Chapter 12 - THE ROOM CARMINE WAS NEVER ALLOWED TO ENTER
Z
Palmira Orsini slapped Vincent before he finished saying hello.
The sound cracked through the foyer.
Vincent touched his cheek.
“Good to see you too, Mama.”
Palmira was eighty-one.
Five feet two.
Silver hair pinned into a severe knot.
She had survived a husband, two sons, three investigations, one hurricane evacuation, and enough family wars to consider armed men an inconvenience.
She slapped Vincent again.
“That one was for sixteen years.”
Vincent accepted it.
Carmine stood near the staircase.
Nell beside him.
Benny near the door.
Palmira looked at Nell.
“Did he lie to you?”
“Which one?”
Palmira smiled.
“Good girl.”
Vincent sighed.
“I remember when people respected elders.”
Palmira turned.
“You left before becoming one.”
She pointed toward the sitting room.
“Inside.”
No one argued.
Carmine waited until the doors closed.
“The sewing room.”
Palmira looked at him.
For the first time, something like fear appeared in her face.
“No.”
Vincent leaned back.
“Mama.”
“No.”
Carmine’s voice softened.
“Grandmother.”
“That room belonged to your mother.”
“She’s been dead sixteen years.”
“Seventeen.”
“Then why is it locked?”
Palmira looked at Vincent.
“You told him.”
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes.
Nell suddenly understood.
Palmira knew.
Maybe not everything.
But enough.
“Mrs. Orsini,” Nell said gently.
Palmira looked at her.
“My mother hid evidence because she thought protecting people from the truth would keep them safe.”
Carmine glanced at Nell.
She continued.
“It didn’t.”
Palmira sat.
For several seconds, the oldest person in the room seemed suddenly tired.
“Anthony came to me three weeks before he died,” she said.
Carmine froze.
His father had died of a heart attack at fifty-seven.
Or that was what Carmine had always been told.
Palmira continued.
“He gave me a box.”
“What box?”
“I never opened it.”
Vincent laughed softly.
“You expect anyone to believe that?”
Palmira looked at him.
“I knew enough about my husband and sons to understand that curiosity was rarely rewarded.”
Vincent stopped smiling.
Carmine asked, “Where is it?”
“Where Anthony left it.”
“The sewing room.”
“Yes.”
Carmine stood.
Palmira caught his wrist.
“You may not like what your father was.”
He looked down at her hand.
“I need to know what he did.”
“No.”
“You need to decide what you will do after.”
That stopped him.
Palmira released him.
The sewing room was on the third floor.
Nell had cleaned outside its door for three years.
Never inside.
Odette alone carried the key.
When Palmira asked for it, Odette looked toward Carmine.
Then handed it over.
The door opened reluctantly.
Dust floated in pale afternoon light.
A sewing machine stood near the window.
Fabric remained folded on shelves.
A mannequin wore the unfinished beginning of a dress Isabella Orsini never completed.
Carmine entered last.
He stopped.
Nell watched his face.
He was no longer thirty-three.
For one second, he looked seventeen.
A son entering his dead mother’s room.
Palmira moved toward an old cedar cabinet.
She removed a drawer entirely.
Behind it was a metal box.
Anthony Orsini’s initials marked the lid.
C.O. files used no sentimental touches.
Anthony had engraved his own box.
Carmine noticed.
He opened it.
Documents.
Bank records.
Photographs.
One pistol wrapped in cloth.
And a handwritten journal.
Carmine picked it up.
The first pages contained business notes.
Names.
Dates.
Payments.
Then the handwriting changed.
More hurried.
Bellarose knows I discovered the workers.
He says if I close the tunnel, he releases proof of my earlier payments.
Carmine read silently.
Nell watched his jaw tighten.
Another page.
Vincent wants to go to police.
He does not understand that police are on Conrad’s payroll.
If he speaks now, he dies.
Another.
Lydia Fontaine may have evidence.
Do not approach her.
Conrad suspects everyone.
Carmine turned faster.
Then stopped.
One entry had been circled.
I allowed the tunnel because I believed it carried untaxed imports.
That is on me.
I did not ask questions because money was good.
That is also on me.
Men were hurt because I preferred not knowing.
There is no excuse for that.
Carmine lowered the journal.
No one spoke.
His father was guilty.
Not of everything Vincent suggested.
But enough.
Enough that excuses would be dishonest.
Palmira sat near the window.
“He hated himself.”
Carmine looked at her.
