Chapter 4 - Elena’s Last Secret
They left for upstate New York before sunrise.
Rico wanted Leo kept at home.
Leo had other ideas.
The moment Clara tried to leave, he wrapped himself around her leg and refused to move.
“No.”
“Leo,” Rico said.
“No!”
Clara crouched.
“We're going for a little drive.”
“I come.”
Rico shook his head.
“No.”
Leo’s face crumpled.
Clara looked at Rico.
“He can stay with me.”
Rico stared at her.
“You've known him for approximately seven hours.”
“He already trusts me.”
“That is exactly the problem.”
Clara understood.
Trust frightened Rico more than suspicion.
He had lost his wife.
Now anyone Leo loved became something Rico could lose.
She lowered her voice.
“You can't protect him from every possible pain.”
“I can try.”
“And when trying becomes a cage?”
Rico's eyes hardened.
But he looked at his son.
Leo held Clara's hand.
Finally Rico exhaled.
“He comes.”
Dante groaned.
“Boss—”
“With six cars.”
Clara looked at him.
“Six?”
“Five.”
“Rico.”
“Four.”
“You bargain about security too?”
“No.”
Apparently he did.
Three hours later they reached an isolated property surrounded by pine forest.
The house had been abandoned for years.
Gray siding.
Broken porch railing.
Windows covered in dust.
Rico stared at it from the car.
“I've been here.”
Clara looked over.
“When?”
“As a child.”
“With your father?”
“Yes.”
The answer unsettled him.
Dante searched the property first.
Then they entered.
Leo remained in Rico’s arms.
Clara carried Elena’s tiny key.
Dust covered everything.
Old furniture sat beneath sheets.
Photographs had been removed from the walls, leaving pale rectangles behind.
Rico walked through the living room slowly.
“I remember a piano.”
Clara pointed.
Scratches in the floor marked where one had once stood.
Rico continued toward the hallway.
“My father brought me here twice.”
“How old were you?”
“Seven, maybe eight.”
“Why?”
“He called it a hunting house.”
Clara glanced around.
“There isn't any hunting equipment.”
“No.”
Rico's expression tightened.
They searched for nearly an hour.
Nothing.
Then Leo wandered toward the staircase.
“Star.”
Everyone turned.
The same four-pointed symbol had been carved into the bottom stair.
Clara touched it.
“Your wife really liked leaving breadcrumbs.”
Rico pressed the carving.
A section of wood moved.
Inside was a metal keyhole.
Clara tried Elena’s key.
It fit.
A hidden door beneath the staircase opened.
Dante immediately stepped ahead.
“Wait.”
He checked the narrow stairwell.
Clear.
They descended.
The basement room was small and surprisingly dry.
Shelves held boxes.
Documents.
Old photographs.
A desk.
And a cassette recorder.
Clara stared.
“What is this place?”
Rico picked up an envelope.
His father’s name was written on it.
Antonio Moretti.
Another box read Evelyn Vale.
Clara’s mother.
She touched it.
Rico looked at her.
“Open it.”
Inside were dozens of photographs.
Evelyn.
Margaret Santoro.
Two infant girls.
And Antonio Moretti.
Clara dropped the photograph.
“No.”
Rico picked it up.
His father looked about forty.
He stood between Clara’s mother and Margaret.
Each woman held a baby.
Rico stared at the image.
Clara whispered, “Was your father my father?”
Rico shook his head.
“Impossible.”
“Why?”
“My father would have been—”
He calculated.
“Forty-three.”
“That doesn't make it impossible.”
“It would make you my—”
He stopped.
Clara understood.
Half-sister.
Which would mean Elena had been Rico's half-sister.
Which was impossible because Elena had been Rico’s wife.
The horror on Rico’s face was unmistakable.
Clara immediately searched through the documents.
“No. There has to be another explanation.”
Dante opened another box.
“Boss.”
Inside was a birth record.
Clara snatched it.
Father:
Samuel Vale.
She exhaled.
“Not Antonio.”
Rico took the paper.
“Then why is my father here?”
A tape sat beside the recorder.
Written on it:
For Elena and Clara.
Clara inserted it.
The machine clicked.
Static.
Then a woman’s voice filled the basement.
Evelyn.
Clara recognized her mother instantly.
“If you are hearing this, then Elena has broken the agreement.”
