Chapter 8 of 12
MY SON GAVE OUR WEDDING DANCE TO HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW, THEN THE MAFIA BOSS CROSSED THE BALLROOM AND HELD OUT HIS HAND
THE DAY GINO BALANTE WALKED INTO FEDERAL COURT
“You're not going.”
“Yes, I am.”
“They may arrest you.”
“Yes.”
“You say that like we're discussing rain.”
Gino adjusted his cuff.
“It might rain.”
I wanted to throw something.
We stood in his penthouse.
Not the criminal fortress I expected.
Dark wood.
Books.
Very clean kitchen.
No gold furniture.
No tiger.
I had perhaps watched too many movies.
His attorney, Anthony Russo, stood near the window reading documents.
“Beth is correct.”
“Thank you.”
Gino looked at him.
“Don't encourage her.”
“I don't control Mrs. Lawson.”
“Nobody does.”
I folded my arms.
“Helen offered them evidence against you.”
“Yes.”
“What evidence?”
“Old financial records.”
“Crimes?”
“Some.”
My stomach sank.
“You did them?”
“Yes.”
The directness hurt.
No excuses.
No carefully phrased denials.
“What kind?”
“Extortion. Illegal labor agreements. Tax violations. Money laundering.”
I stared.
“You left out organized crime.”
“That's a description, not a charge.”
“Gino.”
He sighed.
“Yes.”
I walked away.
For weeks, he had been the man helping me find Aaron's killers.
The man who carried a cassette player out of my basement.
The man who ate lemon cake.
The man who sat beside me at the lake talking about his dead wife.
But he was still Gino Balante.
That truth had never disappeared.
I simply had not looked directly at it.
“You hurt people.”
His face changed.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Beth.”
“No.”
I turned.
“If whatever this is between us becomes something more than Thursday coffee and surviving gunshots, I need to know who you are.”
Anthony looked uncomfortable.
“I can leave.”
“Yes,” Gino and I said.
The attorney left.
Gino stood silently.
Then spoke.
“When I was younger, I collected debts.”
I swallowed.
“Violently?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did you kill people?”
Long silence.
“Yes.”
I stopped breathing.
He didn't move toward me.
Didn't explain.
Didn't ask me to understand.
“How many?”
“I won't answer that.”
“Because you don't know?”
“Because that truth does nothing except put images in your head.”
“Again deciding what truth I can handle.”
His eyes closed.
“Yes.”
When he opened them, regret was there.
“Three.”
I looked away.
“Were they innocent?”
“No.”
“That isn't the same as deserving death.”
“I know.”
I believed he knew.
That almost made it harder.
“What changed?”
“Lucia.”
“Your wife?”
“Yes.”
“She made you stop?”
“No.”
His voice softened.
“She got sick.”
I looked back.
“I spent eighteen months sitting in hospitals where nobody cared what my name was.”
He rubbed his hand over his jaw.
“Cancer does not negotiate.”
I understood.
“Power became useless.”
“Yes.”
“After she died?”
“I started moving businesses legitimate.”
“Started?”
“It takes time when half the men around you make money from things being illegal.”
“And your uncle?”
“Fought me.”
“Matteo?”
“Supported me.”
Suddenly their conflict made more sense.
“Salvatore wanted the old life.”
“Yes.”
“And Helen paid him to kill Matteo.”
“Yes.”
“Because Matteo was helping expose her.”
“Yes.”
I sat.
“I don't know how to feel about you.”
“You don't need to decide today.”
There it was again.
Choice.
A knock came.
Anthony returned.
“We need to leave.”
Gino reached for his coat.
I stood.
“I'm coming.”
“No.”
“Try again.”
He stared.
“Beth.”
“If Helen is trying to turn you into the villain while buying immunity for murdering my husband, I will be there.”
His face softened.
“This is not your fight.”
“It became mine eleven years ago.”
Federal court was less dramatic than television.
Fluorescent lights.
Security trays.
Bad coffee.
People carrying folders.
Katherine Weller met us in a conference room.
She was fifty-ish.
Short blond hair.
Navy suit.
Eyes that looked permanently unimpressed.
She looked at Gino.
“Mr. Balante.”
“Ms. Weller.”
“You've aged.”
“You haven't.”
“That sounded almost charming.”
“It was intended as survival.”
Then she looked at me.
“Mrs. Lawson.”
“You knew my husband?”
“No.”
“Matteo did.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't federal authorities protect them?”
Her expression changed.
“We didn't know who Aaron was until after his death.”
“Matteo?”
“He refused formal witness protection.”
Of course he did.
“Did Helen offer you a deal?”
“Yes.”
“For Gino?”
Katherine looked toward him.
“She offered evidence concerning several active investigations.”
“Will you give her immunity?”
“No.”
Relief hit me.
Then she continued.
“Not yet.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means prosecutors don't make decisions based on who makes the better villain.”
She sat.
“Show me what you have.”
For six hours, we gave her everything.
Ledger.
Recordings.
Manifests.
Photographs.
Aaron's tapes.
When my husband's voice played, Katherine's expression finally changed.
At one point, she removed her glasses.
