Chapter 2 - CALL THE POLICE
“What do you want me to do, Boss?”
Marco’s question filled the mansion.
Not because he said it loudly.
Because everyone already knew the old answer.
Find them.
Bring them here.
Make sure the city understood what happened when someone touched a Castellano.
My body remembered that answer before my mind did.
I could almost feel the shape of it.
Cars leaving the garage.
Phones lighting up.
Doors kicked in.
Men dragged into basements.
Fear sent outward until it returned wearing my name.
Then Emma coughed.
Wet.
Small.
Human.
The sound broke through everything.
I looked down.
My private doctor, Dr. Moretti, had one hand braced against her shoulder while Lucia held towels near the blood at Emma’s mouth.
“Dominic.”
Lucia’s voice shook.
“She needs a hospital.”
I looked at Marco.
“Call 911.”
He froze.
Not visibly to anyone who didn’t know him.
I knew him.
“For Emma?”
“For Emma. And NYPD.”
The room changed.
Marco’s eyebrows lifted.
“Police?”
“Yes.”
“Boss, Kolov—”
“I heard the name.”
My voice stayed quiet.
That was when men usually became afraid.
Tonight, I was trying to be afraid of the right thing.
“Do not send anyone after them.”
Marco stared.
“Not yet?”
“Not at all.”
That sentence cost me more than I expected.
Lucia looked at me.
Not relieved.
Watching.
She knew how often I had used “not yet” to mean something uglier later.
I corrected myself.
“No private retaliation. No one touches anyone because of this unless they are stopping an immediate threat. We give police what we have.”
Marco looked as though I had changed languages.
Emma’s eyes opened.
Barely.
She looked at me.
Not grateful.
Scared.
Good.
Fear deserved evidence.
I crouched again.
“Emma, ambulance is coming.”
Her lips moved.
“My mom.”
“We’ll call her.”
“No.”
I stopped.
She swallowed and winced.
“Don’t tell her yet.”
“Okay.”
“My brother.”
“What is his name?”
“Evan.”
“Nineteen?”
She nodded.
“Don’t scare him.”
There it was.
Even bleeding on my floor, she was managing everyone else’s fear.
I understood the habit too well.
“Lucia will call whoever you want when you want.”
Emma’s eyes shifted to my sister.
Lucia nodded.
“No one without your permission.”
Emma closed her eyes.
The ambulance arrived in six minutes.
It felt like forty.
When EMTs entered, one glanced at the armed men near the foyer.
Marco started to explain.
I said:
“Move them.”
Every guard stepped back.
The EMT looked at me.
“Sir, we need room.”
“You have it.”
No argument.
No demand that I ride with her.
No treating the ambulance as an extension of my house.
Emma was loaded onto a stretcher.
Her hand slipped from beneath the blanket.
The family crest on her torn uniform hung by two threads.
A silver lion.
My grandfather’s symbol.
A mark people had been taught to fear.
The thing had nearly gotten her killed.
I stared at it.
Then reached for it.
Stopped.
Not mine to remove while it was attached to her clothing.
I looked at Lucia.
“Bag the uniform if the hospital releases it.”
She nodded.
“Evidence.”
“Yes.”
Marco heard me.
His face changed again.
Good.
Let everyone hear the word.
Evidence.
The ambulance left.
I followed in a separate car with Lucia.
Marco remained to meet police and preserve security footage.
No convoy.
No men with guns surrounding an emergency department.
I called the hospital administrator from the car.
Not to demand a private floor.
To warn that security risk might follow Emma.
Then I caught myself.
“Hospital security handles it,” I said.
The administrator paused.
“Mr. Castellano?”
“I’m informing you of the threat. Coordinate with NYPD.”
Not my guards.
He said:
“Understood.”
Lucia stared at me from the seat across.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That is never nothing.”
“You didn’t tell him what to do.”
“I told him enough.”
“No. You actually stopped.”
I looked out at the rain.
“Emma almost died because she wore my name on her chest.”
Lucia’s face tightened.
“No.”
I turned.
“She almost died because two men decided to beat a woman.”
“Yes.”
“And because Kolov’s people have spent months using symbols to provoke you.”
“Yes.”
“And because our household still puts crests on staff uniforms like we’re running a monarchy.”
That one hurt.
“Be careful.”
She looked at me.
“Why?”
Old instinct.
Warning someone for truth.
I hated hearing myself.
“You’re right.”
Lucia blinked.
I hated how rare that seemed.
At the hospital, doctors found three fractured ribs, a broken nose, a concussion, deep bruising, and a laceration inside Emma’s mouth.
No skull fracture.
No internal bleeding.
No spinal injury.
No miracle either.
Pain.
Swelling.
Observation.
She would remain overnight at minimum.
NYPD arrived while she was in imaging.
Detective Sofia Alvarez.
Organized crime.
Late thirties.
Dark hair.
No interest in my reputation.
She asked Lucia and me to wait in separate rooms.
I almost objected.
Then stopped.
“Fine.”
Her eyebrows moved slightly.
Progress should not require applause.
She interviewed me for twenty minutes.
“What did Emma say?”
“Snake tattoo on wrist. One attacker said Kolov would enjoy it.”
“First name?”
“No.”
“Did she know them?”
“She said no.”
“Why was she in uniform off property?”
“She was going to another job.”
“What job?”
“I don’t know.”
Alvarez looked at me.
“You employ her.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t know where she works after?”
“No.”
“Fair.”
The word sounded like judgment anyway.
“What is your relationship to Viktor Kolov?”
“Rival.”
“In what?”
“Construction. nightlife. freight. other things.”
“Other things.”
I looked at her.
“Yes.”
“You want to be more specific?”
“My attorney would prefer I wasn’t.”
