Chapter 4 - The Shadow of the Badge
By morning, the storm had cleared into a hard, cold blue sky that made the frost on the apple trees look like broken glass.
Elena woke up in a room that smelled of cedar and lavender. The bed was massive, covered in heavy down quilts that were white as salt. On the dresser near the door sat a fresh set of clothes—not the cheap, oversized sweaters she had bought at the discount store in Manhattan, but a soft wool trousers and a heavy cashmere knit that fit her perfectly when she pulled them on.
When she came down the wide oak staircase, she found Matteo sitting at a long table in the kitchen, a porcelain cup of black espresso in his hand. A man with graying hair and a heavy leather holster beneath his left arm was standing by the window, talking into a radio in a low, clipped voice.
“The city is turning over,” the gray-haired man said as Elena entered. He stopped talking immediately, his eyes cutting to her with a sharp, professional assessment before he nodded and stepped back into the shadows near the pantry.
“This is Marco,” Matteo said, signaling for her to sit down. A plate of hot bread and fresh butter was already waiting for her. “He manages my logistics in the northern valley. He tells me your husband spent the night breaking the doors off three apartments in Queens belonging to your former coworkers.”
Elena dropped into the chair, the bread suddenly looking like ash in her mouth. “He’s going to hurt them. He’s going to make them tell him where I went, but they don't know anything. I didn't tell a soul.”
“They have nothing to tell,” Matteo said, taking a slow sip of his coffee. “And Richard won't be breaking any more doors in Queens. His captain called him into the precinct two hours ago. It seems an anonymous tipster delivered a box of files to the internal affairs division this morning—files containing thirty-two separate instances of extorted bail money and altered evidence logs from Richard’s precinct over the last four years.”
Elena’s hands gripped the edge of the table. “Internal Affairs won't touch him. He knows the deputy chief. They go hunting together every November.”
Matteo’s mouth twitched into that cold, almost-smile she had seen on the train.
“The deputy chief’s son owns three construction firms in Brooklyn that operate on land leased from my family’s estate, Elena. When I call the deputy chief, he doesn't think about his hunting trips with a detective. He thinks about the concrete mixers that will stop turning if my trucks don't show up on Monday morning. Richard is currently suspended without his service weapon, pending a formal inquiry.”
Elena looked at the man sitting across from her—this stranger who had picked up her socks from the dirty floor of a train carriage twelve hours ago, and who had now dismantled her husband’s entire life with three phone calls.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice trembling with the realization of how deep the water was around her. “You don't know me. I’m nobody. I have eight hundred dollars in an envelope and three pairs of jeans. What do you want from me, Matteo?”
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Matteo set his cup down on the saucer with a hard, crystalline clink. He leaned forward, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a force that made her breath catch in her throat.
“I don't want your eight hundred dollars, Elena,” he said softly. “And I don't care about your jeans. Three years ago, my brother was killed in an alley behind a casino in Atlantic City because he trusted a woman who worked for the Lucchese family. He died because he thought beauty was something you could buy and keep in a box. I don't like people who break things because they think they own them. Your husband thinks he’s a collector. I’m going to show him what happens when you try to collect something that belongs to the Vitali name.”