“This should have reached us eleven years ago.”
“Yes,” I said.
“I am sorry.”
I looked at Gino.
“So am I.”
By evening, Katherine had enough to open a federal conspiracy case against Helen.
But Helen had one move left.
The evidence against Gino was real.
Katherine placed a folder in front of him.
“You understand this exposure?”
“Yes.”
“Some charges are beyond limitation because of ongoing conspiracy theories.”
“I know.”
“You could be indicted.”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“Gino.”
He didn't look away.
Katherine continued.
“I can offer cooperation consideration.”
“No immunity?”
“No.”
“Fine.”
“Gino,” I said again.
He turned.
“What?”
“You're volunteering to go to prison?”
“If that's the consequence.”
“You helped us.”
“That doesn't erase what came before.”
The words hit me.
Noah.
Chloe.
Helen.
All of us learning the same lesson in different ways.
Consequences did not disappear because someone eventually did something right.
Katherine leaned back.
“You understand that your cooperation against Helen and the late Salvatore Balante may materially reduce exposure.”
“Yes.”
“But there is risk.”
“Yes.”
Gino signed.
I hated the sound of the pen.
Outside, reporters had gathered.
Someone leaked his presence.
Cameras exploded as we stepped outside.
Questions.
“Mr. Balante, are you cooperating?”
“Mrs. Lawson, was your husband involved with organized crime?”
“Did Balante order Aaron Lawson's death?”
I froze.
That question.
Gino stopped beside me.
“No.”
He faced the cameras.
“Aaron Lawson was a good man who died because men from my world and Helen Corsy's world believed his decency made him weak.”
Silence spread through the press.
Gino continued.
“They were wrong.”
Then he walked away.
That clip aired everywhere.
The bakery phone rang until I unplugged it.
Customers began leaving flowers outside.
People brought photographs of Aaron.
Old trucking coworkers contacted investigators.
One man named Luis Ramirez called from Texas.
The same Luis Aaron believed disappeared.
He was alive.
And he was willing to testify.
The case exploded.
Helen's network began collapsing.
Three officers were arrested.
Two former judges were investigated.
Companies froze accounts.
Marco entered protective custody.
Charles cooperated.
But Helen disappeared.
Again.
For six days, nobody found her.
Then, Thursday morning at exactly 7:03, the bell above my bakery door rang.
I looked up automatically.
For three years, that time belonged to Gino.
Not today.
Helen Corsy walked inside.
Alone.
She wore sunglasses.
A gray coat.
No diamonds.
I reached beneath the counter for my phone.
“Don't.”
I froze.
Her hand remained inside her coat pocket.
“Is that a gun?”
“Yes.”
My employees were in the kitchen.
Three customers sat near the window.
One child ate a cookie.
My blood turned cold.
“What do you want?”
Helen removed her sunglasses.
She looked exhausted.
“Lemon cake.”
I stared.
“What?”
“A slice.”
“No.”
A strange smile touched her face.
“Gino comes every Thursday.”
My heart pounded.
“You've been watching him.”
“For years.”
“Why?”
“To know whether he found you.”
I understood.
Every Thursday visit could have exposed me.
Gino had thought he was watching over Aaron's widow.
Helen had been watching him watch me.
“You knew he came here.”
“Yes.”
“Then why wait?”
“Because until the wedding, he never gave me reason to believe he found the evidence.”
The dance.
One hand held out across a ballroom had changed everything.
Helen walked closer.
“Where's Noah?”
“Not here.”
“Chloe?”
“Not here.”
“Good.”
Her pocket remained heavy.
I kept my voice steady.
“You killed Aaron.”
“I gave an order.”
“He died because of it.”
“Yes.”
No denial now.
“Why are you here?”
Her eyes moved toward the kitchen.
“You have something I need.”
“We gave everything to federal prosecutors.”
“No.”
“You don't believe me?”
“I believe Aaron.”
She smiled faintly.
“He always had backups.”
My stomach tightened.
“What do you think I have?”
“The original list.”
“I don't.”
“Then you'll help me find it.”
“No.”
Her face hardened.
“You spent eleven years making cakes, Beth.”
“And?”
“You really think you're brave because a man like Gino Balante decided you were worth protecting?”
There it was.
The mistake everyone kept making.
Thinking my courage came from Gino.
I pressed the silent alarm beneath the counter.
“No.”
Helen's eyes narrowed.
“I think I'm brave because I spent eleven years getting out of bed after your decision killed my husband.”
Her hand began leaving her coat.
The bakery door opened.
Bell rang.
Gino walked in.
Exactly 7:07.
Late by four minutes.
Helen spun.
The gun appeared.
“Don't.”
Gino stopped.
He looked at me.
Then at Helen.
“Thursday,” he said calmly.
She laughed.
“You really are predictable.”
“No.”
His eyes met mine.
“I just like cake.”
The gun pointed toward his chest.
Helen smiled.
“Then sit down.”
For the first time in three years, Gino Balante took his usual table without ordering.
And I understood that Helen had not come to escape.
She had come to finish what began eleven years earlier.
This time, she intended to kill the last two people still carrying Aaron and Matteo's truth.