Chapter 11 - The Sins We Inherit
“Knows what, Silvio?” Luca demanded, keeping his gun perfectly steady. “Drop the weapon now.”
Teresa didn't look afraid. She looked deeply, profoundly sorrowful. She turned her head slightly to look at Luca.
“Put the gun down, my son,” Teresa said softly.
“Mother, he is pointing a weapon at you,” Luca argued, his eyes darting between Silvio’s trigger finger and his mother’s calm face.
“He is not going to shoot me,” Teresa said, turning back to Silvio. “Are you, Silvio? Or should I call you by your real name? The name you had before you came to work for our family thirty years ago.”
Marco frowned, keeping his gun raised. “His name is Silvio.”
“His name,” Teresa said, her voice echoing off the marble tombs, “is Silvio Volante. Arthur Volante’s younger brother.”
I gasped.
The disgraced notary who tried to steal my house. The man Mr. Whitmore had ruined just hours ago. Silvio was his brother?
“You destroyed my brother tonight, Teresa,” Silvio said, a tear slipping down his weathered cheek, his hand shaking on the grip of his gun. “Arthur lost everything. His money, his business, his freedom. Because you called in a favor.”
“Arthur was a thief and an extortionist,” Luca said coldly. “He deserved worse.”
“Maybe,” Silvio snapped. “But he is blood. And your family has taken everything from my bloodline.”
Silvio looked at the marble tomb between them. Vittorio Moretti’s resting place.
“Thirty years ago, my brother and I were low-level earners for this family,” Silvio said, his voice filled with bitter poison. “When Carlo Moretti decided to kill his brother—your father, Luca—he didn't cut the brake lines himself. He hired someone to do it.”
My heart stopped.
I thought about the note in the attic. My father’s note. I hid the truth.
“He hired my brother, Arthur,” Silvio confessed.
Luca’s expression darkened into absolute fury. “Arthur killed my father?”
“Arthur was supposed to,” Silvio corrected. “But he got scared. He backed out. But Carlo had already paid him. When Carlo found out Arthur didn't do the job, he ordered a hit on our family. I went to your mother, Teresa. I begged for protection.”
Teresa nodded slowly. “And I gave it to you. I took you in. I made you my personal driver. I hid you from Carlo’s wrath.”
“But you didn't know the whole truth, Teresa,” Silvio said, raising the gun slightly. “Arthur didn't cut the brakes. But he knew who did. He saw the man crawling out from under Vittorio’s car that night.”
Silvio’s eyes shifted from Teresa, past Luca, and locked directly onto me.
“It was Jack Ellis,” Silvio sneered. “The loyal mechanic. He took Carlo’s money. Jack Ellis killed the don.”
“Liar!” Marco roared, stepping forward, his gun aimed directly at Silvio’s chest. “Our father didn't kill anyone!”
“He was drowning in debt!” Silvio shouted back. “He needed the money to adopt you, you street rat! Jack cut the brakes, and he let Arthur take the fall. I’ve spent thirty years opening doors for the woman whose husband died because of that girl’s father!”
My head spun. The crypt felt like it was shrinking.
Was it true? Did my father actually cut the brakes? Did he kill Luca’s father to afford the adoption fees for Marco?
I looked at Luca. He was staring at me, his face unreadable.
“Silvio,” Teresa said, her voice cutting through the panic with absolute authority. “You brought me down here to kill me as revenge for Arthur’s arrest. Do it. But leave the children out of this.”
“I’m not going to kill you, Teresa,” Silvio said, a manic laugh escaping his lips. “I brought you down here to show your son the truth. To show him that he just gave a promise ring to the daughter of his father’s murderer.”
Silvio lowered his gun, aiming it at the stone floor.
“The cycle of blood continues, Boss,” Silvio said to Luca. “What are you going to do now? Are you going to marry the Ellis girl? Or are you going to put a bullet in her, like the old laws demand?”
Before anyone could react, a deafening gunshot echoed through the crypt.
I screamed, covering my ears.
Silvio’s eyes widened. He dropped his gun, clutching his chest. He fell to his knees, gasping for air, before collapsing onto the cold stone floor.
I looked up, horrified.
Luca hadn't fired. Marco hadn't fired.
Teresa Moretti stood at the head of the tomb, a small, silver derringer pistol smoking in her fragile, wrinkled hand. She had pulled it from the pocket of her shawl.
She slowly lowered the tiny gun.
“Mother,” Luca breathed in shock.
Teresa didn't look at the body of her driver. She looked at me.
“Jack Ellis did not kill my husband,” Teresa said, her voice echoing with absolute finality. “I know exactly who cut the brakes on that car. And it was not Jack.”
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She walked slowly around the tomb, her walker left behind, leaning heavily on the stone until she reached me. She reached out and took my trembling hands in hers.
“I know who killed Vittorio,” Teresa whispered, her eyes filled with tears. “Because I asked Jack Ellis to do it.”
