Chapter 5 - The Betrayal Inside the Castalano Estate
“Renzo?”
Vincent's voice was quiet.
Dangerously quiet.
No answer.
We searched the house.
His car was gone.
Vincent immediately called security.
Then his phone rang.
Renzo.
Vincent answered on speaker.
“Where are you?”
“Driving back to New York.”
“Why did you leave?”
“Because Laura’s letter said you'd suspect me.”
“Should I?”
Silence.
Then Renzo said, “Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
Vincent's face became stone.
“Explain.”
“My father worked for Carlo.”
Nobody spoke.
Renzo continued.
“He helped Carlo move money. I discovered it when I was nineteen.”
Vincent gripped the phone.
“You've known all these years?”
“Not everything.”
“Come back.”
“I can't.”
“That's not a request.”
“I know.”
The call ended.
Vincent looked like somebody had struck him.
Renzo wasn't merely an employee.
They had grown up together.
They were brothers in every way except blood.
Laura spoke quietly.
“Renzo was a child when Isabella died.”
Vincent looked at her.
“His father wasn't.”
We returned to New York immediately.
Renzo wasn't at the estate.
His apartment was empty.
But he had left something on Vincent’s desk.
His tablet.
One folder was open.
CASTALANO — 1998
Inside were financial records.
Payments from Carlo to Renzo’s father.
Records connecting Carlo to the mechanic who had serviced Isabella’s car before the crash.
And a recent bank transfer.
Martin Vale.
Renzo had hired the investigator.
I stared at Vincent.
“He planted the pendant?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Vincent opened another document.
A note.
Because you stopped looking.
Vincent sat down.
I understood.
Renzo hadn't betrayed us.
He had forced Vincent to reopen the past.
The study door opened.
Mia marched inside wearing pajamas.
Mrs. Bell followed apologetically.
“She wouldn't sleep.”
Mia climbed onto Vincent’s knee.
“You're doing the face.”
He looked at her.
“What face?”
“Mad-sad.”
He closed his eyes.
Mia touched his beard.
“Stop.”
A strange sound escaped me.
Half laugh, half sob.
Vincent opened his eyes.
Then his phone rang.
Renzo again.
“Carlo knows Laura is alive,” Renzo said.
Vincent stood.
“How?”
“Because someone tracked us to Vermont.”
“Where are you?”
“Carlo’s old warehouse in Brooklyn.”
“Why?”
“Getting the original records.”
“Leave.”
“Can't.”
“Renzo.”
“If these records disappear, Isabella’s death remains an accident forever.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“I'm coming.”
“No.”
But Vincent had already grabbed his coat.
The confrontation that followed wasn't about guns or revenge.
Vincent did something Carlo never expected.
He brought lawyers.
Investigators.
Financial-crimes specialists.
And enough evidence to destroy the carefully constructed lies surrounding Isabella’s death.
Renzo emerged safely with the records.
Carlo’s world collapsed not through violence, but through documents, testimony, bank records, and twenty-eight years of mistakes.
Weeks later, authorities reopened Isabella’s case.
Carlo was charged in connection with the conspiracy surrounding her death and multiple financial crimes.
Renzo sat in Vincent’s study afterward.
“You could've told me,” Vincent said.
“You would've stopped me.”
“Yes.”
“Exactly.”
Vincent stared at him.
Then pulled him into a brief embrace.
Renzo looked stunned.
“So I'm not fired?”
“Don't push it.”
From beneath the desk, Mia announced, “He's doing happy face.”
We all looked down.
Nobody had realized she was there.
Vincent sighed.
“Mia.”
“Yes?”
“Why are you under my desk?”
“Secret meeting.”
Renzo burst out laughing.
This time Vincent didn't stop him.
But our happiness remained incomplete.
Because the investigation revealed one final truth.
A letter Isabella had written the night before she died.
It identified my biological father.
And when Vincent read the name, he looked at me with an expression I couldn't understand.
“Elena.”
“What?”
He slowly handed me the letter.
I read the name.
Then I understood.
My father hadn't been some stranger.
He had been someone Vincent knew.
Someone who was still alive.
May you like
And someone who had spent twenty-eight years believing his daughter died with Isabella.
---
