating from strength.”

“Neither are you. Federal agents know we’re here.”

Vittorio laughed.

“Federal agents knew about the estate too.”

Max’s eyes shifted toward Evan Voss.

The leak.

Then a red laser dot appeared on Vittorio’s chest.

Another settled on Evan.

Claire’s voice came from the balcony.

“This team reports to Washington.”

Rusk looked up.

For the first time, he seemed old.

Agents entered from every door.

Vittorio raised his weapon anyway.

Max moved toward Cece.

A shot exploded.

Vittorio fell.

Not dead.

Hit in the shoulder by a federal marksman.

Chaos lasted less than ten seconds.

When it ended, Rusk was handcuffed.

Evan Voss was on the floor.

Nico was being treated.

Cece still held the microfilm.

Claire descended the aisle.

“It’s over.”

Rusk laughed from his seat.

“No.”

He looked at Max.

“You think arresting an old man ends what your family built?”

Then he looked at Cece.

“And you still don’t know why Thomas Rowan was killed when he was.”

Cece’s breath caught.

Rusk smiled.

“He wasn’t killed because of Sofia.”

Max went still.

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Rusk leaned back.

“He was killed because he found Massimo’s name on the final order.”