Chapter 5 - ROOM 308
Hotel Venezia had been closed twelve years.
The Morettis still owned it because, according to Cameron, his family had a pathological inability to sell buildings tied to funerals or weddings.
“Which was this?”
I asked as we climbed the dusty staircase.
“Both.”
“Of course.”
Agent Price went first.
Marco behind.
Cameron beside me.
Not ahead.
I noticed.
Room 308 opened with a hotel master key found in old manager’s safe.
No hidden room.
No dramatic wall of evidence.
Just furniture under sheets.
A cracked mirror.
An old wooden desk.
And a photograph of Giuseppe Moretti hanging crooked.
Price removed it.
Nothing.
Marco checked desk.
Empty.
I looked around.
Twenty-one years.
Dad had been here.
Maybe.
Then I saw something stupid.
A coffee stain.
Old, brown, almost invisible, on windowsill.
Next to it—
three scratched lines.
D R.
My father’s initials.
“Here.”
Cameron came over.
Price examined.
Beneath windowsill was a narrow tape recorder held by dried adhesive.
Not secret compartment.
Just something nobody had bothered to look under.
We found batteries and played cassette.
Static.
Then Giuseppe’s voice.
“Carlo.”
Cameron stopped breathing.
Carlo answered:
“Samuel’s coming.”
Giuseppe:
“Good.”
Then Hayes.
Door.
Chairs.
Samuel’s voice smooth.
“Giuseppe.”
“Samuel.”
Then:
“You brought your brother.”
Giuseppe said:
“I brought family.”
Hayes laughed.
“That’s usually your mistake.”
Even I felt chill.
Conversation moved quickly.
Hayes demanded money to keep Giuseppe’s gambling debts and union diversions private.
Carlo offered payment.
Giuseppe refused.
Then Hayes said:
“Fine.”
“I’ll talk to Daniel Russo.”
My father.
Giuseppe’s voice changed.
“Leave Daniel out.”
“He already knows.”
Silence.
Then Carlo:
“How much does he know?”
“Enough to know Rinaldi took over Blue Fourteen.”
There.
Vincent.
Confirmed.
Hayes continued:
“Enough to know Vincent sells routes to Falcone.”
A rival family.
Cameron looked at Marco.
Both went still.
Falcone crews still existed.
Old rivalry had deeper roots.
Then Giuseppe:
“Vincent is done.”
Carlo:
“Wait.”
That surprised everyone.
Giuseppe snapped:
“Why?”
Carlo said:
“Because Vincent knows where bodies are buried.”
A phrase.
Maybe literal.
Maybe not.
Hayes laughed.
“He knows where money is.”
Carlo continued:
“If you move against him tonight, every captain chooses side.”
“Cameron is twenty-four.”
“Michael is dead.”
“You start civil war now, your son inherits ashes.”
Cameron closed eyes.
His older brother Michael had died in car accident two years earlier.
Giuseppe went quiet.
Then:
“So what?”
Carlo said:
“We buy Hayes.”
“We cut Vincent slowly.”
“We keep Daniel quiet until Cameron is ready.”
My stomach turned.
My father reduced to problem.
Then another sound.
Door?
The recording shifted.
My father’s whisper, closer to microphone.
“They’re all cowards.”
I covered mouth.
He had been in adjacent space recording through vent or had recorder under sill.
Then main voices again.
Giuseppe:
“Daniel goes home.”
Carlo:
“He won’t.”
Giuseppe:
“Then I’ll make him.”
Hayes:
“Careful.”
“Men like Russo get brave when they have nothing.”
Giuseppe said:
“He has a wife and little girl.”
That stopped me.
He knew me.
Then:
“That’s exactly why he’ll listen.”
The cassette clicked.
Not end.
Flip.
Price turned tape.
Second side.
My father’s voice.
Alone.
“Bella.”
My knees weakened.
“If this gets to you, Giuseppe knows Vincent is dirty.”
“Carlo knows too.”
