Chapter 7 - WHAT SALVATORE MORETTI WAS HIDING
Vittorio did not run when we found him.
He waited in my father’s old study.
The stolen Moretti file sat on the desk.
He looked older than I remembered.
Not physically.
Guilty people aged differently when secrets stopped protecting them.
Elena entered behind me.
Vittorio looked at her.
His face collapsed.
“Lena.”
She stiffened.
“Nobody calls me that.”
“You used to—”
“I said nobody calls me that.”
He nodded.
“You look like Maria.”
Elena’s eyes hardened.
“You don’t get to say her name.”
Vittorio looked at me.
“I suppose you know enough to hate me.”
“I know enough to ask questions.”
“Then ask.”
“Why did you steal the file?”
“To keep you alive.”
“Again?”
He smiled sadly.
“I know how that sounds.”
“Tell us everything.”
Vittorio stared at Elena.
“The night of the crash, Salvatore’s men were coming for you.”
“Why me?”
“You saw him in my office.”
“You could have told my parents.”
“I was afraid.”
“That seems to be everyone’s favorite excuse.”
He accepted the blow.
“I had helped Salvatore hide evidence. If Lorenzo learned that, I would lose everything.”
“So you chose yourself.”
“Yes.”
The honesty surprised us.
Vittorio explained that after the crash he found Elena alive with Daniel Mercer.
He moved her to Rosa’s apartment.
He intended to return her within days.
But Salvatore discovered she survived.
Salvatore warned him:
Return Elena and Dante dies.
Expose him and Lorenzo goes to prison for the warehouse fire.
Vittorio broke.
He chose secrecy.
He told Rosa to leave New York.
He gave her money.
Then he spent twenty-two years regretting it.
Elena asked the question that mattered.
“Did you ever see me again?”
Vittorio looked down.
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
“Four.”
Her face went white.
“When?”
“When you were eight. Twelve. Seventeen. And twenty-three.”
“You watched me?”
“Yes.”
“Did you speak to me?”
“Once.”
Elena stared.
“When I was seventeen?”
He nodded.
Memory moved across her face.
“A man at the train station.”
Vittorio closed his eyes.
“You dropped your wallet.”
“You returned it.”
“Yes.”
“You asked if I was happy.”
“Yes.”
Elena’s voice shook.
“And when I said yes, you left.”
“Yes.”
She slapped him.
Hard.
Nobody moved.
Vittorio accepted it.
“You should have brought me home.”
“Yes.”
“My mother died thinking I was gone.”
“Yes.”
“My brother spent his life looking for me.”
“Yes.”
“You watched me and did nothing.”
Tears filled his eyes.
“Yes.”
Elena hit his chest once.
Then again.
Not violently.
Desperately.
“You should have brought me home.”
Vittorio whispered, “I know.”
She walked away.
I wanted to destroy him.
Instead, I asked:
“What is Salvatore hiding now?”
Vittorio pointed at the stolen file.
“A current account.”
Marco opened it.
Payments.
Judges.
Inspectors.
City officials.
Police officers.
Not ancient corruption.
Current.
Salvatore Moretti was still buying protection.
“That’s why he’s afraid,” Vittorio said. “Elena connects him to the original cover-up. Anthony connects him to the warehouse. The financial records connect him to crimes happening now.”
“Why steal the file?”
“Because one name on that list belongs to someone close to you.”
I turned the page.
My head of legal affairs.
Thomas Keane.
A man who had worked for my family fifteen years.
“Thomas?”
“He has been feeding information to Moretti.”
Marco cursed.
That explained the threat call.
The break-in.
The lab result arriving early.
Someone inside our organization had access.
“Where is Thomas?” I asked.
“Gone.”
Vittorio shook his head.
“He left Manhattan two hours ago.”
“Destination?”
“Moretti estate.”
Elena turned back.
“So Salvatore knows everything we know.”
“Probably.”
“No,” Vittorio said.
We looked at him.
“He doesn’t know about the ledger.”
“What ledger?”
Vittorio hesitated.
“Elena’s insurance policy.”
She frowned.
“Mine?”
“Rosa created it.”
After warehouse twelve, Rosa collected proof.
Names.
Dates.
Payments.
Photographs.
She placed everything in a handwritten ledger.
She threatened to release it if Elena was ever harmed.
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I knew Rosa had it. She never told me where.”
Elena looked thoughtful.
“She might have.”
“What?”
“My birthday.”
She explained that every year Rosa gave her one strange gift.
A book.
Always used.
Always containing the same handwritten message.
When the moon is lost, follow the saints.
Father Michael.
St. Agnes.
Saints.
The church again.
We returned after midnight.
Father Michael listened.
Then smiled.
“Rosa always loved puzzles.”
He led us downstairs.
The church basement contained storage shelves filled with old hymnals.
On one shelf were wooden carvings of saints.
Elena touched a statue of St. Christopher.
It moved.
Behind it was a recessed compartment.
Empty.
Father Michael frowned.
“There should be something here.”
Then we heard applause.
Slow.
Mocking.
Salvatore Moretti stepped from the shadows.
Four men stood behind him.
Thomas Keane was beside them.
Elena whispered, “How did you get in?”
Salvatore smiled.
“Churches welcome sinners.”
I stepped in front of Elena.
Salvatore laughed.
“There he is. The protective brother.”
“What do you want?”
“The same thing everyone wants.”
He looked at the empty compartment.
“To know who got here first.”
My stomach tightened.
“The ledger is gone?”
“Yes.”
“Then why come?”
Salvatore’s eyes moved toward Elena.
“Because the ledger was never the only insurance policy Rosa created.”
Elena stiffened.
“What are you talking about?”
Salvatore smiled.
“She taught you something when you were a child.”
“I don’t remember.”
“You will.”
He turned toward me.
“And when she does, Dante, you’re going to learn why your mother died.”
The world went silent.
“My mother had cancer.”
Salvatore’s smile disappeared.
“No.”
May you like
He looked at Elena.
“Maria Valenti was murdered.”
