Chapter 3 - My Father’s Last Secret
Cassidy took Vincent to the one place she had avoided for seven years.
Gallagher Boxing.
The old gym belonged to her now, technically.
She simply never opened it.
Vincent looked around the dusty room.
“Your father trained you here?”
“Every morning before school.”
Dominic touched an old photograph on the wall.
Patrick Gallagher stood beside a teenage Cassidy wearing oversized gloves.
“He was a good man.”
Cassidy shot him a look.
“You don’t get to tell me that.”
Dominic nodded.
“Fair.”
Vincent examined the office.
“What did Patrick keep?”
“Everything.”
“Records?”
“Maybe.”
Cassidy opened filing cabinets.
Old bills.
Membership cards.
Photographs.
Nothing.
Vincent walked toward the ring.
“Your father knew he was in danger.”
Cassidy stopped.
“How?”
“He transferred the gym into your name three weeks before he died.”
Cassidy turned.
“How do you know that?”
“I checked.”
“You investigated me?”
“I investigate everybody.”
“That’s disturbing.”
“It keeps me alive.”
Dominic called from the ring.
“Vince.”
They approached.
Dominic pointed underneath the canvas.
A section had been repaired.
Cassidy frowned.
“My father did that himself.”
“When?”
“The week before he died.”
Vincent climbed beneath the ropes.
“Knife.”
Dominic handed him one.
They carefully opened the old stitching.
Something metallic fell beneath the ring.
Cassidy reached down.
A small steel box.
Her hands shook as she opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Patrick Gallagher.
Beside him stood Vincent’s father, Carlo Kelletti.
And a third man.
Vincent’s face hardened.
“Salvatore.”
“Who?”
“My uncle.”
Cassidy turned the photograph over.
Patrick’s handwriting covered the back.
IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME, FOLLOW 417.
Vincent whispered,
“Container 417.”
Dominic swore.
Cassidy looked between them.
“What?”
Vincent pulled out his phone.
“417 arrived in New York six hours ago.”
Cassidy stared.
“After fifteen years?”
“The number has been reused every few months.”
“Where is it?”
Vincent’s eyes lifted.
“Pier Forty-Seven.”
The same pier where her father had worked.
Dominic stepped forward.
“This could be a trap.”
“It probably is.”
Vincent headed toward the door.
Cassidy followed.
“No.”
Vincent turned.
“No?”
“You’re not leaving me here.”
“This is my problem.”
“My father is buried because of this problem.”
“You’re not coming.”
Cassidy stepped closer.
“You challenged me yesterday because you wanted answers.”
“And now I know enough to understand you shouldn’t be anywhere near that pier.”
Cassidy smiled coldly.
“You had trouble keeping me off a boxing canvas.”
Dominic muttered,
“She has a point.”
Vincent glared at him.
Dominic lifted both hands.
“I’ll get the car.”
Forty minutes later, they reached Pier Forty-Seven.
Container 417 stood alone inside Warehouse Six.
Vincent’s men opened it.
Empty.
Except for a chair.
And an envelope.
Cassidy saw her name written across it.
CASSIDY GALLAGHER.
Vincent grabbed her arm.
“Don’t.”
She pulled free.
“It’s my name.”
She opened the envelope.
One sentence.
YOUR FATHER SHOULD HAVE TAUGHT YOU WHEN TO STAY DOWN.
A voice came from the warehouse entrance.
“He tried.”
An older man stepped from the shadows.
Vincent went rigid.
“Uncle Salvatore.”
Salvatore Kelletti smiled.
“Hello, Vincent.”
Cassidy looked at him.
“You killed my father.”
Salvatore adjusted his coat.
“No.”
Cassidy’s eyes narrowed.
“Then who did?”
May you like
Salvatore smiled again.
“Ask Vincent’s father.”
