Chapter 2 - The Name Salvatore Buried
For eleven years, Carmine had believed he had seen every expression Salvatore Moretti was capable of wearing.
Rage, certainly.
Cold amusement.
The blank face he used when ordering a man removed from his organization forever.
Once, after learning that one of his warehouses had burned with three loyal men still inside, Carmine had seen something close to grief.
But he had never seen fear.
Until that night.
The enormous oak doors opened before Carmine could knock twice.
Salvatore stood beneath the chandelier in a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, one hand still holding the crystal tumbler he had been drinking from.
Behind him, half a dozen men stopped talking.
The Moretti mansion was never truly quiet. There was always a phone ringing somewhere, a guard reporting through an earpiece, a glass being set down, a door closing.
Now there was nothing.
Salvatore's eyes moved past Carmine.
They landed on the boy.
The glass slipped from his hand.
It struck the marble floor and shattered.
Nobody moved.
The boy stood dripping rainwater onto a rug worth more than most families earned in a year.
Salvatore stared at him.
"What did you say your name was?"
"I didn't."
The boy's voice was quiet.
Salvatore took one slow step forward.
"Then tell me."
"Leo."
A muscle moved in Salvatore's jaw.
"Leo what?"
The boy swallowed.
"Leo Bellini."
That name did not appear to mean anything to the guards.
It meant something to Salvatore.
Carmine knew because the boss's face changed again.
Not much.
But enough.
Salvatore crossed the foyer.
He stopped three feet from the child.
"Who told you to come here?"
"My mother."
"Your mother is Elena?"
Leo nodded.
"Elena Bellini?"
Another nod.
Salvatore closed his eyes.
Only for a second.
When they opened again, every trace of emotion had been forced behind the walls he had spent twenty years building.
"Where is she?"
Leo looked down at his wet shoes.
"Dead."
The word was almost too small to fill the room.
Yet it seemed to strike Salvatore harder than a bullet.
"How?"
"She got sick."
"When?"
"Four months ago."
Salvatore looked toward his consigliere, Dominic Russo.
Dominic had gone pale.
"Why didn't I know?" Salvatore asked.
Dominic opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
That was answer enough.
Salvatore turned back to the boy.
"Why were you in an orphanage?"
Leo reached under his soaked shirt.
Carmine immediately tensed.
So did every guard.
Three jackets opened.
Three hands moved toward weapons.
Leo froze.
"It's just a necklace."
Slowly, he pulled out a thin silver chain.
A small metal medal hung from it.
Salvatore stopped breathing.
The medal was old.
Saint Michael.
The back had a shallow scratch near one edge.
Salvatore knew that scratch.
He had put it there himself twenty years earlier while trying to pry open a bottle with the medal during a summer in Sicily.
He had given it to Elena the night he told her he loved her.
Nobody else could have possessed it.
Leo held it out.
"She told me if anything happened to her, I had to bring this to you."
Salvatore took the medal.
His fingers trembled.
Carmine looked away.
There were some things a man had no right to witness.
Salvatore turned the medal over.
There was writing engraved on the back.
Not the inscription he remembered.
Something newer.
Three tiny characters.
L.M.M.
Salvatore stared at them.
"What did your mother tell you about me?"
Leo hesitated.
"That you were dangerous."
A few men shifted uncomfortably.
Leo continued.
"But she said dangerous men aren't always bad men."
Salvatore's eyes returned to him.
"What else?"
"She said you used to make her laugh."
That seemed to hurt worse.
"Anything else?"
Leo's voice dropped.
"She said you were my father."
The foyer went dead.
Someone near the staircase whispered a curse.
Carmine felt the hair rise along his arms.
Dominic's eyes snapped toward Salvatore.
Salvatore did not move.
For a long time, neither did Leo.
Then Salvatore crouched.
It was perhaps the strangest thing Carmine had ever seen.
Salvatore Moretti, a man before whom judges had lowered their voices and violent men had lowered their eyes, kneeling on an expensive marble floor so he could look directly into the face of a half-starved eight-year-old.
"How old are you?"
"Eight."
"When is your birthday?"
"October twelfth."
Salvatore's face hardened.
He did the calculation instantly.
So did Dominic.
Eight years.
Eight years and nine months earlier, Salvatore had spent three nights in Chicago.
Three nights Elena had vanished from his life shortly afterward.
Salvatore's voice became almost inaudible.
"Did she ever tell you why she left?"
Leo shook his head.
"Only that staying near you would get us killed."
Salvatore slowly rose.
He looked at Dominic.
"Close the gates."
Dominic frowned.
"They're already closed."
"No."
Salvatore's voice changed.
Every man in the foyer recognized the tone.
"Close everything."
Phones came out.
"Nobody enters. Nobody leaves. Double the perimeter. Shut down the east road. I want cameras checked for the last twelve hours."
"Boss—"
"Now."
Men scattered.
Salvatore looked at Carmine.
"Get Dr. Vitale."
"For the boy?"
"For my son."
Leo's head lifted.
It was the first time Salvatore had said the word.
Son.
The boy's mouth parted slightly.
Then his knees buckled.
Salvatore caught him before he hit the floor.
The child weighed almost nothing.
Salvatore stared down at the small unconscious face in his arms.
For one horrifying moment, the most powerful man in the city looked helpless.
Then Leo whispered something.
Salvatore bent closer.
"What?"
The boy's eyes remained closed.
"My backpack."
Carmine hurried outside.
He returned moments later carrying a torn canvas bag.
Salvatore laid Leo on a sofa and opened it.
Inside were two shirts.
A broken pencil.
A photograph.
And an envelope covered in Elena's handwriting.
Salvatore's name was written across the front.
His hands stopped.
Dominic came closer.
"Sal."
Salvatore looked at him.
It was the first warning.
Dominic stepped back.
Salvatore tore open the envelope.
One sheet of paper.
He read the first line.
His face emptied.
Carmine had seen that emptiness before.
It came immediately before someone died.
Salvatore read the second line.
Then the third.
Finally he looked toward Dominic.
"Get everyone into the dining room."
"What does it say?"
Salvatore folded the letter carefully.
His eyes turned black.
"It says Elena didn't leave me."
Dominic went still.
Salvatore's voice dropped.
May you like
"Someone inside this house made her disappear."
And upstairs, somewhere beyond the dark balcony, a floorboard creaked.