“That doesn’t help Emma.”
That sentence landed.
Good detective.
I said:
“Kolov and I have had conflicts over illegal gambling, protection rackets, and clubs. I have been reducing my involvement in those operations for years.”
“Reducing.”
“Yes.”
“Not exiting.”
“Not completely.”
“Why?”
I almost gave the old answer.
Because leaving creates weakness.
Because men like Kolov fill vacuums.
Because organizations do not dissolve because one man becomes tired.
Instead:
“Because I told myself changing slowly was safer.”
Alvarez wrote that down.
“Safer for who?”
I looked at the closed interview-room door.
“Exactly.”
She stopped writing.
Good.
“Would Kolov order an attack on household staff?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve known him twenty years.”
“I know what he’s capable of. I don’t know what he ordered.”
Better.
“Would he want you to retaliate?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s been trying to force open conflict.”
That was the real thing.
Six months earlier, one of Kolov’s clubs had been firebombed.
He blamed me.
I had nothing to do with it.
Then two of my trucks were hijacked.
A Castellano-owned restaurant had windows smashed.
Nothing large enough for war.
Everything designed to look personal.
“Why provoke you?”
Alvarez asked.
“Market share.”
“That sounds corporate.”
“It is.”
“Try again.”
I almost smiled.
“Old businesses make money when police and regulators are watching someone else.”
“So a war distracts attention?”
“Yes.”
“And weakens your legitimate companies?”
“Yes.”
“Who benefits?”
“Kolov. Others.”
“Names?”
I gave her what I could without inventing.
She listened.
Then asked:
“Who knew Emma’s schedule tonight?”
My body went cold.
“She left directly from my house.”
“Yes.”
“She works three jobs?”
“So I’m told.”
“Who knew where she was going?”
Lucia.
Household scheduling.
Possibly kitchen staff.
Marco.
Maybe security.
Emma’s second employer.
Routine.
Too many people.
Alvarez saw it.
“Do you track staff movements?”
“Only when using estate transport.”
“Did Emma use estate transport?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
There it was again.
I employed a woman who worked herself toward collapse.
I knew her mother had cancer only because Lucia told me.
I knew her brother lost both legs only because Lucia told me.
I knew she needed tips.
I did not know whether we offered transport after midnight.
That was not kindness failure.
It was systems failure.
“Find out,” Alvarez said.
Not an order legally.
Still.
“I will.”
Emma returned from imaging at 2:37 a.m.
Alvarez waited until the attending physician said she was stable and could choose whether to speak.
Choose.
I heard that word everywhere now.
Emma said yes.
She wanted Lucia in the room.
Not me.
That hurt.
Good.
I waited outside.
Marco arrived at three.
“Security footage preserved.”
“Police have copies?”
“Yes.”
“Staff schedule access logs?”
“Being exported.”
“Good.”
He looked toward Emma’s room.
“How is she?”
“Alive.”
His jaw tightened.
“What are we really doing about Kolov?”
I looked at him.
“You mean when police leave?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing private.”
Marco’s face hardened.
“He put one of ours in the hospital.”
“No.”
“What?”
“He put Emma in the hospital.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“She is not ours.”
Marco stared.
“The crest—”
“Is thread.”
His face changed.
“That symbol is part of why they picked her.”
“Yes.”
“Then every staff uniform changes tomorrow.”
“Boss—”
“No crest.”
“That will look like fear.”
There.
The trap.
Everything in our world became a performance for men watching from across the city.
“What if it does?”
Marco looked almost offended.
“People will say Kolov made you strip the lion off your own house.”
“Let them.”
“Dominic.”
“My employees are not warning signs with legs.”
Silence.
He looked away.
I continued.
“Also audit transportation policies. Anyone leaving after ten gets safe transport if they want it. Not a favor. Policy.”
“Yes.”
“Independent safety review.”
“Security already—”
“Not you.”
His face tightened.
Not insult.
Institution.
“Outside firm.”
“Yes.”
“Employee representatives too.”
He sighed.
“You’ve been talking to Lucia.”
“Unfortunately.”
He almost smiled.
Then Detective Alvarez stepped into the hallway.
“Mr. Castellano.”
I stood.
“Emma identified the attackers from a photo array.”
My entire body went still.
“One?”
“Both.”
“Names?”
She watched me.
“Why?”
“I want to know.”
“You want to act?”
“No.”
She held my gaze for several seconds.
Then:
“Anton Sokolov and Pavel Reznik.”
Pavel.
Snake tattoo.
Both had arrests linked to Kolov-controlled clubs.
Not employees.
Associates.
No direct order proved.
Alvarez continued.
“Here is the part you need to hear before your imagination fills the gap.”
Good.
“They were picked up on an unrelated vehicle stop twenty minutes ago.”
I stared.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“In custody?”
“Yes.”
Relief hit so hard I almost sat.
Not because I was merciful.
Because now I would not have the chance to make a worse choice first.
Alvarez’s mouth tightened.
“Do not celebrate. We still need evidence of who sent them.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
I looked toward Emma’s room.
“Yes.”
Then Lucia stepped out.
Her face pale.
“Dominic.”
“What?”
“Emma remembered something else.”
Alvarez turned.
Lucia swallowed.
“One of the men said, ‘Tell Castellano the river belongs to Kolov now.’”
My stomach dropped.
The river.
Not clubs.
Not pride.
The Hudson redevelopment contracts.
A legitimate multibillion-dollar project.
Marco looked at me.
Now the attack had a business motive large enough to explain provocation.
Kolov did not only want fear.
He wanted me angry enough to make one illegal move.
One retaliation.
May you like
One body.
One reason for regulators to remove Castellano Holdings from the riverfront bidding process.
