Chapter 8 - The Secret Antonio Russo Took to His Grave
Elena entered the office and said, “Tell me he’s lying.”
Antonio Russo’s photograph remained in Victor’s hand.
A handwritten date sat beneath Margaret’s name.
Nine months before Elena’s birth.
Victor felt the floor shift beneath everything he believed.
Hart lowered his hands slowly.
“Elena shouldn’t be here.”
She laughed bitterly.
“People have been saying that about me all night.”
Victor looked at her.
She had escaped the locked car.
Of course.
“How?”
“Emergency release.”
“I’m buying a worse car.”
“Focus.”
Even Sofia looked stunned.
Daniel appeared behind Elena.
The moment Hart saw him, his face changed.
“Cross.”
“You knew?”
Hart looked away.
Daniel stepped forward.
“You knew Antonio might be her father?”
“No.”
“Then when?”
“After Margaret died.”
Victor’s voice became deadly calm.
“Explain.”
Hart looked at him.
“I worked for your father before I worked for you.”
“I’m aware.”
“Not just as estate manager.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed.
“What else?”
“Courier.”
Daniel snorted.
“For secrets.”
Hart nodded.
“Antonio had me move papers, money, people.”
“Elisa.”
“Yes.”
Elena stiffened.
“You moved my sister?”
Hart looked at her.
“I helped.”
“Where?”
“I can’t say.”
Victor stepped closer.
“You can.”
Hart met his eyes.
“If I tell you without her permission, I break the last promise I made Antonio.”
Victor stared.
“My father is dead.”
“The promise isn’t.”
Elena stepped between them.
“Is Elisa safe?”
Hart looked at her.
“Yes.”
“Right now?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
She exhaled.
Victor did not.
“You staged the surveillance records?”
Hart’s face tightened.
“Some.”
“You took Elena’s cuff link?”
“Yes.”
“You let Bellandi learn she was here?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Hart looked toward Sofia.
Sofia’s eyes widened.
“Me?”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“Someone close to your father.”
“That narrows it to half of Chicago.”
Hart ignored the remark.
“Dominic Rinaldi has been selling information both ways.”
Sofia went pale.
“My uncle?”
“He works for himself.”
Victor looked toward the shattered phone.
“And tonight?”
“Rinaldi wanted both cuff links.”
“Why?”
“Because they contain enough of Margaret’s evidence to destroy Bellandi, several judges, and probably three retired police commanders.”
Daniel added, “And some Russo accounts.”
Victor looked at him.
Daniel did not flinch.
“Old accounts.”
“Still.”
“Yes.”
Victor looked back at Hart.
“Antonio’s connection to Margaret.”
Hart exhaled slowly.
“It started before she married Bellandi.”
Elena’s eyes closed.
Victor felt an instinct to move toward her.
He resisted.
Not because he did not care.
Because she deserved the truth without being physically managed through it.
Hart continued.
“They were young. Margaret’s father refused Antonio.”
Victor knew why.
The Russos had money.
The Bellandis had older bloodlines and political connections.
At that time Antonio was still considered crude.
Dangerous.
Not suitable for a senator’s daughter.
“Margaret married Carlo instead,” Hart said.
“Did the relationship with Antonio continue?”
Hart hesitated.
Elena opened her eyes.
“Say it.”
“Yes.”
Her face crumpled for half a second.
Then steadied.
“When?”
“Years later.”
“Before me?”
“Yes.”
“Am I his daughter?”
Hart looked at Victor.
Victor said quietly, “Answer her.”
“I don’t know.”
Elena laughed once.
A broken sound.
“You just said—”
“I said Antonio believed it was possible.”
Silence.
Victor looked down at the photograph.
His father.
Margaret.
If true, Elena might be his half sister.
The thought hit with such force he physically stepped backward.
Every feeling he had not yet named turned instantly toxic.
Elena saw his reaction.
Pain flashed across her face.
Of course.
She understood exactly what he was thinking.
Daniel noticed too.
Sofia covered her mouth.
Hart spoke quickly.
“There’s more.”
Victor’s head snapped up.
“You should have led with more.”
Hart swallowed.
“Antonio had a test done.”
Elena stared.
“When?”
“After Margaret died.”
“How?”
“Hair from her brush. Hair from Elena’s room.”
Victor felt his pulse in his throat.
“And?”
Hart closed his eyes.
“Antonio was not Elena’s father.”
Silence.
Matteo entered the room at exactly the wrong moment.
He looked around.
“What did I miss?”