Clara sat down.
The recording continued.
“Antonio says we cannot remain together. Samuel is dead. The people who killed him believe he left something behind.”
Rico glanced at Clara.
“The girls don't know.”
Evelyn’s voice trembled.
“They can never know what their father discovered.”
Another voice entered.
Male.
Antonio.
Rico went completely still.
“I'll protect Elena.”
Then Margaret Santoro spoke.
“And Evelyn protects Clara.”
Evelyn continued.
“We separate them. Different names. Different cities.”
Clara whispered, “Why?”
The tape answered.
“Because whoever finds one sister will search for the other.”
Rico moved closer to the recorder.
Antonio spoke again.
“And if they ever reunite, we tell them the truth.”
A long pause.
Then Evelyn said something that changed everything.
“The evidence Samuel gathered proves the Moretti family was betrayed from inside.”
Rico's expression hardened.
“By whom?” Clara whispered.
The tape crackled.
Antonio answered.
“My brother.”
Rico looked at Dante.
“My uncle.”
“Vittorio?” Dante asked.
Rico nodded slowly.
Vittorio Moretti.
Rico's beloved uncle.
The man who had helped raise him after Antonio died.
The man who still sat at Rico’s table every Sunday.
Clara felt cold.
The recording continued.
“Samuel discovered Vittorio was secretly working with rival families, arranging attacks, laundering money through charities and feeding information to federal investigators.”
Rico looked sick.
“That's impossible.”
Clara paused the tape.
“Is it?”
“He practically raised me.”
“That doesn't make him innocent.”
Rico’s voice sharpened.
“You don't know him.”
“No.”
Clara met his gaze.
“And apparently you didn't know Elena.”
That hurt him.
She immediately regretted saying it.
“Rico—”
He turned away.
Leo tugged his pants.
“Dad?”
Rico looked down.
His anger vanished.
“I'm okay.”
Leo raised his arms.
Rico picked him up.
Clara resumed the tape.
Evelyn’s voice returned.
“Antonio promised to expose Vittorio. But before he could, Antonio was killed.”
Rico froze.
“My father died in a car accident.”
The recorder continued.
“It was not an accident.”
Rico shut off the machine.
Silence.
Nobody moved.
Clara whispered, “I'm sorry.”
Rico stared at the wall.
For thirteen years, he had believed his father lost control of a vehicle on an icy road.
Now a dead woman was telling him otherwise.
Dante broke the silence.
“We need to leave.”
Rico looked at him.
“Why?”
Dante pointed toward a small security monitor in the corner.
It should have been dead.
Instead, one red light blinked.
“Someone recently installed power.”
Rico moved toward it.
A wire led through the wall.
“This room has been monitored.”
Clara’s stomach dropped.
“For how long?”
Dante checked the device.
“Camera is new.”
“How new?”
“Weeks.”
Rico looked around.
“Who knew we would come here?”
“Nobody.”
Clara shook her head.
“Someone knew we eventually would.”
Then they heard it.
An engine outside.
Dante immediately turned off the lights.
Rico lifted Leo.
Clara’s heart raced.
More engines followed.
Not one vehicle.
Several.
Dante looked through a narrow basement window.
His expression changed.
“Boss.”
“How many?”
“Too many.”
Clara moved closer to Leo.
“Who is it?”
Dante reached for his phone.
“No signal.”
Rico's face became frighteningly calm.
He looked at Clara.
“There's another exit.”
“How do you know?”
“I remembered this house.”
He pointed toward the rear wall.
“My father showed me when I was eight.”
They moved quickly.
Behind shelving was a narrow tunnel leading into the forest.
Before entering it, Rico looked back at the basement.
At his father’s secrets.
At Elena’s trail.
At the evidence he had spent his whole life not knowing existed.
Then Clara noticed something on the desk.
A recent photograph.
She grabbed it.
“What?”
Rico looked.
The photo had been taken outside Il Destino.
Clara was in it.
Walking to work.
On the back was yesterday’s date.
And beneath it:
She still doesn't know why Elena chose her.
Rico turned the photograph over again.
There was another sentence.
Bring Clara to Vittorio before the boy remembers everything.
Leo, resting against Rico’s shoulder, suddenly opened his eyes.
And whispered the name everyone in the tunnel wished he had never heard.
May you like
“Uncle Vito.”
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