Chapter 11 - CARMINE'S UNCLE CAME HOME
Z
Vincent Orsini entered the bakery at 6:12 the next morning.
No guards.
No warning.
No weapon visible.
He simply opened the front door seventeen minutes before opening and sat at the nearest table.
Nell was alone in the kitchen.
Or she was supposed to be.
Carmine had placed two men outside without telling her.
Nell knew anyway.
They were terrible at pretending to read newspapers.
She saw Vincent through the pass-through window.
Sixty years old.
Tall.
Gray at the temples.
Dark suit.
Same shoulders as Carmine.
Same eyes.
That bothered her most.
Family resemblance felt unfair.
She stepped into the dining room.
“We’re closed.”
Vincent smiled.
“Nell Fontaine.”
“You already know my name.”
“I knew you as a child.”
“I don’t remember you.”
“Probably for the best.”
Nell remained behind the counter.
“What do you want?”
“Coffee.”
“No.”
His smile widened.
“You really are Emmett’s daughter.”
“And apparently you really are Carmine’s uncle.”
Vincent looked toward the window.
“You called him?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“He was already called when you crossed the street.”
Vincent’s smile faded.
The side door opened.
Carmine entered.
He did not rush.
He did not shout.
He walked in and looked at Vincent the way a man looked at a problem he had spent sixteen years believing was gone.
“Uncle.”
Vincent stood.
“Nephew.”
No embrace.
No handshake.
Nell had never seen Carmine look at family this way.
Even Bellarose received more visible emotion.
“You’ve been back two months,” Carmine said.
“Approximately.”
“You didn’t visit.”
“Would I have been welcome?”
“No.”
“Then my instincts remain excellent.”
Carmine stopped across the table.
“Why are you here?”
Vincent looked toward Nell.
“To help her.”
“No.”
Vincent laughed.
“You answer quickly.”
“I know you.”
“You knew me at nineteen.”
“I knew enough.”
The laughter disappeared.
Vincent sat again.
“Bellarose is going to destroy everyone attached to those tapes.”
“He’s in no position to destroy anyone.”
“You think charges remove power?”
“No.”
Carmine pulled out a chair.
“I think evidence does.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“You have no idea what you found.”
“Then explain.”
Vincent looked at Nell.
“Your mother recorded people beyond Bellarose.”
“I know.”
“No.”
His voice became serious.
“You know names written on paper.”
Nell folded her arms.
“What don’t I know?”
“The seventh tape.”
Silence.
Carmine’s gaze sharpened.
Vincent continued.
“Lydia never meant the seventh tape for prosecutors.”
“What was it?”
“A conversation.”
“With whom?”
Vincent looked at Carmine.
“Anthony Orsini.”
Carmine did not move.
Nell felt the air shift.
“Carmine’s father?”
“Yes.”
Carmine’s voice became dangerously quiet.
“What did my father say?”
“I never heard the entire recording.”
“Then how do you know it exists?”
“Because I was there when Lydia recorded it.”
Carmine stood.
Vincent raised one hand.
“Sit.”
Carmine almost laughed.
“No one has told me to sit in my own city for quite a long time.”
“This is not about dominance.”
“Everything you do is about dominance.”
Vincent looked tired suddenly.
“Anthony knew Bellarose was using the tunnel.”
Nell stared at Carmine.
He showed no reaction.
Vincent continued.
“He knew for years.”
“Why would he allow it?”
“Because Bellarose paid.”
Carmine’s chair moved backward violently.
Not thrown.
But close.
“My father did not take money from Bellarose.”
“Your father took money from everyone.”
“Not him.”
Vincent looked at him.
“That is what sons believe about fathers.”
Nell stepped between the brothers before she thought better of it.
“Where is the tape?”
Vincent looked at her.
“You have it.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“The box contained seven.”
“Then number seven is the one.”
“What exactly is on it?”
Vincent hesitated.
“Anthony discussing the tunnel.”
