The Theater by the Water

Chapter 09 - The Theater by the Water

The old theater stood at the edge of the waterfront, where Boston narrowed into warehouses, wet brick, and the kind of streets tourists never photographed.

Its marquee had lost most of its letters. Rainwater spilled from gutters onto cracked pavement. Behind it, the harbor moved black and restless under the wind.

Adrian did not let me come at first.

We had that argument in the mansion’s garage beside three black SUVs and a line of men checking weapons with the calm professionalism of florists arranging stems.

“You are staying here,” he said.

“Kate is there because of me.”

“Kate is there because she betrayed you and chose badly.”

“She called me.”

“She drugged you.”

“She was scared.”

“So are you. I am not handing you to a man who has waited twenty years for leverage.”

I stepped closer to him.

“Then don’t hand me over. Bring me standing.”

His eyes darkened.

“That sounds brave. It is not the same as wise.”

“No. But hiding in your house while everyone else bleeds for my father’s secrets is not wisdom either.”

Vittoria, of all people, ended it.

“She goes.”

Adrian turned on her.

“No.”

“Matteo asked for the girl. If she does not appear, he will kill the assistant and vanish again. He has done it before.”

I watched Adrian absorb the truth of that.

He could protect me from everything except the part where I had become necessary.

So I went.

Not alone. Never alone. Adrian’s men surrounded the building in silence. Paul slipped through a side entrance with two others. Vittoria remained in the car with a pistol across her lap like an old woman holding knitting.

Adrian and I entered through the front doors.

The lobby smelled of mold and burned wood.

Rows of dusty theater seats waited beyond a torn velvet curtain. On the stage, beneath one working spotlight, Kate sat tied to a chair.

Alive.

Beside her stood a man in a dark coat.

He was older than the portrait. Leaner. His hair had gone silver at the temples. But I knew him before Adrian said the name.

Matteo Moretti.

He smiled at Adrian as if greeting a favorite nephew for Sunday dinner.

“There he is. My wolf.”

Adrian’s gun was in his hand, aimed low.

“You lost the right to call me anything.”

Matteo touched his chest dramatically.

“Family has become so sentimental.”

“Let Kate go,” I said.

His eyes moved to me.

“Elena Brooks. You look like your father around the mouth. He had the same stubborn disappointment in stupid men.”

“What did you do to him?”

“I gave him several chances to mind his business.”

The simplicity of it made the room tilt.

My father had died because he would not look away.

Adrian moved half a step in front of me.

Matteo noticed.

“Oh,” he said softly. “That happened quickly.”

“Say what you brought us here to say,” Adrian replied.

Matteo laughed.

“I brought you here to choose.”

He lifted a remote.

The old theater screen flickered on behind him. A video appeared—grainy footage from twenty years ago.

A warehouse.

Men arguing.

My father younger, frightened but standing firm beside Salvatore Moretti.

Then Matteo appeared on the footage, locking a metal door.

I heard Vittoria’s voice behind me. She had entered despite orders, cane in one hand, pistol in the other.

“You killed them,” she said.

Matteo bowed slightly.

“I removed obstacles.”

The screen changed.

Another angle showed Salvatore escaping through smoke, carrying a box. My father shoved him toward the door, then turned back for someone inside.

“Who?” I whispered.

Matteo smiled.

“Carlo.”

Nico’s father.

Adrian’s cousin’s father.

The weak man everyone thought dead.

“He was alive,” Adrian said.

“For a while,” Matteo replied. “Useful men often are.”

Kate began to cry harder.

Matteo placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Now, choices. The ledger, the key, and the girl’s father’s letter in exchange for the assistant.”

“No,” Kate sobbed. “Elena, don’t—”

Matteo struck her.

Adrian fired.

The shot hit the stage light above Matteo, plunging half the room into sparks and darkness.

Chaos broke open.

Men shouted. Glass fell. Someone grabbed me from behind.

I twisted, elbowed hard, and heard a grunt near my ear.

Adrian’s voice cut through the theater.

“Elena!”

Then a gun pressed against my ribs.

Matteo’s breath warmed my cheek.

“Your father fought too,” he whispered. “It did not save him.”

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Across the room, Adrian froze.

And for the first time, I saw the mafia boss terrified.