Chapter 6 - The Name She Should Never Have Known
The church had been abandoned for seventeen years.
It stood outside a tiny Hudson Valley town, hidden behind maple trees and an overgrown cemetery.
Saint Cecilia’s.
I remembered attending a funeral there when I was ten.
My father had stood beside me in a black coat.
Silvio had been behind us.
Rose Vale may have been somewhere in the same building.
I wondered how many pieces of my life had passed within inches of the truth.
Dante parked behind the rectory.
His two men remained outside.
Silvio led us through a side door.
The air smelled of dust and damp wood.
Sophie whispered, “Is this haunted?”
Elena squeezed her hand.
“No.”
Silvio said, “Probably.”
Elena glared at him.
He shrugged.
“What? Old church.”
Despite everything, Sophie almost smiled.
The brass key opened a cabinet beneath the altar.
Inside was a metal box.
Empty.
Silvio swore.
“You said the ledger was here,” I said.
“Was.”
“When?”
“Twenty-five years ago.”
“That information is slightly outdated.”
He ignored me and examined scratches inside the box.
Elena looked around.
“My mother came here?”
“Many times.”
“Why didn't I know?”
“Because Rose was protecting you.”
Elena snapped.
“Everybody keeps using that word to explain lying.”
Silvio looked at her.
“You have every right to hate me.”
“I don't even know you well enough to hate you.”
“That’s probably better.”
Sophie wandered toward a row of wooden pews.
I watched her.
“Stay where we can see you.”
She nodded.
Dante came inside.
“Road’s clear.”
“You confirm Anthony’s story?”
“Called someone in Brooklyn.”
“And?”
“Luca hasn't been in the office since yesterday.”
I expected anger.
Instead I felt empty.
“His wife?”
“Gone.”
“Children?”
“Pulled from school two days ago.”
Planned.
This had been planned.
Dante lowered his voice.
“Accounts are moving too.”
“How much?”
“Maybe forty million.”
Silvio whistled.
“Ambitious.”
I turned on him.
“You enjoying this?”
“No.”
“You smile a lot for a man surrounded by enemies.”
“I learned a long time ago that fear gives terrible men too much satisfaction.”
Elena looked at him differently after that.
Not forgiveness.
Curiosity.
Sophie called from the front.
“Mom?”
We turned.
She was pointing at a statue of Saint Joseph.
“There’s writing.”
Elena walked over.
On the base, barely visible beneath dust, were carved initials.
R.V.
And V.M.
Rose Vale.
Vittorio Moretti.
Elena touched them.
Her eyes filled.
“She really loved him.”
Silvio stood behind her.
“Yes.”
“Did he love her?”
A long silence.
“Yes.”
“Then why did he abandon us?”
Silvio looked toward me.
“Because men like Vittorio often mistake control for protection.”
I almost laughed.
That was the most accurate description of my father I had ever heard.
Silvio continued.
“He planned to leave.”
“Leave what?” Elena asked.
“New York. The business. His marriage.”
I stiffened.
“My mother?”
“He planned to divorce her.”
I moved toward Silvio.
“Careful.”
“I am telling you what happened.”
“You're talking about my mother.”
“And I respected your mother.”
“Did my father?”
Silvio's eyes softened.
“In his own way.”
“That means no.”
He did not disagree.
Elena turned.
“Why didn't he leave?”
Silvio sat in the first pew.
“Because Carlo DeMarco’s father found out.”
I frowned.
“Giuseppe?”
“Yes.”
“What did he care who my father slept with?”
“Rose heard conversations.”
“What conversations?”
“Things Vittorio never intended her to hear. Payments. Names. Political arrangements.”
“The ledger.”
Silvio nodded.
“Giuseppe threatened to expose everything if Vittorio left the structure. Worse, he threatened Rose.”
Elena whispered, “So Vittorio sent her away.”
“Yes.”
“Without telling her why.”
“He thought heartbreak was safer than a funeral.”
That sounded exactly like my father.
Brutal logic disguised as protection.
“He told you to threaten her,” I said.
“Yes.”
“And you obeyed.”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever question him?”
“Every day for thirty years.”
A noise echoed behind the altar.
We all turned.
Dante drew his weapon.
Sophie whispered, “I found something.”
She had pulled a loose wooden panel from the wall.
Behind it was a narrow compartment.
Elena hurried over.
Inside lay a small cassette recorder.
Three tapes.
And an envelope.
My name was written across it.
ADRIAN.
Not typed.
Handwritten.
I recognized the handwriting instantly.
My father.
My knees almost gave out.
I took the envelope.
The paper had yellowed.
Inside was one sheet.
Adrian,
If you are reading this, then I failed to solve the problem before it became yours.
There are things about me you have every right to hate.
Do not make the mistake of believing the family I gave you is the only family you have.
Protect Rose.
Protect Elena.
And if there is a child after Elena, protect that child most of all.
The Moretti name has taken enough from innocent people.
Do not let it take from them.
—Father
I read it twice.
Then once more.
Elena stood beside me.
“He knew about me.”
“Yes.”
“He wrote my name.”
“Yes.”
Her voice broke.
“He knew.”
I handed her the letter.
She covered her mouth.
Sophie watched from behind her.
“Why is Mom crying?”
I crouched.
“Because she learned something important.”
“Bad?”
I looked at Elena.
“Complicated.”
Sophie nodded solemnly.
“Adults say complicated when they don't know if something is good or bad.”
Silvio laughed quietly.
“She’s definitely related to you.”
Elena looked up sharply.
Sophie frowned.
“Related?”
Silence.
Nobody was ready.
Least of all me.
Then the side door opened.
Dante spun.
“Hold!”
A man entered with both hands raised.
Father Michael Connors.
I remembered him as a young priest from family funerals.
Now he was nearly seventy.
He saw me.
Then Elena.
Then Sophie.
His eyes widened.
“It finally happened.”
“What?” I asked.
He walked toward us.
“Vittorio told me someday his children might stand here together.”
Elena stopped breathing.
“Children?”
Father Connors nodded.
“He made me swear I would tell them the truth when they came.”
I felt the room tilt again.
“What truth?”
The priest looked at Silvio.
Then me.
“There were not two Moretti children.”
He paused.
May you like
“There were three.”
And somewhere outside, one of Dante’s men shouted that a vehicle was coming.
