Chapter 6 - The Dead Man in the Cellar
The door opened three inches.
Vincent pushed Sofia behind Maria.
Marco raised his weapon.
A man stumbled through.
He was thin.
Bearded.
His left leg dragged slightly.
A scar crossed his forehead.
But Elena recognized him before anyone else.
“Antonio.”
He collapsed.
Vincent caught him.
The two men stared at each other.
Four years of death existed between them.
Antonio smiled weakly.
“You look terrible.”
Vincent nearly dropped him.
Then he punched him.
Not hard enough to injure a weakened man.
Hard enough to express four years.
Antonio touched his jaw.
“Fair.”
Elena rushed forward.
“You’re alive.”
“So are you.”
“Barely.”
“Same.”
Maria watched Vincent.
He wanted answers.
He also wanted to hit Antonio again.
Instead, he said, “Sit.”
Antonio sat on an overturned crate.
Marco searched him.
No weapons.
Only a folded photograph tucked inside his boot.
Vincent took it.
Lucia.
Alive.
Hospital gown.
Date stamped three days after the bombing.
Vincent stared at it.
His hand shook.
Antonio looked down.
“I wanted to give you that years ago.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because Rocco had men everywhere.”
“You could have called me.”
“I did.”
Vincent looked up.
“Three times.”
“I never got a call.”
“I know.”
Antonio looked toward Elena.
“After the third attempt, someone came for me.”
“Rocco?”
“His men.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“They killed someone in my apartment and burned the body. Dental records were switched. Everyone thought it was me.”
“Where were you?”
“Moving.”
“For four years?”
“Prisons. Safe houses. One monastery. Two fishing boats.”
Maria blinked.
Antonio looked at her.
“Long story.”
Vincent held up Lucia’s photograph.
“What happened?”
Antonio’s face changed.
“The illness was worse than Elena knew.”
Vincent looked at her.
Elena nodded tearfully.
“They told me we had months.”
Antonio shook his head.
“Days.”
Vincent looked down.
The little girl in the photograph smiled weakly.
“Did she suffer?”
Antonio answered softly.
“Not at the end.”
Vincent’s eyes closed.
“Was she asking for me?”
Antonio’s silence answered.
Vincent turned away.
Sofia left Maria’s side again.
She walked toward him.
Maria almost called her back.
She didn’t.
Sofia slipped her hand into Vincent’s.
He looked down.
“You keep doing that.”
“You look sad.”
“That’s because I am.”
“I can stay.”
Vincent’s throat moved.
“Okay.”
Antonio watched them.
Something about his expression changed.
“Who is she?”
“Maria’s daughter.”
Antonio looked at Maria.
Then Sofia.
Then the yellow dress.
His eyes narrowed.
“What?”
Vincent asked.
Antonio stood slowly.
“Where did you get that dress?”
Maria frowned.
“I bought it at a thrift shop.”
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
“Where?”
“A place in Brooklyn.”
Antonio stepped closer.
Maria moved Sofia behind her.
“Why?”
Antonio looked at Vincent.
“That dress was Lucia’s.”
Silence.
Vincent stared at Sofia.
Maria shook her head.
“That’s impossible.”
Antonio pointed toward the waist.
“Turn the hem.”
Maria crouched.
She lifted the inside edge.
A tiny embroidered L appeared beneath the seam.
Her heart dropped.
Vincent looked as shocked as she felt.
Maria stood.
“How did my daughter end up wearing a dead child’s dress?”
Antonio looked grim.
“Someone wanted her to.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“The thrift shop.”
Maria gave him the name.
Marco called a guard upstairs.
Minutes later they had information.
The shop had received the dress in a donation bag three months earlier.
No name.
Cash drop.
Security footage overwritten.
Maria felt sick.
“This started before Sofia entered that room.”
“Yes,” Vincent said.
“Why us?”
Nobody answered.
Antonio looked at Maria.
“What was your husband’s name?”
The question stunned her.
“Diego Alvarez.”
Antonio went still.
Vincent noticed.
“You knew him.”
Antonio nodded slowly.
Maria’s pulse accelerated.
“No.”
“I knew a Diego Alvarez.”
“My husband was a mechanic.”
“He was.”
Maria narrowed her eyes.
