Chapter 2 - The Fifty-Thousand-Dollar Silence

Luca did not touch the second envelope.

He looked at Teresa.

"Fifty thousand."

His aunt nodded.

"This afternoon."

Vanessa laughed too quickly.

"That isn't what happened."

Teresa turned toward her.

"You offered me a check."

"To help with your medical expenses."

"I don't have medical expenses."

Vanessa's face tightened.

Luca looked at her.

"Why did you want her gone?"

"I didn't."

"Then why pay her?"

Vanessa looked around the table.

Thirty guests.

Thirty pairs of eyes.

"This is humiliating."

Luca did not move.

"Answer."

She swallowed.

"Because Teresa hates me."

Teresa smiled.

"No, dear."

Then pointed at the envelope.

"I distrust you."

Luca reached for it.

Vanessa grabbed his wrist.

"Don't."

The room froze.

Luca looked at her hand.

She released him immediately.

He opened the envelope.

Inside:

Photographs.

Bank statements.

And one old letter.

The first photograph showed Vanessa.

Not at the mansion.

At a small apartment building.

Date:

Eight months earlier.

Beside her stood Teresa.

Luca looked at his aunt.

"You met her."

Teresa nodded.

"She came to me."

Vanessa closed her eyes.

Luca looked at the second photograph.

Vanessa again.

This time with an elderly man.

Thin.

Gray hair.

Cane.

Luca stared.

"I know him."

Teresa answered:

"You should."

Vanessa whispered:

"Luca."

He ignored her.

The man in the photograph was Arthur Bellini.

Vanessa's grandfather.

Officially dead for eleven years.

Luca looked at Vanessa.

"Your grandfather is alive."

She said nothing.

"Vanessa."

"Yes."

Silence.

Luca leaned back slowly.

Another dead relative.

Another family secret.

Teresa reached for the wine.

"Now ask why."

Luca looked at Vanessa.

"Why?"

She stared at the table.

"My family declared him dead."

"I heard that part."

"He wanted it."

"Why?"

"Because of your mother."

The room changed.

Luca's face hardened.

"Lucia."

Vanessa nodded.

Teresa said:

"Open the bank statements."

Luca did.

Transfers.

Arthur Bellini.

Lucia Moretti.

Same account.

Twenty-eight years ago.

Then another set.

Payments to a hospital.

A private clinic.

A boarding house.

A law office.

Luca frowned.

"My mother was receiving money from Arthur."

Vanessa whispered:

"Yes."

"For what?"

"No one answered.

Luca looked at Teresa.

His aunt said:

"Because Arthur was helping her leave your father."

Silence.

Luca's face emptied.

"My mother wanted to leave my father."

Teresa nodded.

"Yes."

Luca stared at the chipped plate.

At the note beneath it.

Never marry a woman embarrassed by where you came from.

He looked back.

"Why?"

Teresa took a breath.

"Because your father hit her."

The room became silent.

Vanessa covered her mouth.

Luca did not move.

"My father."

"Yes."

"How often?"

Teresa's eyes filled.

"Enough."

Luca looked away.

His father, Marco Moretti.

Dead twenty-two years.

A man Luca remembered as strict.

Cold.

Powerful.

But never this.

Teresa continued:

"Lucia tried to leave twice."

"Did she?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because Marco threatened to take you."

Luca's jaw tightened.

"How old was I?"

"Fourteen the first time."

"Fifteen the second."

The same age Lucia wrote the note.

Luca looked at it again.

The words changed now.

Not advice about taste.

A warning from a woman trapped inside a marriage.

Vanessa started crying.

Luca turned.

"You knew."

She nodded.

"How much?"

"Since last year."

"All of this?"

"No."

"What did you know?"

"That Lucia wanted to leave."

"And that Arthur helped her."

"Yes."

Luca stared.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Vanessa looked at Teresa.

"Because she told me your mother changed her mind."

Teresa's expression hardened.

"I never said that."

Vanessa went pale.

Luca noticed.

"What did Teresa say?"

Vanessa whispered:

"That Lucia never made it out."

Luca's voice lowered.

"What happened to my mother?"

Everyone knew the official story.

Lucia Moretti died in a car accident twenty-six years ago.

Luca had been thirteen.

He remembered the rain.

The coffin.

Teresa standing beside him.

Vanessa looked at Arthur's photograph.

Then said:

"The accident wasn't an accident."

Luca went completely still.

Teresa closed her eyes.

Luca looked at his aunt.

"You knew."

She whispered:

"I suspected."

"Who did it?"

Teresa did not answer.

Vanessa did.

"My grandfather believed Marco ordered it."

Luca stared.

"My father killed my mother."

Vanessa shook her head.

"No."

"Then?"

She reached into her purse.

Another photograph.

A wrecked car.

Police scene.

One man standing in the background.

Young.

Recognizable.

Luca stared.

"Arthur Bellini."

Vanessa nodded.

"He was there."

Teresa whispered:

"Before police."

Luca looked at Vanessa.

"Your grandfather was at my mother's crash."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because he was supposed to help her escape that night."

Silence.

Then Luca asked:

"Where is he now?"

Vanessa began crying harder.

"Chicago."

Luca's eyes narrowed.

"How close?"

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She whispered:

"Three blocks away."