Chapter 6 - The Brother Who Paid Before the Crash

Vanessa sat down.

Her face had lost all color.

“Eight years ago?”

Daniel nodded.

Luca took the phone.

The transfer was real.

Fifty thousand.

Two days before Matteo’s crash.

Luca looked at Vanessa.

“How old was Nicholas?”

“Fifteen.”

Silence.

Emma frowned.

“A fifteen-year-old didn’t send fifty thousand dollars.”

Luca looked at her.

Exactly.

He turned to Daniel.

“Whose account?”

“In Nicholas’s name.”

“Opened by?”

Daniel checked.

“Robert Bellini.”

Vanessa stood.

“My father.”

Luca’s expression hardened.

The pieces changed shape again.

Nicholas had been a child.

The account was a vehicle.

The money belonged to someone else.

Luca asked:

“Purpose?”

Daniel shook his head.

“No memo.”

Vanessa whispered:

“My father paid DeLuca.”

“Yes.”

“Before Matteo died.”

“Yes.”

She began crying.

“No.”

Luca did not comfort her.

Not because he did not care.

Because he could not yet trust his hands to be gentle.

Vanessa looked at him.

“You think my father killed your brother.”

“I think your father paid a man connected to the night Matteo died.”

“That isn’t the same.”

“No.”

Luca’s voice dropped.

“But it’s enough to ask why.”

His phone rang.

Unknown number.

Everyone froze.

Luca answered.

“Moretti.”

A man’s voice.

Smooth.

Calm.

“Finally.”

Marco DeLuca.

Vanessa closed her eyes.

Luca said:

“You have Nicholas.”

“Yes.”

“What do you want?”

“I already told your fiancée.”

“The guest list.”

“That was before.”

Luca’s jaw tightened.

“And now?”

“Now I want the wine cellar ledger.”

Luca frowned.

“What ledger?”

DeLuca laughed softly.

“The one your father hid with the Burgundy.”

Luca looked around the cellar.

His father.

Always the bottles.

The handwritten labels.

The years.

DeLuca continued.

“Your brother found it eight years ago.”

Luca stopped.

“Matteo.”

“Yes.”

“He found something in this cellar.”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“The reason he died.”

Silence.

Vanessa stared at Luca.

DeLuca continued.

“Bring me the ledger by midnight tomorrow.”

“Where?”

“I’ll tell you.”

“And Nicholas?”

“Still alive.”

Luca’s voice became cold.

“If he’s hurt—”

“Spare me.”

DeLuca hung up.

Nobody spoke.

Then Emma looked toward the row of Burgundy bottles.

The same bottles Luca’s mother had saved for his wedding.

She whispered:

“Your father wrote on all the labels.”

Luca turned.

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“So?”

“What if one of the labels isn’t just a label?”