Chapter 5 - The Red Ledger
Morning arrived not with a sunrise,
but with a gradual thinning of the gray clouds.
The estate was shrouded in a heavy mist that clung to the trees like a shroud.
I hadn't slept.
I spent the night listening to the house,
to the creaks of the floorboards and the distant,
muffled voices of the guards.
At 7:00 AM,
there was a knock on the door.
It was Damian.
He had changed into a fresh suit,
dark navy this time,
but his eyes were bloodshot.
“We’re going to the warehouse,”
he said.
“The girls stay here with Mrs. Alvarez and four of my best men.”
“I’m not leaving them,”
I said instantly.
“You are,”
he countered,
his voice firm.
“The warehouse is in a dangerous part of the city.
If Silas is watching,
it’s better if he thinks you’re still here.”
He saw the protest forming on my lips and held up a hand.
“Elara,
if we don't find out what’s in that vault,
none of us are safe.
The key is the only leverage I have.”
I looked at my sleeping daughters.
They looked so innocent,
so far removed from the violence of this world.
“Fine,”
I whispered.
“But if anything happens to them…”
“I will burn this state to the ground to find them,”
Damian promised,
and for the first time,
I believed him.
We took a nondescript sedan,
not one of his usual armored SUVs.
Damian drove himself,
his hands steady on the wheel.
We drove in silence for an hour,
leaving the rolling hills of Mendham for the industrial decay of the Newark waterfront.
The warehouse on 12th Street was a massive,
brick monolith.
It looked abandoned,
its windows broken and covered with plywood.
Damian parked in a side alley and led me to a small,
steel door.
He punched a code into a keypad and the door buzzed open.
The interior was cold and smelled of salt and diesel.
Racks of crates stretched up into the darkness,
labeled with the names of companies I didn't recognize.
“This was my father’s private stash,”
Damian said,
his voice echoing.
“The things he didn't want the company to know about.”
We walked to the back of the warehouse,
where a heavy freight elevator waited.
We descended into the basement,
a space that felt like a tomb.
In the corner,
behind a row of dusty wine racks,
was a stone wall.
Damian moved the racks with a strength that surprised me.
He felt along the stones until he found a small,
recessed lever.
He pulled it,
and a section of the wall swung inward.
Behind it was a small,
square room.
In the center was a steel pedestal with a keyhole.
Damian took the brass key from his pocket.
His hand hesitated for a fraction of a second.
Then,
he inserted the key and turned.
A heavy thud echoed through the room,
and the pedestal slid back to reveal a floor safe.
Inside was a single,
leather-bound book.
It was red.
Damian picked it up and opened it.
His face went completely still.
“What is it?”
I asked,
leaning in.
The pages were filled with names.
Dates.
Amounts of money.
But it wasn't a ledger of business transactions.
It was a ledger of lives.
“1994,”
Damian read,
his voice trembling.
“The twins.
Relocated to the St. Jude’s orphanage.
Identity scrubbed.
Funds allocated for the silence of the Mother Superior.”
He turned the page.
“1999.
The mother.
Eliminated at the Mendham cottage.
Buried beneath the foundation.”
I felt the world tilt.
Eliminated.
Buried.
The woman in the photo…
the woman with my eyes.
She hadn't died in a car accident.
She had been murdered.
And my father…
no,
my grandfather…
had ordered it.
“There’s more,”
Damian said,
his voice a low growl.
He pointed to the bottom of the page.
“2018.
The offspring identified.
Monitoring established.
The Elara protocol initiated.”
I stepped back,
my breath coming in ragged gasps.
“The Elara protocol?”
I whispered.
“They’ve been watching me?
The whole time?”
“Since before your daughters were born,”
Damian said,
his eyes full of a dark,
terrible fire.
“My father didn't just hide you,
Elara.
He was waiting for the right time to use you.”
Suddenly,
the elevator hummed to life.
The floor indicator began to move.
Someone was coming down.
Damian slammed the ledger shut and drew his gun.
“Get behind the wall,”
he hissed.
The elevator doors opened,
and three men stepped out.
They weren't wearing the Russo colors.
They were wearing the gray suits of the Syndicate.
And leading them was Silas.
“I figured you’d find the key,
Damian,”
Silas said,
stepping into the basement.
“You were always the smartest of Lorenzo’s brood.”
He looked at the red ledger in Damian’s hand.
“But that book…
that book belongs to the council.
It contains the sins of all our fathers.”
“My father murdered my aunts,
Silas,”
Damian spat.
“He buried them in the yard of our home.”
“He did what was necessary to keep the peace!”
Silas shouted,
his composure finally breaking.
“And now,
I will do what is necessary to ensure the legacy continues.”
He gestured to his men.
“Kill the girl.
Bring me the book.”
Damian didn't hesitate.
He fired.
The sound was deafening in the small space.
One of the men fell,
clutching his chest.
The other two dived for cover behind the crates.
“Run,
Elara!”
Damian yelled,
firing again.
“To the back stairs!
Go!”
I didn't think.
I ran.
I scrambled through the dark,
my heart pounding,
as bullets whined through the air behind me.
I found the stairs and burst through the door,
stumbling out into the cold New Jersey rain.
But as I reached the street,
I saw another black SUV.
And standing beside it,
holding Sadie and Lucy by the hands,
was a woman I had never seen before.
She was beautiful,
cold,
and wore the same Russo crest around her neck.
“Hello,
Elara,”
she said,
May you like
a cruel smile touching her lips.
“I’m your Aunt Sophia.
