Chapter 9 - THE SONG OF THE DEAD
The notes floated like ghosts beneath the gilded ceiling.
Clara played with deliberate, rhythmic simplicity.
She did not add flourishes.
She played the lullaby exactly as Elena had sung it, leaving a deliberate gap between the melody lines.
A gap waiting for an answer.
Leo stood beside the bench.
His small hands were tucked into his sleeves, his breath coming in shallow, fluttering gasps.
The room watched him.
Don Bernardo leaned forward on his cane, his ancient brow furrowed with deep recognition.
“That was Elena’s song,” the old man murmured.
Luca swallowed hard.
His fingers twitched against his trousers.
“Dante, this is grotesque,” Luca stammered, stepping toward the piano.
“Parading the boy’s grief before the Commission—it’s sick!”
“Step back, Luca,” Dante commanded.
His voice was quiet, but it contained enough iron to stop a train.
Marco stepped into Luca’s path, his broad chest an immovable wall.
Clara repeated the opening motif.
She leaned slightly toward Leo.
She did not push him.
She simply held out her left hand, palm up, resting it on her navy skirt.
“Blue is safe, Leo,” she whispered.
“Tell them about the ship.”
Leo took a slow, shuddering breath.
He pulled his hands from his sleeves.
He did not look at the men in the room.
He did not look at his father.
He looked at the keys.
His small fingers hovered over the high octave.
Then, with startling, crystalline precision, his index finger struck the note.
E-flat.
G.
B-flat.
The harmony completed Elena’s phrase.
A collective intake of breath swept through the Commission.
Leo was not just playing.
He was improvising on his mother’s theme, shifting the lullaby from a gentle waltz into a dark, minor cadence.
His left hand joined the lower register, striking heavy, rhythmic thuds that sounded like iron doors slamming shut.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Every strike of the low keys made Luca flinch as if he were being whipped.
Leo’s head tilted back.
His eyes were half-closed, lost in the sensory landscape of the music.
“The red ship,” Leo spoke aloud.
His voice was small, but in the dead silence of the salon, it cut like a surgical scalpel.
Cavallo frowned.
“What red ship?”
“*Santa Maria*,” Leo whispered, his fingers never stopping their dark, driving tempo.
“Harbor Nine.”
“The hatch was locked.”
“Who locked it, Leo?” Clara asked, her voice carrying the rhythm of the piece.
Leo struck a harsh, discordant clash of keys in the bass.
The sound tore through the room like tearing metal.
“Uncle Luca,” Leo said clearly.
The name echoed off the stone walls.
Don Bernardo froze.
The old man’s hands gripped the silver lion’s head until his knuckles turned purple.
“Uncle Luca said Papa would never find her,” Leo said.
His fingers played faster now, mimicking the sound of rushing water and crackling timber.
“He said the berths belonged to the Falcon.”
“He had the red box with the fire.”
Don Bernardo slowly turned his ancient head toward Luca.
The look in the old Don’s eyes was no longer business.
It was ancient, Sicilian wrath.
“Luca,” Bernardo rasped.
“Uncle, he’s insane!” Luca shouted, backing away toward the terrace doors.
His composure was completely gone.
Sweat poured down his forehead, soaking his silk collar.
“He’s an autistic child! He’s repeating fairy tales!”
“The Santa Maria had no fire on the manifest, Luca,” Dante said, walking slowly toward his cousin.
“The harbor records reported an engine explosion.”
“Only three people knew there was a red arson timer on board.”
“The arson investigator.”
“Me.”
Dante stopped four feet from Luca.
“And the man who set it.”
Luca’s hand lunged into his jacket.
Before his fingers could wrap around the grip of his pistol, a loud crack shattered the glass terrace doors behind him.
A sniper round from the treeline took Luca through the right shoulder.
Luca shrieked in agony, spinning around and collapsing against the heavy mahogany credenza.
Outside on the lawn, the distinctive hum of heavy caliber automatic weapons erupted through the fog.
Don Cavallo sprang to his feet, pulling a radio from his belt.
May you like
“Now!” Cavallo screamed into the transmitter.
“Wipe the estate!”
