Chapter 7 - The Brother Who Never Existed
Vittorio Moretti had been buried beneath ten tons of Italian marble.
Salvatore had chosen the stone himself.
For six years he had visited the mausoleum only once.
Now he stood before his father's name at midnight with a crowbar in his hand.
Carmine looked uneasy.
"Boss, grave robbery feels like something we should discuss."
"We discussed it."
"You said open it."
"That was the discussion."
Dominic almost smiled.
Carmine did not.
The private Moretti cemetery occupied a wooded section of the estate beyond the old chapel.
Vittorio's coffin rested inside a sealed family crypt.
Salvatore had ordered the grounds cleared.
No staff.
No guards except Carmine and Dominic.
They broke the marble seal.
Inside, the smell was dust, cold stone, and old flowers.
Salvatore approached the coffin.
"What exactly are we looking for?" Carmine asked.
"Proof."
"Of what?"
"I don't know yet."
That was the problem.
Paolo's last words had shattered the foundation of Salvatore's life.
I don't have a brother.
That's what Vittorio wanted you to believe.
Dominic had spent the day searching birth records.
Nothing.
But Vittorio had lived half his life outside official records.
If another son existed, paper might not prove it.
The coffin might.
Salvatore lifted the lid.
Carmine swore.
Empty.
No body.
No bones.
Nothing.
Only a black onyx ring lying where Vittorio's chest should have been.
Dominic backed away.
"That's impossible."
Salvatore picked up the ring.
His father's initials were engraved inside.
V.M.
Carmine looked toward the crypt entrance.
"If Vittorio isn't here..."
"Then what did we bury?" Dominic asked.
Salvatore's face darkened.
"A lie."
They returned to the mansion before dawn.
Leo was awake in the kitchen eating cereal.
He had apparently discovered the household chef asleep and refused to wake him.
So he had found a box himself.
Salvatore sat across from him.
Leo looked at the dust on his coat.
"Where were you?"
"Outside."
"That's not an answer."
Carmine coughed to hide a laugh.
Salvatore ignored him.
"Do you remember your mother mentioning Vittorio?"
Leo nodded.
"What did she say?"
"That he was dead."
"Anything else?"
Leo thought.
"She said dead men can still ruin your life."
Dominic leaned against the counter.
"That sounds like Elena."
Salvatore glanced at him.
"You knew her well?"
Dominic's face softened.
"She was kind to me when I was eighteen and stupid."
"You were eighteen and stupid for about ten years."
Leo smiled.
It was small.
But Salvatore noticed.
He wanted to see it again.
"Did your mother ever mention someone named Matteo?" Dominic asked.
Salvatore turned sharply.
"Where did that come from?"
Dominic placed a photocopied record on the table.
A baptismal certificate from a church in Palermo.
Matteo Moretti.
Born two years before Salvatore.
Father listed as Vittorio Moretti.
Mother listed as Lucia Ferraro.
Salvatore stared.
"My father was married to my mother."
"Not then."
"Why was this hidden?"
Dominic sat down.
"Lucia Ferraro died when Matteo was four. Vittorio brought the boy to America for a short time."
"Where is he?"
"No records after age six."
Salvatore studied the certificate.
Leo suddenly stopped eating.
"What?"
The boy's face had gone pale.
"Matteo."
Salvatore leaned forward.
"You know that name?"
Leo nodded slowly.
"Mom said it once."
"When?"
"Before she got sick."
"What did she say?"
Leo's spoon trembled.
"She was arguing on the phone."
"With who?"
"I don't know."
"What did she say?"
Leo closed his eyes, trying to remember.
"She said, 'Matteo, you already took everything from him. Leave my son alone.'"
Salvatore stood so fast the chair hit the floor.
Dominic swore.
Carmine reached for his phone.
"Trace her old records?"
"Everything."
They found the call by noon.
The number belonged to a shell company.
The shell company led to a private security firm.
The security firm led to property outside Albany.
A farmhouse registered under the name Matthew Romano.
Age fifty-one.
No photographs.
No social media.
No known family.
Salvatore was forty-nine.
Two years.
Exactly.
Carmine assembled a team.
Salvatore stopped him.
"I go alone."
"No."
That came from Leo.
Everyone looked at him.
Salvatore frowned.
"You are not involved in this."
"I already am."
"Leo."
"My mom knew him."
"Which is why you're staying here."
The boy crossed his arms.
For an eight-year-old wearing borrowed sweatpants, he looked remarkably stubborn.
Dominic crouched beside him.
"Kid, your father's right."
Leo pointed at Salvatore.
"He doesn't know anything."
Salvatore almost objected.
Then realized the boy was correct.
Leo continued.
"I heard Matteo's voice."
Everyone went silent.
Salvatore slowly crouched.
"You did?"
"He came to our apartment once."
"When?"
"A month before Mom died."
"What happened?"
"She made me hide in the closet."
Salvatore's blood went cold.
"What did he say?"
"I couldn't hear everything."
"Try."
Leo looked at the floor.
"He told her you were becoming too powerful."
Salvatore exchanged a glance with Dominic.
"He said the Moretti family should have been his."
There it was.
Motive.
"He wanted something from her?"
Leo nodded.
"The ledger."
Salvatore's eyes narrowed.
"Anything else?"
"He told her if she didn't give it back, he'd tell you the truth."
"What truth?"
Leo looked up.
"That she helped him once."
Salvatore went still.
"Helped him do what?"
Leo swallowed.
"He said Mom helped him kill your father."
Nobody moved.
Salvatore stood.
For the first time since Leo had arrived, he backed away from the boy.
Not because he blamed him.
Because the room suddenly felt too small.
Elena.
Vittorio.
Matteo.
Murder.
Everything tangled together.
Leo watched his face.
"You think my mom was bad."
Salvatore immediately looked at him.
"No."
"You do."
"No."
Salvatore stepped closer.
"I think your mother was trapped in something she should never have been part of."
"She said she did a bad thing."
Salvatore froze.
"When?"
"Before she died."
Leo's eyes filled.
"She said sometimes you do one bad thing because you're trying to stop something worse."
Salvatore crouched again.
"What did she do, Leo?"
The boy wiped his face angrily.
"I don't know."
Then the mansion alarm sounded.
Not the perimeter alarm.
The internal one.
Fire.
Smoke poured under the kitchen door.
Carmine grabbed Leo.
Dominic drew his weapon.
Salvatore opened the door.
The hallway was already burning.
At the far end, through the smoke, stood an older man with silver hair and a cane.
Scar beneath the right ear.
Domenico Russo.
He smiled at Salvatore.
Then raised a pistol.
May you like
"You look just like your brother."
He fired.
