Evelyn’s photo sat on the tool bench. In it, she was laughing, holding a spatula, wearing an apron that said “Kiss the Cook.”

The brothers stood outside the courthouse as the snow began to melt. Jeremiah went home to his wife. Angel lit a cigarette and stared at the sky. Bobby put a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“She’d be proud,” Bobby said.

They didn’t kill him. That would’ve been too easy, too clean. Instead, they delivered him—bound, beaten, and with a full confession recorded—to the precinct where a honest detective had been waiting for years to make a case stick. Victor Sweet got life without parole.

Jack spoke first. “You had her killed because she was going to tell the city about your trafficking ring. We found the witness, Victor. The kid from the store. He talked.”

Bobby pulled out a microcassette recorder and pressed play. Evelyn’s voice filled the garage: “Victor Sweet is using the old meatpacking plant on Ferry Street. Tell my boys. They’ll know what to do.”