“He died in a car accident.”
Antonio said nothing.
Vincent looked at him.
“Tony.”
Antonio exhaled.
“Diego used to repair vehicles for DeLuca’s organization.”
Maria’s face went cold.
“No.”
“He wasn’t a member.”
“You’re lying.”
“He hated them.”
“Stop.”
“He found something.”
Maria backed away.
“My husband fixed cars. He came home with grease on his hands. He read bedtime stories to Sofia. He hated even parking tickets.”
Antonio’s voice softened.
“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t brave.”
Maria’s eyes burned.
“What did he find?”
“A ledger.”
“What ledger?”
“Payments.”
Vincent stepped forward.
“From who?”
Antonio looked at him.
“Rocco.”
The room went quiet.
“Payments for what?”
“Security routes. Police schedules. Your movements.”
Vincent’s face darkened.
Antonio continued.
“Diego copied the ledger. He planned to go to the FBI.”
Maria felt dizzy.
“He never told me.”
“He was trying to protect you.”
“Then why did he die?”
Antonio looked at her.
“You know why.”
Maria sat down hard.
Sofia ran to her.
“Mama?”
Maria pulled her close.
Her husband’s death replayed in fragments.
Police at the door.
A highway collision.
Brake failure.
Closed casket.
An officer saying accidents happened.
No.
Not an accident.
Vincent looked furious.
“Did Rocco order it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who does?”
“DeLuca.”
Vincent’s eyes hardened.
Antonio continued.
“Diego hid the copied ledger before he died.”
“Where?”
“No one knows.”
Maria suddenly remembered something.
Diego had given Sofia a stuffed rabbit the week before his death.
He had told Maria never to throw it away.
She had laughed.
Why would she throw away Sofia’s favorite toy?
Then, after the funeral, the rabbit disappeared.
Maria looked at Antonio.
“What if somebody thought I had it?”
“Then that explains the surveillance.”
Vincent understood.
“They’ve been watching Maria because they think Diego left the evidence with her.”
Maria shook her head.
“I don’t have anything.”
“Maybe you don’t know you have it.”
Sofia tugged her sleeve.
“Papa’s song.”
Maria looked down.
“What?”
“The butterfly song.”
A memory struck.
Diego singing to Sofia.
A silly tune about butterflies.
He used to repeat numbers at the end because it made her laugh.
Three.
Nine.
One.
Seven.
Maria had always assumed they were nonsense.
Antonio leaned forward.
“What numbers?”
Maria told him.
Vincent looked toward the crate.
Three-nine-one-seven.
Marco searched the cellar.
Wine racks.
Cabinets.
Safe panels.
Then Antonio pointed toward Lucia’s art box.
A combination lock was built into the bottom.
Vincent entered 3917.
Click.
A false panel opened.
Inside was a USB drive.
Maria stared.
Her husband had hidden it inside the Moretti estate.
“How?”
Antonio looked at her.
“Diego worked here once.”
Vincent frowned.
“When?”
“Before you hired Maria.”
Maria felt the world tilt.
Her husband had known Vincent Moretti.
He had never told her.
Vincent inserted the drive into an offline laptop.
One folder appeared.
MORETTI.
Inside were scanned ledgers.
Payments.
Names.
Dates.
Police officers.
Judges.
Union officials.
And Rocco Bellini.
Then Vincent opened the final document.
A short video began.
Diego appeared on screen.
Maria covered her mouth.
Her husband looked tired.
Scared.
Alive.
“If Maria ever sees this,” he said, “then I failed to get us out.”
Maria began crying.
Sofia hugged her.
Diego continued.
“Rocco Bellini is not working for Salvatore DeLuca.”
Vincent leaned closer.
“He’s working with someone worse.”
The video froze.
A corrupted frame.
Then recovered.
Diego said the name.
Vincent’s face went white.
Elena whispered, “No.”
Maria looked between them.
“Who is it?”
Vincent did not answer.
He stared at the screen.
Diego had named the one person nobody had suspected.
A man who had been welcomed into every Moretti home for thirty years.
A man arriving at the estate at that very moment.
The front gate intercom rang.
Marco checked the monitor.
May you like
Then slowly looked at Vincent.
“Your father is here.”
