Chapter 2 - THE SECOND PAGE
Vincent read the second page without moving.
Then he read it again.
Grace watched the color leave his face.
Across the dining room, two of Vincent’s men caught Elena before she reached the front hall.
She didn’t scream.
She didn’t fight.
She simply turned around and said, “Take your hands off me.”
They looked at Vincent.
He gave one small nod.
They released her.
Elena straightened her emerald dress as if twenty-seven people had not just watched her run from a photograph connecting her to a dead man.
Grace barely noticed.
Her eyes were still on the page in Vincent’s hand.
“What does it say?”
Vincent looked at her.
For the first time that night, the feared Vincent Moretti seemed uncertain how to speak.
“Grace.”
“What does it say?”
Salvatore stepped forward.
“Maybe this isn’t the place.”
Grace laughed once.
A bitter little sound.
“You watched me kneel in spilled wine ten minutes ago. I think we’re past worrying about the place.”
Nobody at the table moved.
Vincent lowered his eyes to Maria’s handwriting.
Then he read aloud.
“Grace believes her father abandoned us when she was a child. I let her believe it because the truth would have brought her back to Chicago years before she was ready.”
Grace stopped breathing.
Vincent continued.
“His name was Dominic Bellini.”
Salvatore sat down hard.
Grace looked at the torn photograph lying near his shoe.
The fourth person.
The man whose face had been ripped away.
“No.”
Vincent’s voice dropped.
“Dominic is the man in the photograph.”
Grace stared at Salvatore.
“My father?”
Salvatore looked older than seventy now.
“Yes.”
Grace had spent twenty years refusing to ask about the man who left.
Maria never insulted him.
Never praised him.
Whenever Grace asked, her mother gave the same answer.
Some people disappear because staying becomes more dangerous than leaving.
Grace had assumed that meant cowardice.
She had built an entire picture of her father from one sentence.
A weak man.
A selfish man.
A man who didn’t want them.
“Why did she lie?”
Salvatore closed his eyes.
“To keep you alive.”
Elena made a sound under her breath.
Vincent turned sharply.
“You know something?”
“I know Maria Bellini was always good at making herself the victim.”
Grace moved before she realized she was moving.
She stopped inches from Elena.
“You slapped me because wine touched your dress.”
Elena held her stare.
“Yes.”
“You called my mother a thief.”
“Yes.”
“So choose your next sentence carefully.”
Something changed in Elena’s face.
Not softness.
Respect, maybe.
Or the understanding that Grace was no longer going to lower her eyes.
Vincent continued reading.
“Dominic did not leave us. He died the night of the lake-house fire.”
Grace gripped the back of a chair.
Salvatore whispered, “Maria.”
Vincent looked at him.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“All these years?”
“Yes.”
Grace felt the room tilt.
“How did he die?”
Salvatore did not answer.
Vincent read the next sentence instead.
“Ask Salvatore what he saw beside the car.”
Every head turned toward the old man.
Salvatore looked at Grace.
“I saw your father on the ground.”
“Alive?”
He hesitated.
“Salvatore.”
“Barely.”
“And?”
“There was blood on his shirt.”
Grace swallowed.
“Who hurt him?”
Salvatore’s hands tightened around the edge of the table.
“I didn’t see the first shot.”
“The first?”
Vincent caught that too.
“How many shots were there?”
“Two.”
Elena suddenly looked toward the photograph in Vincent’s hand.
Vincent saw it.
“Why does that matter to you?”
“It doesn’t.”
“Stop lying in my house.”
Her jaw tightened.
Grace turned back to Salvatore.
“What happened to my father?”
Salvatore stared at the floor.
“Dominic discovered something he wasn’t supposed to discover.”
“What?”
“Money.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“What money?”
“Your father’s money.”
Salvatore looked at his nephew.
“Millions being moved through construction companies and charity accounts. Dominic handled internal books for Antonio. He found transfers that didn’t make sense.”
“Who was stealing?”
Salvatore glanced toward Elena.
She went perfectly still.
Grace understood.
“Her family.”
Elena said nothing.
Vincent’s voice turned cold.
“Marconi?”
Salvatore nodded.
“Sebastian Marconi controlled several development partnerships with your father.”
Elena spoke immediately.
“My father was never convicted of stealing anything.”
“No,” Salvatore said.
“He wasn’t.”
Something about his tone silenced her.
Grace pointed toward the photograph.
“Dominic found out. Then he died.”
Salvatore nodded.
“And my mother ran.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because someone came after her too.”
Grace touched the black lion medallion.
“This?”
“Antonio gave that to Maria.”
Vincent looked at the necklace.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“The night Dominic died.”
Vincent stared at his uncle.
“You told me Maria stole from us and vanished.”
“I told you what Antonio ordered me to tell you.”
That landed harder than anyone expected.
Vincent stepped closer.
“My father ordered the lie?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To protect Maria and Grace.”
“From whom?”
Salvatore looked at Elena again.
This time she snapped.
“Stop looking at me like I was running Chicago when I was nineteen.”
“No one said you were.”
“You don’t have to.”
Grace almost felt sympathy.
Almost.
Then she remembered Elena’s heel on the cloth.
Vincent lifted the page again.
There was one final paragraph.
He read it silently first.
His thumb stopped on one line.
“What?”
Grace asked.
Vincent looked at Salvatore.
“My mother says something about my father?”
“No.”
“Mine.”
Vincent turned the page toward him.
Maria had written:
ANTONIO MORETTI’S WATCH WILL TELL YOU WHEN HE REALLY DIED.
Salvatore’s face changed.
Vincent noticed.
“What watch?”
No answer.
“Elena.”
She frowned.
“I don’t know.”
Vincent turned back to his uncle.
“My father’s gold watch was buried with him.”
Salvatore shook his head.
“No.”
Vincent’s voice dropped.
“I chose the suit myself.”
“The watch wasn’t in the coffin.”
“I put it in his hand.”
“I removed it before they closed the casket.”
The room went absolutely silent.
Vincent looked at the man who had helped raise him.
“You took something from my father’s coffin?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Salvatore stood.
His hands were trembling now.
“Because I had already taken it from his body once.”
Grace felt cold move through her.
Vincent spoke very slowly.
“Where is it?”
Salvatore reached inside his jacket.
For one terrible second, three men near the wall shifted toward their weapons.
Then Salvatore removed a small black velvet pouch.
He put it on the table.
Vincent didn’t touch it.
Grace did.
Inside lay a heavy gold wristwatch.
The crystal was cracked.
One hand pointed between eight and nine.
The other had stopped at seventeen minutes past the hour.
8:17.
Dark brown staining remained along one edge of the band.
Grace didn’t have to ask what it was.
Vincent stared at the frozen hands.
“The police report said he died after nine.”
Salvatore nodded.
“Elena’s father testified he was at the Langford charity dinner until eight-thirty.”
Elena whispered, “He was.”
Salvatore looked at her.
“No.”
She went pale.
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“What do you mean?”
Salvatore touched the cracked watch.
“Antonio was already bleeding at 8:17.”
Elena backed into the chair behind her.
Vincent saw the fear on her face.
“You knew.”
“No.”
“You knew something.”
She shook her head.
Vincent stepped closer.
“Elena.”
Her eyes filled.
But Salvatore spoke before she could.
“Dominic Bellini didn’t abandon you, Grace.”
Grace turned.
Salvatore’s voice broke.
“He died at that lake.”
Grace stared at him.
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“And I helped bury what really happened.”
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