“Neither will move because they’re afraid family splits.”
He exhaled.
“I told Giuseppe I’m going federal.”
“He gave me his watch.”
Cameron looked at silver watch in my hand.
Dad continued:
“Said if anything happens, watch proves he authorized me.”
“He thinks his name still scares everyone.”
“He may be right.”
Then:
“Carlo isn’t killer.”
Cameron’s head lifted.
“He’s scared.”
“Different.”
“Hayes is greedy.”
“Vincent is dangerous.”
“And Giuseppe…”
Pause.
“Giuseppe loves Cameron more than he loves truth.”
Cameron flinched.
There it was.
A stranger from twenty-one years ago understood his father.
Dad continued:
“If I don’t get home, go to Eddie.”
“Keep Avery away from all of them.”
“She deserves boring.”
My tears came then.
Quietly.
Cameron looked away.
Dad’s voice softened:
“She made me read Goodnight Moon six times yesterday.”
I laughed through tears.
A memory I didn’t have.
Then:
“I’d read it sixty.”
Tape stopped.
No murder confession.
No neat answer.
But enough.
Giuseppe knew Vincent was dirty.
Carlo wanted delay.
Samuel wanted money.
Daniel planned to go federal.
And Daniel died hours later.
Agent Price looked at Cameron.
“You understand what this means.”
“Yes.”
“Your father obstructed.”
“Yes.”
“Possibly after homicide.”
Cameron’s jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“Your uncle Carlo too.”
“Maybe.”
Price nodded.
“Good.”
No denial.
Then Marco’s phone buzzed.
He looked.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“Carlo is downstairs.”
Nobody moved.
Cameron stared.
“What?”
“He came alone.”
Of course he did.
We found Carlo Moretti in hotel lobby.
Seventy-two.
Silver-haired.
Immaculate dark overcoat.
He leaned on cane, not because he needed drama but arthritis.
He looked at Cameron first.
Then me.
“Daniel’s daughter.”
I hated how everyone recognized me through dead man.
“You knew my father?”
Carlo nodded.
“He hated me.”
“Should he have?”
“Yes.”
Good.
At least.
Cameron said:
“Why are you here?”
“Because Vincent knows you found tape.”
There.
“How?”
Carlo looked at Marco.
Marco’s face hardened.
“No.”
Carlo shook head.
“Not Marco.”
“Who?”
“Captain Salvatore Greco.”
Another current Moretti capo.
Cameron went still.
“Greco reports to Vincent?”
“Has for years.”
Bigger.
Current betrayal.
Carlo lowered himself into lobby chair.
“I came because twenty-one years ago I made worst decision of my life.”
Cameron’s voice sharpened.
“Only one?”
Carlo smiled sadly.
“Fair.”
Then looked at me.
“Your father was alive after the warehouse fire.”
My throat closed.
“I know.”
“No.”
Carlo shook head.
“He was conscious.”
“What?”
“He spoke.”
“What did he say?”
Carlo’s eyes filled.
“Two things.”
“First?”
“‘Tell Bella I tried.’”
My vision blurred.
“And second?”
Carlo looked at Cameron.
“‘Don’t let Vincent near the boy.’”
Silence.
“What boy?”
Cameron asked.
Carlo closed eyes.
“You.”
Cameron stopped breathing.
Why would my father’s dying warning be about twenty-four-year-old Cameron?
Carlo continued:
“Daniel knew Vincent wasn’t just protecting Hayes.”
“He was planning succession.”
“What succession?”
“Giuseppe’s.”
Cameron stared.
“Vincent wanted me dead?”
“No.”
Carlo looked at him.
“He wanted you useful.”
That was worse.
“Meaning?”
“He planned to make sure you inherited frightened enough to need him.”
Cameron’s face changed.
May you like
And suddenly Daniel Russo’s death was no longer only an old crime buried by scared men.
It was the first move in a plan that had shaped Cameron Moretti’s entire life.