Carmine said, “You said you never heard the entire recording.”
“I heard enough.”
“Enough to spend sixteen years running?”
Vincent’s eyes hardened.
“I did not run because of Anthony.”
“Why did you leave?”
“Because your father tried to kill me.”
Nell looked at Carmine.
Carmine’s face remained stone.
“Why?”
Vincent laughed without humor.
“Because I threatened to tell him what Bellarose was doing.”
“You just said he already knew.”
“Not everything.”
Vincent turned toward Nell.
“Bellarose was not moving only counterfeit wine.”
Nell remembered the crates.
The tunnel.
The coded payments.
“What else?”
“People.”
Silence.
Nell’s stomach turned.
Vincent saw it.
“Not what you think.”
“Then explain.”
“Undocumented workers.”
Forced contracts.
Debt labor.
People brought through the port, placed in restaurant kitchens, laundries, warehouses.”
Nell felt sick.
“And my father?” Carmine asked.
“Anthony discovered it after he had already accepted payments for using the tunnel.”
Carmine said nothing.
“He wanted out,” Vincent continued. “Bellarose threatened to expose him.”
“So my father was blackmailed.”
“Yes.”
“That is not what you said five minutes ago.”
“Because I wanted you to understand the worst version first.”
Carmine leaned across the table.
“Do not manipulate me in her bakery.”
Vincent looked at Nell.
“See? Very much Anthony.”
Carmine grabbed his jacket.
Nell said his name.
“Carmine.”
He released Vincent.
Slowly.
Vincent adjusted his lapel.
“Your father spent his final years trying to dismantle the operation without admitting he helped create its access.”
Carmine stared.
“Proof.”
“The tape.”
“Convenient.”
“And me.”
“You are not proof.”
“No.”
Vincent stood.
“But I know where Anthony hid his records.”
Carmine’s eyes narrowed.
“My father kept records at the warehouse office.”
“The legitimate ones.”
“Where are the others?”
Vincent looked toward Nell.
“In the Orsini house.”
Carmine almost smiled.
“My grandmother has lived there fifty years. There is nothing in that house I haven’t seen.”
“You were never allowed into your mother’s sewing room.”
Silence.
Nell knew that was true from Carmine’s face.
His mother, Isabella, had died when he was seventeen.
Carmine rarely spoke about her.
Vincent continued.
“Anthony sealed the room after she died.”
“Grandmother uses it for storage.”
“No.”
Vincent walked toward the door.
“She pretends she does.”
Carmine stepped after him.
“You’re coming with us.”
Vincent stopped.
“No.”
“That was not a request.”
Vincent looked at his nephew.
Then toward the front window.
Two black cars had stopped outside.
Not Carmine’s.
Vincent’s expression changed.
“Too late.”
Benny entered through the side.
“Boss.”
Carmine looked outside.
Four men exited the vehicles.
Nell recognized none.
Vincent did.
“Bellarose.”
Carmine frowned.
“Bellarose is under federal surveillance.”
“He does not own them.”
“Then who?”
Vincent whispered one name.
“DeLuca.”
Benny’s face hardened.
Nell looked between them.
“Who is DeLuca?”
Carmine did not answer immediately.
Then he looked at her.
“The family Bellarose has been protecting from me for ten years.”
The front door rattled.
Locked.
One of the men outside smiled through the glass.
Vincent moved toward the kitchen.
“Back exit.”
Benny drew his weapon.
Nell’s voice cut through the room.
“No shooting in my bakery.”
Every man looked at her.
She pointed toward the kitchen.
“Back door. Now.”
Carmine almost argued.
Nell glared.
“Unless you want to explain bullet holes to the health inspector.”
Benny laughed once.
“Boss, she has a point.”
They moved.
May you like
As Nell locked the rear door behind them, the front glass shattered.
And the last normal morning Fontaine Bakery would have for a very long time ended at exactly 6:19.
