Chapter 7 - The Cipher
The interior of the getaway car went completely silent as the heavy weight of my words settled over us.
Dominic snatched the ancient ledger from my lap, staring at a page of German script he could not understand.
"What exactly does it say, Casey?" Dominic demanded, his jaw clenching with barely contained fury.
I gently took the book back, tracing the elegant, faded handwriting with a trembling fingertip.
"It says the port ownership rights are granted exclusively to the bloodline of the Schwarze Witwe," I translated slowly.
Dominic frowned, looking out the tinted window as the city lights blurred past us in the darkness.
"The Black Widow," Dominic translated quietly to himself, recognizing the ominous German title.
"My father always told me the Black Widow was an urban legend, a ghost story to scare rival families," he admitted.
"She was not a ghost story, Dominic, she was the true architect of this entire criminal empire," I corrected him.
I flipped to the back of the ledger, examining a complex series of ciphers and genealogical trees drawn in ink.
The document proved that Dominic's father had merely been a caretaker, a temporary manager holding the throne.
The real power, the absolute legal ownership of the billion-dollar syndicate, belonged entirely to the Black Widow's descendants.
"If Marcus Vance finds out my family never actually owned the empire, he will slaughter every Russo on the East Coast," Dominic realized grimly.
He looked at me, a dangerous, desperate light flickering deeply in his dark eyes.
"We need to find out who the Black Widow's heirs are, and we need to eliminate them before Marcus finds them," he stated coldly.
A wave of nausea washed over me, realizing I was now an active participant in a mafia assassination plot.
"I am a translator, Dominic, I will not help you murder innocent people," I argued, pushing the ledger away.
"They are not innocent, Casey, they are the rightful heirs to a legacy of blood and extortion," he snapped back.
I sighed, pulling the book closer and examining the final page of the cryptographic family tree.
The coded lineage did not lead to a rival mafia family, a politician, or a hidden billionaire.
Instead, the trail of names and encrypted locations pointed directly to a very specific address in Manhattan.
"This cannot be right," I whispered, my heart hammering desperately against my ribs.
"Where does the bloodline lead?" Dominic asked, leaning forward with intense anticipation.
"The coordinates point directly to the Columbia University Department of Historical Linguistics," I answered, feeling entirely numb.
My academic sanctuary, the quiet place where I had spent years studying, was the epicenter of the mafia's greatest secret.
"Who is the head of that department?" Dominic asked, his hand instinctively resting on his holstered weapon.
"Doctor Aris Thorne," I replied, my voice shaking with disbelief.
Dr. Thorne was my beloved mentor, the kind, elderly professor who had personally guided my doctoral thesis for three years.
Before Dominic could issue another order, my cell phone buzzed loudly inside my silver clutch purse.
May you like
I pulled it out and stared at the caller ID, feeling a cold dread wash over my entire body.
It was Doctor Aris Thorne, calling me at three in the morning.
