Chapter 10 - THE NIGHT DANTE'S FATHER DIED
Z
Helena Caruso didn't deny it.
That was the first problem.
The second was that she looked relieved.
Elena stood in Dante's study while her mother examined the old photograph Dante had placed on the desk.
Twenty-five years had faded the colors.
It had not faded the faces.
Vincent Orsini stood beside Marie.
Helena beside Gabriel.
And at the center was a man Elena recognized from the enormous portrait in the Moretti gallery.
Anthony Moretti.
Dante's father.
Alive.
Smiling.
One week before his death.
“You knew him,” Dante said.
Helena closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
Elena looked at her.
“You might want to stop making that your answer to everything.”
Helena sat.
Dante remained standing.
He had been standing since she entered.
Elena suspected sitting would have required trusting his legs.
“How?” he asked.
“Gabriel.”
“What about him?”
“Your father was trying to remove Marco from the trust.”
Dante's face didn't move.
“Why?”
“Because he discovered Marco was laundering cartel money through companies Anthony believed were legitimate.”
Celeste stood near the fireplace.
“My father knew about the laundering?”
“Eventually.”
“And?”
“He wanted out.”
Dante laughed once.
The sound contained no humor.
“My father died in a car accident.”
Helena looked at him.
“No.”
Silence.
Celeste went pale.
Dante's voice became soft.
“Be very careful.”
Helena nodded.
“I know.”
“No. You don't.”
He stepped forward.
“My father was driving home from Lake Geneva. His brakes failed on Sheridan Road.”
“Yes.”
“He hit a concrete barrier.”
“Yes.”
“He died at the scene.”
“Yes.”
“Then what part are you changing?”
Helena's eyes filled.
“The brakes didn't fail.”
Elena felt cold spread through the room.
“They were cut.”
Celeste covered her mouth.
Dante stared.
For perhaps ten seconds, he didn't blink.
“Who?”
Helena looked down.
“Marco ordered it.”
Dante's breathing changed.
Barely.
Elena saw it.
“Who carried it out?”
Helena didn't answer.
Dante leaned both hands on the desk.
“Who?”
“Vincent.”
Celeste whispered, “No.”
Dante stared at Helena.
“Vincent Orsini killed my father?”
“No.”
“You just said—”
“He tampered with the car.”
“That sounds very close to murder.”
“He was ordered to.”
“So was every man at Nuremberg. It wasn't an especially effective defense.”
Elena glanced at him.
Even furious, Dante sounded controlled.
That scared her.
Helena continued.
“Vincent sabotaged the brake line, but Anthony discovered it before leaving.”
Dante froze.
“What?”
“He knew?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did he drive?”
“He didn't intend to.”
Helena wiped her eyes.
“Someone switched vehicles.”
Dante stared.
Elena suddenly understood.
“Marco.”
Helena shook her head.
“Anthony.”
Everyone went quiet.
Celeste looked confused.
“Our father switched cars?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He believed someone was watching him. He took Gabriel's sedan instead.”
Dante's jaw tightened.
“But the accident report—”
“The registrations were changed afterward.”
“By who?”
“Your grandfather.”
Dante stopped.
“Paolo knew?”
“After the crash.”
Helena stood.
“Anthony wasn't killed in the sabotaged vehicle.”
“Then why did he crash?”
Helena looked at Dante.
“Someone followed him.”
His face became empty.
“Who?”
“Marco.”
Dante took one step back.
Elena had never seen him lose physical ground before.
Helena continued carefully.
“Marco forced him off the road.”
Celeste started crying.
Quietly.
Dante didn't.
That was worse.
“Why didn't Paolo go to police?”
“Because Anthony had recordings documenting decades of crimes involving both families.”
“He was going to cooperate?”
“Yes.”
Dante laughed bitterly.
“My father was turning informant.”
“No.”
Helena shook her head.
“He was trying to protect you.”
Dante looked at her sharply.
“You were seventeen. Celeste was fifteen. Anthony believed the federal government was preparing racketeering charges against the entire Moretti operation.”
Celeste whispered, “Grandfather would have gone to prison.”
“Yes.”
“So would Anthony.”
“Yes.”
“But not us.”
“That was the deal he was negotiating.”
Dante walked toward the window.
His back to everyone.
Elena watched him.
She wanted to touch him.
She didn't.
Some grief required room before comfort.
“Where is Vincent?” Dante asked.
Helena looked at Marie.
Marie had come to the estate under Luca's protection.
She answered.
“He's trying to find Anthony's recordings.”
Dante turned.
“They still exist?”
Marie nodded.
“Vincent said Marco never found them.”
“Who has them?”
Marie looked at Helena.
Helena shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Dante's eyes narrowed.
“You know something.”
Helena sighed.
“Anthony gave Gabriel a key.”
Elena stiffened.
“The key from the basement envelope?”
Helena nodded.
“The bank key.”
Dante looked at Elena.
She remembered.
Old brass.
Number stamped into its side.
“Where is it?”
Elena's stomach dropped.
“It was in the kitchen.”
Luca was already moving.
They crossed the house quickly.
The kitchen looked normal.
Too normal.
Sunlight.
Clean counters.
Copper pots.
Elena opened the drawer where she had placed the envelope.
Empty.
She stared.
“No.”
Dante came beside her.
“You're certain?”
“Yes.”
“I put it right here.”
Luca examined the lock.
“No forced entry.”
Elena's pulse climbed.
“Who has access?”
“Staff.”
“Everyone?”
“Several people.”
Dante's expression hardened.
“Seal the estate.”
Luca spoke into his radio.
Elena checked the drawers anyway.
Nothing.
Then she noticed something.
A thin scratch on the stainless-steel counter.
Fresh.
Beside it, a grain of dark soil.
She touched it.
Luca crouched.
“Potting soil.”
Elena looked toward the back door.
“The greenhouse.”
They ran.
The greenhouse stood fifty yards beyond the east wing.
Glass walls.
Rows of herbs and orchids.
The door hung open.
Inside, one pot had been knocked over.
Soil covered the floor.
Dante moved toward the rear.
Then stopped.
A man was lying behind the gardening bench.
Unconscious.
One of the estate security guards.
Luca checked his pulse.
“Alive.”
Elena saw the blood on his temple.
Then the open exterior gate.
Someone had escaped.
Dante looked at the muddy footprints.
Small.
Narrow.
Not a man's shoe.
Elena followed the trail with her eyes.
A woman's.
Celeste arrived behind them.
“What happened?”
Dante turned.
“Where's Sofia?”
Celeste blinked.
“With Helena.”
Helena appeared at the greenhouse entrance.
Alone.
Her face changed.
“She was ten minutes ago.”
Elena's stomach dropped.
“Sofia?”
No answer.
They searched the greenhouse.
Then the house.
Sofia Bellini was gone.
So was the key.
And on Elena's bed, someone had left a white envelope.
She opened it.
Inside was a note written in Sofia's handwriting.
I'm sorry. I have to finish what he started.
Below it was an address.
May you like
And three words.
Don't bring Dante.
