Chapter 7 - The Brother in the Mountains
The village was covered in snow.
Isadora hated snow.
Marco loved it.
When they were children, he had once filled their freezer with crushed ice because he wanted to see what Christmas looked like in July.
She remembered that ridiculous memory as Gio’s car stopped outside a small pension.
Room 14.
Isadora knocked.
Nothing.
She opened the unlocked door.
Marco stood by the window.
For six years, she had imagined what she would say.
She said none of it.
She crossed the room and hit him.
Then hugged him.
Marco held her so tightly she couldn’t breathe.
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
“I couldn’t contact you.”
“You could have tried.”
“I did.”
She pulled back.
“What?”
“Every birthday.”
Isadora stared.
“Anonymous postcards.”
Her knees weakened.
Every year since Marco vanished, she had received a postcard with one sentence.
KEEP GOING, LITTLE STAR.
She had thought they were from an old family friend.
“You?”
Marco smiled through tears.
“Always.”
Gio remained near the door.
Marco looked at him.
“You look more like Vittorio than I expected.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
Marco’s smile vanished.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Carlo is alive.”
“I know.”
“He wants the ledger.”
“I know.”
“Do you have it?”
Marco looked at Isadora.
“No.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Then where is it?”
“Safe.”
“Where?”
“In the only place Carlo would never willingly destroy.”
Gio understood first.
“La Corona.”
Marco nodded.
Isadora stared.
“The restaurant?”
“The original foundation has a sealed wine cellar beneath it.”
Gio frowned.
“There’s no cellar.”
“Your father closed it.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s where he kept Carlo’s records.”
Gio was silent.
Marco walked toward him.
“Your father wasn’t innocent.”
“I never believed he was.”
“But he tried to repair what he’d allowed.”
“That doesn’t erase it.”
“No.”
Marco nodded.
“It doesn’t.”
Isadora recognized respect between them.
Not friendship.
Not yet.
But something.
Then Marco said:
“There’s another problem.”
“Of course there is,” Gio muttered.
Marco looked at Isadora.
“Carlo isn’t acting alone.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said Luca betrayed you.”
“I thought he did.”
“And now?”
“I was wrong.”
Gio’s eyes sharpened.
“Then who leaked your location?”
Marco hesitated.
“Someone who had access to Vittorio’s private schedule.”
Gio listed names mentally.
Family.
Advisers.
Security.
Lawyers.
Then his face changed.
Isadora noticed.
“What?”
“My mother.”
Marco said nothing.
Giovanni went pale.
“Your mother knew everything,” Marco said.
Gio whispered:
“My mother died when I was twelve.”
Marco looked at him with deep sympathy.
“No, Giovanni.”
He shook his head.
May you like
“She didn’t.”
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