Chapter 7 - THE BLOOD ON THE LEDGER
Vittorio Moretti arrived at the mansion before sunrise.
He was sixty-two, silver-haired and elegant, with the calm manners of a diplomat and the eyes of a man who had watched people die without losing his appetite.
A thin white scar crossed beneath his chin.
He entered the study carrying a cane he did not need.
“I hear there was shooting.”
Alessandro stood behind the desk.
“News travels quickly.”
“Carlo called me.”
“Carlo has been confined.”
Vittorio’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
“Why?”
“Because I ordered it.”
His uncle studied him.
“You were always most dangerous when you answered questions with questions.”
“I answered with an order.”
Vittorio poured himself a drink without permission.
“I helped raise you.”
“So did Carlo.”
“And now you suspect both of us?”
“I did not say that.”
“You did not have to.”
Alessandro watched him drink.
“Where were you at one this morning?”
“At Belladonna.”
“Witnesses?”
“Twenty.”
“Convenient.”
Vittorio smiled.
“If you intend to accuse me, nephew, do it standing.”
Alessandro walked around the desk.
“Did you visit Sophia Rossi’s cottage?”
“No.”
“Emma says you did.”
“Emma is three.”
“Children see what adults ignore.”
“Children also dream.”
Alessandro looked at the scar.
“How did you get that?”
Vittorio touched his chin.
“You know the story.”
“I know the version you told.”
For the first time, irritation entered his uncle’s face.
“Your father struck me with a broken bottle during an argument.”
“What argument?”
“Business.”
“My mother?”
Silence.
Vittorio set down the glass.
“You have been digging through graves.”
“One of them belongs to my mother.”
“And the dead do not become more truthful because we miss them.”
Alessandro’s voice lowered.
“Leave my house.”
Vittorio stared at him.
“You may own the property, Alessandro. But be careful before deciding who owns the house.”
He left without another word.
By noon, Father Gabriel was strong enough to guide Alessandro beneath the chapel.
The priest pointed toward the statues near the altar.
“Angels sleep.”
The stone angels lay carved horizontally along two tomb lids belonging to Alessandro’s grandparents.
Beneath the second tomb was a small metal ring.
Alessandro pulled it.
A section of the floor shifted.
Three iron steps descended into darkness.
Three iron steps, one silver flame.
At the bottom stood a narrow chamber.
A silver oil lamp rested on a shelf. When Father Gabriel lit it, flame illuminated a wooden trunk.
Inside lay the ledger.
Black leather.
Heavy.
The Moretti crest stamped across the cover.
Alessandro opened it.
Names filled the pages.
Payments to customs officers.
Transfers through children’s hospitals.
Weapons hidden beneath medical equipment.
The signatures included Vittorio Moretti.
Carlo Rinaldi.
Luca Bellandi.
And Giovanni Moretti.
Alessandro stared at his father’s signature.
“You said my mother tried to expose Vittorio.”
“She may have discovered your father was involved too.”
Alessandro turned the pages.
Near the end, handwriting changed.
Emilia’s.
She had added notes beside the transactions.
Dates.
Witnesses.
Account numbers.
One final entry was underlined twice.
Project Wolf Heir.
Payment authorized to Dr. Elias Voss.
Purpose: alteration of birth and paternity records.
Alessandro’s chest tightened.
The birth certificate was not an accident.
It was part of the conspiracy.
A folded medical report lay between the pages.
Blood testing had been primitive thirty-eight years ago, but the report stated that Giovanni Moretti could not father children due to an untreated childhood illness.
Alessandro read it twice.
“So Antonio Bellandi was my father.”
“Perhaps,” Gabriel said.
“Why would Giovanni raise another man’s son?”
“Because Emilia was already pregnant when he married her. Because he loved her. Or because he needed an heir.”
The answer did not comfort him.
A dark stain marked the final page of the ledger.
Blood.
Beneath it, Emilia had written one sentence.
Giovanni knows everything. Tonight, he will choose whether he is my husband or his brother’s accomplice.
The date was the night she died.
A sound came from the stairwell.
Alessandro turned.
Carlo stood at the top of the steps.
He held a pistol.
“How did you leave the west wing?” Alessandro asked.
Carlo descended slowly.
“The guards are loyal to the Moretti family.”
“I am the Moretti family.”
Carlo glanced at the birth certificate in Alessandro’s hand.
“Are you?”
Father Gabriel stepped forward.
“Carlo, this ends now.”
Carlo shot him.
The priest fell against the wall.
Alessandro fired.
Carlo twisted aside.
The bullet struck his shoulder, but he remained standing.
He threw something down the steps.
A glass bottle.
It shattered.
Fire spread across the floor.
Alessandro grabbed the ledger.
Carlo retreated upward and slammed the stone door.
Darkness and smoke filled the chamber.
Father Gabriel groaned.
The silver flame fell from the shelf.
Alessandro lifted the priest over one shoulder and searched the walls.
No visible exit.
The fire reached the trunk.
The chamber heated rapidly.
Then he heard a child’s voice above the stone.
“Mr. Alessandro?”
Emma.
His blood went cold.
“Emma! Get away from the chapel!”
“I find button!”
A grinding sound filled the chamber.
Part of the rear wall opened.
Fresh air rushed inside.
Alessandro carried Gabriel through a narrow tunnel that emerged behind the chapel.
Emma stood outside beside Bianca.
The moment she saw Alessandro, she ran to him.
He lowered Father Gabriel onto the grass.
“How did you know?” he asked.
Emma pointed to a carved wolf on the outer wall.
“Mama showed me. She says wolf opens secret.”
Alessandro looked toward the mansion.
Smoke rose through the chapel roof.
Carlo had escaped.
And now he knew Alessandro possessed the ledger.
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War was no longer coming.
It had already begun.
