Marco studied her face for three long beats. A slow, dangerous respect flickered in his eyes.
“Come with me,” Marco said.
Marco descended first, testing each stone step. Lily followed, her hand brushing the cold, damp stone walls. Frank remained at the top with Maria, guarding the threshold.
The basement beneath the restaurant was small, no larger than an eight-by-eight room carved out of the Brooklyn bedrock. The air was cold, smelling of ancient soil and wet iron.
In the center of the earthen floor sat not a safe, but an old, heavy olive-oil drum sealed with industrial welding.
Marco knelt before it. Beside the drum lay an angle grinder and an old acetylene torch Antonio had left behind decades ago.
“He didn’t bury paper in an envelope,” Marco said, shining the light on the drum’s welded seam. “He sealed it in nitrogen.”
Lily knelt beside Marco, the proximity making her heart thud erratically. She could smell the crisp citrus of his cologne mixed with the metallic chill of the cellar.
“The code Serena was looking for,” Lily said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “It was H-76-Comptroller. Hale’s grandfather used a municipal registry number to hide the kickback funds.”
Marco looked at the drum. Embossed on the iron rim was a stamped serial number: **H-76-C**.
Marco let out a cold, humorless laugh. “My father didn’t just keep ledgers. He kept the original cashier’s checks. The ones Richard Hale’s grandfather used to buy the waterfront piers from the mob.”
Marco turned to Lily. In the tight confines of the cellar, their faces were inches apart.
“Lily,” Marco said, his voice husky. “Do you realize what you’ve handed me tonight?”
“I… I handed you your family’s safety?” she asked hesitantly.
“You handed me the execution warrant for the entire Whitmore-Hale syndicate,” Marco said. His hand reached out, his thumb gently brushing across her cheekbone, wiping away a speck of basement dust. “And you risked your life to do it.”
Lily’s breath hitched at his touch. Marco’s eyes were fierce, possessive, and completely unguarded.
Suddenly, from the top of the stone stairs, Frank’s voice echoed down, tight with alarm:
“Boss! We’ve got company out front! Three black Suburbans just blocked the alley!”
***