“That didn’t help the people Bellarose exploited.”
“No.”
Palmira did not defend Anthony.
Good.
Carmine might have broken something if she had.
Nell picked up another folder.
“Carmine.”
Inside were lists of names.
Dozens.
Workers.
Restaurants.
Warehouses.
Next to some names, Anthony had written paid restitution.
Others: unable to locate.
“He was trying to compensate them,” Nell said.
Vincent looked away.
Carmine’s voice was flat.
“Quietly.”
“Yes.”
“So no one would know why.”
Palmira answered.
“Yes.”
“He wanted forgiveness without confession.”
Palmira’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
Carmine laughed once.
It was bitter.
“That sounds like him.”
Nell touched his arm.
He did not pull away.
Then Benny found a cassette recorder.
Old.
Still containing a tape.
Number seven.
Everyone froze.
Nell looked at Carmine.
“The tape from Lydia’s box was a copy.”
Vincent nodded slowly.
“Anthony kept the original.”
Carmine pressed play.
Static.
Then Lydia’s voice.
“Say it again.”
Anthony answered.
“I knew Bellarose used the tunnel for shipments.”
“What shipments?”
“Wine. Tobacco. Imports.”
“People?”
A long silence.
“No. Not until last month.”
“You took his money.”
“Yes.”
“Knowing it was illegal.”
“Yes.”
Another silence.
Then Lydia asked, “What are you going to do?”
Anthony’s voice changed.
“End it.”
“How?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Will you testify?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if I testify, Conrad exposes every officer, judge, dockworker, and businessman attached to him. Half of them will run. The other half will kill anyone who can identify them.”
Lydia said, “Including me.”
“Yes.”
“And my daughter.”
Anthony’s answer came quickly.
“Yes.”
Carmine closed his eyes.
The tape continued.
Lydia asked, “Will you protect her?”
Anthony said, “If anything happens to you, Nell Fontaine will be protected by my family.”
Nell stopped breathing.
Carmine opened his eyes.
Anthony continued.
“Even if she never knows why.”
Nell looked toward Palmira.
The old woman was crying now.
Carmine stopped the tape.
Silence.
Then Nell asked the obvious question.
“If Anthony promised to protect me, why did I spend three years working in this house without anyone knowing who I was?”
Palmira wiped her face.
“Because we thought you were dead.”
Nell stared.
“What?”
Vincent looked sharply at his mother.
Palmira continued.
“After Lydia’s crash, Bellarose sent word that Emmett and Nell Fontaine had left Louisiana.”
“We didn’t.”
“I know that now.”
“Did you look?”
“Yes.”
“How hard?”
Palmira did not answer.
Nell stepped back.
That answer hurt more than she expected.
“You didn’t.”
“We searched through people we trusted.”
“People Bellarose controlled.”
“Yes.”
Nell laughed bitterly.
“So I scrubbed your floors for three years while you thought I was dead.”
Palmira’s voice broke.
“Yes.”
Carmine looked at Nell.
He saw it immediately.
The betrayal was irrational.
Palmira had not knowingly ignored her.
Carmine had not knowingly employed the daughter his father promised to protect.
But emotions did not care about logic.
Nell stepped away.
“I need air.”
Carmine followed.
“No.”
She turned.
“Please.”
That word stopped him.
Nell walked out alone.
Outside, she sat on the back steps where she had once eaten staff lunch in silence.
Three years.
She had been ten yards from people who owed her family a promise.
And none of them knew.
Behind her, the door opened.
Not Carmine.
Vincent.
He sat four feet away.
Nell did not look at him.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You knew I was alive.”
“Yes.”
“And you did nothing.”
“Yes.”
She turned.
“Why?”
Vincent looked older than he had that morning.
“Because I was a coward.”
Nell laughed quietly.
“Everyone in this story seems very comfortable discovering honesty twenty years late.”
Vincent accepted that.
Then he said something she did not expect.
“I came back because I’m dying.”
Nell stared.
Vincent looked toward the garden.
“Cancer.”
The word sat between them.
“Six months, maybe less.”
Nell said nothing.
He continued.
“I did not come back to save myself.”
“Then why?”
Vincent looked at her.
“To tell Carmine what his father never could.”
A car engine roared beyond the estate gate.
Benny shouted from inside.
Carmine appeared at the doorway.
A second later, the front gate exploded inward.
May you like
The DeLuca family had arrived.
And this time, they had not come to listen.
