Chapter 4 - Alessandro’s Second Life

Matteo did not believe Victor.

Not at first.

I didn’t either.

Walter definitely didn’t.

“Alessandro hated the government,” he said.

Victor looked at him.

“Publicly.”

Walter shook his head.

“He hated anyone who tried to control him.”

“That is exactly why he cooperated.”

Matteo stood beside the fireplace.

His father’s broken pen in one hand.

The silver watch in the other.

“Proof.”

Victor exhaled.

“You want proof?”

“Yes.”

“Then ask him.”

Matteo stared.

“My father?”

Victor nodded.

“He kept records.”

“Where?”

“At Saint Vincent.”

Celeste stepped closer.

“You knew this whole time?”

Victor looked at her.

“I knew he was alive.”

“For eleven years?”

“Yes.”

She looked as betrayed as Matteo.

Maybe more.

Because she had spent three weeks carrying a secret her father had carried for eleven years.

Matteo asked:

“Why Saint Vincent?”

Victor looked toward the windows.

“Because Alessandro had a stroke eight years ago.”

Walter’s face changed.

“He told me he had trouble remembering dates.”

Victor nodded.

“He remembers people. Pieces. Not always sequence.”

Matteo’s voice hardened.

“You used that.”

Victor looked at him.

“I protected him.”

“No.”

Matteo’s jaw tightened.

“You contained him.”

Victor did not answer.

That answer was enough.

At 1:20 a.m., Matteo decided we were going to Saint Vincent.

Victor tried to stop him.

Celeste did not.

She stood near the engagement table holding the ring Matteo never gave her.

“Go,” she said.

He looked at her.

“You’re not coming?”

She shook her head.

“I need to decide whether I believe my father.”

Matteo’s expression softened for half a second.

“Good.”

That was all.

Walter drove.

Matteo sat beside him.

I sat in the back.

Nobody spoke until the city disappeared behind us.

Saint Vincent Residence looked less like a hospital than a private hotel.

Stone walls.

Soft lights.

A fountain in the circular drive.

Money had made old age quiet.

Walter gave his name at reception.

The nurse hesitated.

Then recognized him.

“You came yesterday.”

“Yes.”

She looked at Matteo.

“And you are?”

Matteo answered:

“His son.”

The nurse stopped typing.

Then nodded.

“Room 312.”

Matteo did not move.

Walter touched his shoulder.

“Ready?”

“No.”

Walter waited.

Matteo looked toward the elevator.

“Take me anyway.”

Room 312 was at the end of the third-floor hall.

The door was open.

An elderly man sat near the window.

Thinner than in the photograph.

Gray hair.

Scar on one cheek.

A blanket over his knees.

His back was toward us.

Walter entered first.

“Alessandro.”

The man turned.

His eyes moved from Walter—

to me—

to Matteo.

He stopped.

For several seconds, nothing happened.

Then Alessandro whispered:

“Matteo?”

Matteo’s face broke.

Not dramatically.

Quietly.

Like something inside him had finally lost the strength to stay hard.

“Dad?”

Alessandro stood too quickly.

The chair shifted.

Matteo crossed the room and caught him before he fell.

Neither man let go.

Eleven years.

No body.

No funeral.

No goodbye.

And then suddenly—

a father’s hand on the back of his son’s neck.

Alessandro started crying first.

“I’m sorry.”

Matteo closed his eyes.

“You’re alive.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re alive.”

That was all he could say.

Later, after the nurse checked Alessandro and left, Matteo placed the silver watch on the table.

His father stared at it.

“You found Walter.”

“Walter found me.”

Alessandro smiled faintly.

“Good.”

Matteo sat across from him.

“Victor said you were a federal informant.”

Alessandro’s smile disappeared.

Walter stiffened.

The old man looked toward the window.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then:

“Yes.”

Matteo stared.

Walter whispered:

“Alessandro…”

He looked at his old driver.

“I had to.”

Matteo’s voice was quiet.

“Why?”

Alessandro looked back at his son.

“Because your grandfather was going to give you the family.”

Matteo stopped breathing.

“I was twenty-two.”

“You were supposed to inherit at twenty-five.”

“I never knew.”

“I made sure you didn’t.”

Alessandro reached for the watch.

“Everything I did after that was to keep you from becoming what we were.”

Matteo looked at him.

“Then why disappear?”

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Alessandro’s fingers closed around the silver watch.

“Because Victor was not the man I was afraid of.”