Victor almost shot him.
Elena sank against the desk.
Victor exhaled for what felt like the first time in minutes.
A reaction too strong.
Too obvious.
He hated himself for the relief.
Elena looked at him.
Their eyes met.
Neither looked away.
Hart continued.
“Antonio knew Bellandi would assume the affair proved paternity if he ever discovered it.”
Daniel understood first.
“So Antonio let him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To protect Elena.”
Elena frowned.
“How does letting my father believe another man fathered me protect me?”
Hart looked at her sadly.
“Because Bellandi wouldn’t kill Antonio Russo’s daughter without risking war.”
Elena went still.
Victor finished the thought.
“But after Antonio died…”
“The protection ended.”
Hart nodded.
“And Bellandi could kill her quietly.”
“Yes.”
Victor’s face hardened.
“That’s why he wants her dead now?”
“Partly.”
“Partly?”
Hart looked at the cuff link.
“The other reason is Margaret’s evidence.”
Daniel stepped forward.
“And Elisa.”
Hart nodded.
“Elisa has the final archive.”
Elena stared.
“My sister has it?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because Antonio’s instructions were to keep both daughters separated until Bellandi could no longer reach either.”
“You decided that?”
“No.”
“Elisa did.”
Elena flinched.
“She didn’t want to see me.”
Hart looked uncomfortable.
“She wanted to survive.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
Elena looked away.
Victor wanted to say something.
Anything.
But comfort from him suddenly seemed complicated by everything revealed in the last five minutes.
Hart looked at Victor.
“Your father planned one final move.”
“What?”
“Transfer of legitimate assets.”
“To whom?”
“Elena and Elisa.”
Victor frowned.
“Why?”
“To give them independent resources.”
“How much?”
Hart hesitated.
Victor’s eyes narrowed.
“How much?”
“Approximately sixty million.”
Matteo whistled softly.
Sofia stared.
Elena looked ill.
“I don’t want it.”
Victor’s expression changed.
“You haven’t even seen it.”
“It came from this.”
She gestured around the office.
“Secrets. Blood. My mother dying.”
Victor understood.
Still, money was protection whether Elena liked the source or not.
Hart continued.
“The transfer never completed.”
“Why?”
“Antonio died.”
“Who blocked it?”
Hart’s face hardened.
“Dominic.”
Victor turned.
“Rinaldi controlled the trust?”
“He controlled one signature.”
“And he’s been sitting on sixty million for four years?”
“No.”
Hart looked toward the empty drawer.
“He’s been trying to find the trust key.”
Victor held up the cuff link.
“This?”
“Half.”
“Other half with Bellandi?”
Hart shook his head.
“No.”
Victor stared.
“Then where?”
Hart looked directly at Elena.
“You had it.”
“I lost it.”
“No.”
Hart’s voice softened.
“You didn’t.”
Elena frowned.
“I know what I lost.”
“You lost a decoy.”
Victor looked at Hart.
“Explain.”
“Elias anticipated Bellandi searching you.”
Elena’s breathing slowed.
“So?”
“He changed the hiding place.”
“Where?”
Hart walked toward Antonio’s desk.
Opened a compartment.
Removed a small envelope.
Elena’s name.
Inside was a note written in Elias’s handwriting.
Elena unfolded it.
Her eyes filled.
Victor read over her shoulder.
ELLIE, IF YOU EVER NEED THE SECOND KEY, GO BACK TO THE FIRST THING YOU STOLE FROM ME. — ELIAS
Elena covered her mouth.
Sofia looked confused.
Victor asked, “What did you steal?”
Elena started laughing through tears.
“A baseball.”
Victor blinked.
“A baseball.”
“When I was eight.”
“Where is it?”
She looked at him.
“In my room.”
Victor went still.
“In my house.”
“Yes.”
The entire room became silent.
Elena turned and ran.
Victor followed.
Down the corridor.
Upstairs.
Her small staff room sat at the rear of the second floor.
Door closed.
Elena reached it.
Stopped.
The handle hung broken.
Victor pulled her back.
Raised his weapon.
The door drifted inward.
Her room had been destroyed.
Drawers dumped.
Mattress cut open.
Clothes scattered.
Elena stared.
Then ran to a small wooden box beneath the bed.
Empty.
The baseball was gone.
Victor looked at the open window.
Curtain moving.
Someone had been there minutes earlier.
Then Elena’s phone buzzed.
A photograph appeared.
The old baseball sat in Dominic Rinaldi’s hand.
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