Chapter 2 - THE MONEY MICHAEL STOLE
Daniel’s phone remained in his hand.
Leo slept against my chest.
The contrast made the room feel unreal.
A six-pound world? No. Leo was premature, much smaller.
A tiny child breathing against me while the most feared man I had ever met stared at a message that had just changed my brother from debtor to thief.
I swallowed.
“What does that mean?”
Daniel looked at the screen again.
“My people found a transfer trail.”
I stiffened.
“Your people?”
“My accountant.”
“That is not better.”
His eyes lifted to mine.
For half a second, something almost human crossed his face.
Then disappeared.
“Michael Jenkins took fifty thousand dollars from an account used by men who work around my organization.”
“Work around?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds carefully chosen.”
“It is.”
Good.
At least he knew.
My arms tightened around Leo instinctively.
Daniel noticed.
“Do not hold him tighter because you’re afraid of me.”
Heat rushed to my face.
“I’m supporting him.”
“You changed.”
I hated that he was right.
The baby shifted.
I forced my shoulders to relax.
Leo settled.
Daniel looked at him.
Then back at me.
“Who was Michael paying?”
“I don’t know.”
“Rachel.”
“I don’t know.”
“Why would he be buying information about my wife?”
“I don’t know.”
The third time came out louder.
Leo twitched.
I immediately lowered my voice.
“Stop asking me like I helped him.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened.
Then he looked at Leo.
The entire room seemed to remind him he did not get to raise his voice just because he wanted answers.
He stepped back.
“Fair.”
That surprised me.
I looked toward the monitoring screen.
Heart rate stable.
Oxygen acceptable.
Leo’s tiny hand had curled into the fabric of my scrub top.
One of the neonatologists, Dr. Mehta, waited near the door.
He had stayed because Daniel had cleared most people out, not all medical staff.
Good.
No mafia boss got to remove every clinician from a NICU room.
Dr. Mehta said quietly:
“Rachel, we need to return him to the incubator soon.”
I nodded.
Kangaroo care and containment holding were not magic.
Leo still needed controlled temperature, monitoring, feeding support, and a medical plan.
I knew that.
So did everyone else now that the room had stopped behaving like a crime scene.
I eased him back carefully.
He whimpered.
Daniel froze.
I kept one hand cupped around Leo’s head and another around his hips, giving steady pressure without frantic rubbing.
“Easy.”
He fussed.
Then settled.
No miracle.
Just less stimulation.
Dr. Mehta adjusted the incubator cover.
“Better.”
Daniel looked at him.
“Why did nobody do that?”
Dr. Mehta did not flinch.
“We have.”
“What?”
“We have used low-stimulation care. Skin-to-skin was limited because Mrs. Russo died and you declined initially.”
Daniel went still.
I looked away.
There it was.
Not the hospital failing for fourteen straight days.
Grief narrowing options.
“I declined?”
“Yes.”
“You said he was too unstable.”
“On day one. Not every day after.”
Silence.
Daniel’s face changed.
He looked at me.
Then at his son.
“I thought touching made it worse.”
Dr. Mehta answered:
“Sometimes too much touch does. Firm, contained support can be different.”
Daniel’s eyes moved to my hands.
The hands that had calmed his baby.
I did not want that look to become mythology.
“I got lucky with timing too,” I said.
Daniel looked at me.
“Leo was exhausted.”
Dr. Mehta nodded.
“And Rachel changed the environment first. That mattered.”
Good.
No saint.
No miracle nurse.
A baby with a nervous system.
Then Daniel’s phone buzzed again.
He read.
His face hardened.
“Michael’s source used the name Owen Pike.”
I stared.
“Who?”
“You’ve never heard it?”
“No.”
Daniel looked at me long enough to decide whether I was lying.
I hated him for that.
Then he said:
“Owen Pike worked for my security team until six months ago.”
My skin went cold.
“What happened?”
“He was fired.”
“Why?”
“He copied route schedules he was not authorized to keep.”
“Camille’s routes?”
Daniel’s expression changed.
“We don’t know.”
Dr. Mehta cleared his throat.
“This conversation needs to move outside.”
Right.
Hospital first.
Crime second.
Daniel nodded immediately.
Good.
He looked at Leo.
“Can she stay?”
The question was directed at the doctor.
Not me.
I said:
“My shift ends at six.”
Daniel looked at me.
“I know.”
It was almost five-thirty.
Dr. Mehta said:
“Rachel is not assigned exclusively to Leo. We need to discuss staffing with charge.”
Daniel opened his mouth.
I knew what he was about to say.
Money.
Triple salary.
Buy the solution.
“No.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
“Yes, I do.”
“What?”
“You were going to offer enough money that saying no would feel irresponsible.”
Dr. Mehta looked down to hide something.
Daniel stared at me.
“That is specific.”
“Because you already did it.”
Fair.
He rubbed a hand over his face.
“What do you want?”
The question surprised me.
Not:
How much?
What do you want?
“I want to finish my shift.”
“Yes.”
“I want my brother found alive.”
His expression tightened.
“Yes.”
“And I want whatever you learn about him to go through police if there’s a crime.”
