Chapter 4 - The Cracking of the Safe
Bradley froze with his thumb hovering over the screen of his smartphone.
His face drained of color until his skin looked like wet chalk.
"What did you say?" Bradley croaked.
"Harrison has twelve offshore accounts registered through shell entities in Cyprus," Matteo explained with surgical calmness.
"Every bribe he took from the waterfront dock unions over the last four years flowed through those accounts."
"Your little brotherly protection racket works against scared women, Mr. Jenkins."
"It does not work against the men who own the banks your brother deposits his dirty cash in."
Bradley’s hands began to shake violently.
He dropped the paper bag containing his scotch; the glass shattered on the sidewalk, soaking his loafers in liquor.
"Now," Matteo said, his tone turning into pure steel.
"Open the door."
Bradley turned around like a condemned man walking to the gallows and led us up the front stairs.
The interior of the brownstone smelled of stale cigars, expensive cologne, and the sour phantom of my own terror.
The living room still bore the marks of last night's violence.
A broken wine glass lay shattered near the base of the glass coffee table.
A dark smudge of dried blood was visible on the bottom edge of the white rug where my forehead had hit the floor.
Matteo’s eyes tracked across the room, lingering on the bloodstain for two terrible seconds.
His jaw worked silently, grinding his back teeth together.
"The master bedroom," I said, pointing toward the stairs.
We walked up to the second floor, Bradley trailing behind us under Lorenzo’s heavy, watchful escort.
Inside the master closet, behind a rack of Bradley’s custom suits, was the digital wall safe.
"Open it," Matteo told him.
Bradley hesitated, his eyes darting toward the nightstand where I knew he kept an unregistered handgun.
Lorenzo saw the glance before Bradley could even twitch.
In one fluid motion, Lorenzo grabbed Bradley by the throat, slammed him against the doorframe, and pinned him there with one hand.
Lorenzo reached into the nightstand with his gloved left hand, pulled out the Glock nine-millimeter, unloaded the magazine, and pocketed the bullets.
"Open the safe, little boy," Lorenzo growled into Bradley’s ear.
Weeping with humiliation and terror, Bradley punched the six-digit code into the digital keypad.
The heavy steel door swung open with a hydraulic hiss.
Inside sat three stacks of hundred-dollar bills, two Rolex watches, and a small velvet box tied with a frayed blue ribbon.
I lunged forward, ignoring the fire in my cracked ribs, and snatched the velvet box.
I opened the lid with trembling fingers.
My mother’s triple-strand pearl necklace, with its antique silver filigree clasp, rested safely inside the satin lining.
A ragged sob broke from my throat.
I clutched the box to my chest and leaned against the closet wall, tears finally cutting hot tracks through the thick makeup on my face.
"Do you have everything that belongs to you?" Matteo asked gently, standing just outside the closet threshold.
"My passport and birth certificate are in the desk drawer below," I managed to say between choking breaths.
Lorenzo scooped the documents into a leather satchel along with my backup hard drives and my personal jewelry.
Bradley was slumped on the floor, rubbing his throat where Lorenzo’s massive fingers had left red impressions.
"You're dead, Alex," Bradley spat, his cowardice turning back into venom the moment he saw I was crying.
"You think this mobster gives a fuck about you?"
"He’s going to use you to balance his dirty books, and when the feds come, he’ll throw you to the wolves!"
"You're nothing without me!"
"You're a broken, fat, worthless little bookkeeper who nobody else would ever touch!"
Matteo took two steps into the closet.
He stood over Bradley, his shadow completely swallowing the man on the floor.
Matteo reached down, grabbed Bradley by the silk lapels of his blazer, and hoisted him off the floor with effortless, terrifying strength.
Bradley’s feet dangled two inches above the hardwood.
"If you ever speak her name again," Matteo whispered into Bradley’s face, "I will not call the police."
"I will not call your brother."
"I will buy the debt on every building your family owns, and I will watch you starve on the sidewalk."
"Do you understand me?"
Bradley nodded frantically, choking on his own spit as his eyes rolled back in terror.
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Matteo dropped him onto the pile of clothes like a bag of wet laundry.
"Let's go home, Alexandra," Matteo said, turning his back on the broken man.
