Carlo Bellini Came for His Grandson

Chapter 08 - Carlo Bellini Came for His Grandson

Carlo did not send anyone.

He came himself.

At 10:20 the next morning, a black Bentley stopped outside the Moretti gates.

No convoy.

No visible gunmen.

One driver.

Carlo Bellini stepped out wearing a camel overcoat and carrying Julian’s original will in a leather folder.

Daniel wanted to search him.

Carlo agreed.

That scared me more than refusal.

Men with nothing to hide are either innocent or prepared.

He entered the library.

Vanessa stood near the windows.

Oliver was upstairs with Mrs. Carter and a child-welfare attorney.

Not hidden.

Protected by process.

Good.

Carlo looked at his daughter.

“Vanessa.”

She did not answer.

Then Luca.

“You wanted the will.”

He placed it on the table.

Luca did not touch it.

“Why now?”

“Because keeping it is useless.”

“Eight years late.”

“Yes.”

“Why did you keep it?”

Carlo looked toward Vanessa.

“Control.”

No sentimental lie.

Good.

“Over her?”

“Yes.”

“Oliver?”

“Yes.”

“The shares?”

“Yes.”

“All three.”

Carlo nodded.

Vanessa stared.

“I was your daughter.”

“You are.”

“No.”

Her voice shook.

“I was an asset you happened to raise.”

Carlo flinched.

The first real crack.

He turned toward Luca.

“Your father was no better.”

“I know.”

That answer seemed to disappoint him.

Maybe Carlo expected a contest.

Luca did not give one.

“Did you order Julian killed?”

“No.”

“Did you pay Greco?”

“Yes.”

“For?”

“To stop him reaching federal investigators.”

“How?”

“I did not ask.”

There.

Another man hiding inside passive language.

Luca leaned forward.

“Did you care if he was hurt?”

Carlo looked away.

“At the time?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Vanessa closed her eyes.

Carlo continued.

“I cared about ending the problem.”

“Julian was the problem.”

“Yes.”

“Your grandson’s father.”

“Yes.”

“Your daughter’s partner.”

“Yes.”

Silence.

I hated him.

Then I saw Vanessa’s face.

Hate was easier for me.

She had to carry childhood inside it.

“Why did you go to the hospital?” she asked.

Carlo looked at her.

“To see if he would live.”

“Did you want him to?”

A long pause.

“Yes.”

Vanessa laughed bitterly.

“Why?”

Carlo’s eyes filled.

“Because I saw you after the crash.”

She stopped.

“You came home barefoot.”

Vanessa looked confused.

“I don’t remember.”

“I do.”

Carlo sat.

“You kept saying his name.”

His voice broke.

“I understood then that if he died, I had not protected you from a mistake.”

Vanessa’s eyes hardened.

“You had helped destroy my family.”

“Yes.”

Good.

No escape.

“Then why lie to me?”

“Cowardice.”

“Why take the will?”

“Because if Julian died and Oliver inherited, the pension investigation would reopen.”

“So money.”

“Yes.”

“Again.”

“Yes.”

Vanessa’s tears fell.

Carlo looked at his hands.

“I told myself I was preserving Bellini companies for you.”

“Did I ask?”

“No.”

There.

The oldest family disease.

Protection without permission.

Luca finally opened the will.

Signed.

Notarized.

Julian’s twenty-eight-percent hotel interest to biological descendants.

Trustee:

Luca Moretti.

Luca stared.

Not Carlo.

Not Vale.

Him.

Julian had chosen him.

Even after hiding Vanessa’s pregnancy.

Even after fearing Luca would tell Salvatore.

The will was dated one week after Julian’s argument with Luca.

Luca looked wrecked.

“He still named me.”

Carlo nodded.

“Why?”

“Julian told me once that you were loyal in the wrong direction.”

Luca almost laughed.

“That sounds like him.”

“He thought loyalty could be turned.”

“Was he right?”

Carlo looked at him.

“That depends what you do now.”

I did not like Carlo giving lessons.

Neither did Vanessa.

“Don’t,” she said.

He stopped.

Good.

The child-welfare attorney came downstairs.

Oliver had asked for his mother.

Vanessa stood instantly.

Then hesitated.

“Can I?”

The attorney nodded.

“He asked.”

She went.

Carlo watched her leave.

His face changed.

“Does he know me?”

“No,” Luca said.

“Good.”

Carlo nodded.

“Keep it that way.”

I looked at him.

“You don’t get to decide that.”

Everyone turned toward me.

I wished I had kept quiet.

Then didn’t.

Carlo studied my bandaged wrist.

“You’re the maid.”

“My name is Emma.”

His eyebrows lifted.

Luca said nothing.

Good.

Carlo looked at me.

“You’re right, Emma.”

That was almost worse.

He had the manners to agree after eight years of cruelty.

Then he pushed another folder across the table.

“What is this?” Luca asked.

“Proof your father knew Julian’s brakes were compromised before police finished the scene.”

Luca stopped.

“How?”

“Salvatore called Greco twenty-two minutes after the crash.”

“Recording?”

“Phone bill.”

“Content?”

“No.”

“Then it proves contact, not knowledge.”

I saw Luca force himself to say it.

Accuracy even when accusation fit.

Carlo nodded.

“There’s more.”

A handwritten diary page from Salvatore’s office.

Recovered by Carlo years ago through a bribed housekeeper.

J — V went too far. Carlo furious. Fix report. Protect Luca.

Luca read it.

“V.”

“Vale.”

“Maybe.”

Luca looked at him.

Carlo sighed.

“Likely Vale.”

Better.

Protect Luca.

That line hurt him.

His father had not hidden Julian’s death only to protect himself.

He had hidden it partly to protect the older son from scandal, prosecution, and perhaps war.

Love again.

Doing harm in its name.

Then Carlo said:

“There is one thing neither Vale nor I told you.”

Luca looked up.

“After Julian died, your father met Rosalie.”

Vanessa stopped in the doorway.

She had returned without anyone noticing.

Carlo continued.

“He offered her money to take Oliver out of Illinois permanently.”

“How much?” Vanessa asked.

“Two million.”

Rosalie refused.

Vanessa’s face hardened.

“What did he do then?”

Carlo looked at Luca.

“He asked me to make sure she changed her mind.”

Silence.

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Carlo looked at his daughter.

“Because I had finally understood there were some things I could not call protection anymore.”

Vanessa stared.

“Then what did you call keeping him hidden for eight years?”

Carlo had no answer.

That was the right one.

Then Daniel’s phone rang.

He listened.

His face changed.

“Luca.”

“What?”

“Someone broke into Carlo’s house while he was here.”

Carlo stood.

“What did they take?”

Daniel looked at him.

“Only one thing.”

“Which?”

“The original pension ledger Julian copied.”

Carlo went pale.

He had brought the will.

Left the ledger.

Someone knew exactly when he would be away.

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And the only people who knew he was coming to the Moretti estate were sitting in that room.

Or had been listening to it.