Daniel’s eyes changed.
That request touched something.
Maybe reputation.
Maybe habit.
“You think I’ll kill him.”
“I think you’re Daniel Russo.”
The silence after that was heavy.
Not denial.
Finally:
“I have killed people.”
My stomach dropped.
Dr. Mehta looked toward the door.
Daniel continued before anyone could stop him.
“Not Michael.”
I stared.
“You don’t know what he did.”
“I know he was buying information about Camille.”
“That makes him safe?”
“No.”
His voice turned rough.
“It makes him a witness.”
Good.
A useful word.
Then:
“And if he stole from men connected to me, I want to know why before anyone decides what that means.”
I almost laughed.
“You say that like your people wait for paperwork.”
His jaw tightened.
“Some don’t.”
There.
Honest.
“That’s why we move faster.”
He called someone.
Not an underboss.
Chicago Police.
At least that was what the contact name showed.
Detective Nia Torres.
Organized crime task force.
Daniel put the phone on speaker only after asking me:
“Okay?”
I nodded.
Torres answered:
“Russo.”
“I have evidence related to Camille’s ambush.”
Silence.
“What kind?”
“A possible payment from Michael Jenkins to a former security contractor, Owen Pike.”
I held my breath.
Torres said:
“Do not touch Pike.”
Daniel’s mouth hardened.
“I’m calling you.”
“That was not praise. It was an instruction.”
I liked her immediately.
“I also need Michael found,” Daniel said.
“We have an open missing-person concern?”
I spoke.
“He’s not officially missing.”
Both of them paused.
I explained.
Michael had not come home in six days.
He texted me twice.
Short.
Don’t worry.
I’m fixing it.
Then silence.
I had assumed he was hiding from creditors.
I had not filed a missing-person report because he was thirty and had done this before for a night or two.
That suddenly sounded terrible.
Torres asked:
“Last confirmed location?”
“My apartment.”
“Vehicle?”
“Blue Honda Civic.”
“Plate?”
I gave it.
“Phone?”
Straight to voicemail for two days.
Torres said:
“I’ll start it. Rachel, I’ll need a statement.”
“Yes.”
Daniel asked:
“What about Pike?”
“We locate him.”
“Before whoever killed Camille does.”
Torres went quiet.
Then:
“Russo, you are not running this investigation.”
He almost smiled without humor.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
That answer surprised all of us.
Torres sighed.
“Stay at the hospital.”
Daniel looked offended.
“I have no intention of leaving my son.”
Good.
Then he looked at me.
“You also stay.”
My body went rigid.
There it was.
Command.
“No.”
His face changed.
“I mean until Torres arrives.”
“Then ask.”
He stared.
I stared back.
Leo slept between us.
Finally:
“Will you stay until Detective Torres gets here?”
“Yes.”
Good.
The next hour changed everything.
Torres arrived with another detective.
She was short, athletic, and visibly unimpressed by armed men in hospital corridors.
She made Daniel’s guards step away from the NICU entrance.
Hospital security remained.
That distinction mattered.
She interviewed me in a family consultation room.
No Daniel.
I told her about Michael’s debt.
Except apparently it was theft.
I told her about his gambling.
Because yes, there was gambling.
I had spent two years pretending it was “sports betting trouble” because addiction sounded too serious.
Michael had borrowed from friends.
Credit cards.
Then men.
I did not know how he got connected to Russo’s circle.
Torres asked:
“Did he ever mention Owen Pike?”
“No.”
“Camille Russo?”
“Once.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did he say?”
“After the ambush was on the news, Michael said the route leak looked internal.”
Torres stopped writing.
“Why would he say that?”
“He works in fleet telematics.”
There.
The piece I had not yet told Daniel.
Michael was not a random gambler.
He installed and audited GPS systems for private vehicle fleets.
“Company?”
“VectorTrack Systems.”
Torres looked at her partner.
He wrote something.
“Does VectorTrack service Russo businesses?”
“I don’t know.”
Daniel knew.
When Torres brought him in later, he answered:
“Yes.”
My stomach dropped.
VectorTrack serviced three Russo logistics subsidiaries.
And, for one year, certain estate vehicles.
Including Camille’s SUV.
Daniel looked at me.
“Michael had access?”
“Not to your private routes. He said his work was system maintenance.”
Torres corrected gently.
“Access does not mean misuse.”
Good.
Daniel nodded.
Learning.
Then her phone buzzed.
She read.
“Rachel.”
“What?”
“Patrol found Michael’s car.”
My body went cold.
“Where?”
“Parking garage in River North.”
“Blood?”
“No.”
“Michael?”
“No.”
“Then?”
Torres looked at Daniel.
“There’s a laptop in the trunk.”
“His?”
“Probably.”
“And?”
“A hospital parking pass.”
I frowned.
“What hospital?”
“St. Jude’s Memorial.”
My skin prickled.
Michael had been here.
At my hospital.
Then Torres added:
“Timestamp from the garage says the car entered the night Camille was brought in after the ambush.”
Daniel went completely still.
May you like
My brother had been at St. Jude’s the night his wife died.
And he had never told me.
