Chapter 5 - CAMILLA’S SECRET
Camilla Russo arrived at Rico’s Brooklyn house at noon the next day.
She came because Rico invited her to lunch.
No accusation.
No warning.
No mention of Sofia.
Rico had learned patience from men far crueler than him.
Camilla entered wearing cream wool and diamonds.
She kissed Rico’s cheek.
“Tesoro.”
Rico’s body went cold.
Elena hated when Camilla called him that.
He hadn’t thought about it in years.
Camilla looked toward the staircase.
“Where’s Leo?”
“Upstairs.”
“Poor baby.”
She sighed.
“I heard about his scene at Il Destino.”
News traveled quickly inside families built on secrets.
“He’s been difficult since Elena.”
Rico stared at her.
“He’s three.”
“I know.”
Camilla removed her gloves.
“Grief does ugly things.”
“So does jealousy.”
Her hands stopped.
Only for a fraction of a second.
Then she smiled.
“Who are we jealous of today?”
Rico poured coffee.
“Remember Elena’s engagement dinner?”
Camilla laughed softly.
“What a strange question.”
“You wore red.”
“So?”
“Most women don’t wear red to another woman’s engagement dinner.”
“I looked good.”
“You did.”
Camilla smiled.
Rico continued.
“Elena thought you hated her.”
“Every bride thinks somebody hates her.”
“Did you?”
Camilla lifted the cup.
“I thought she was wrong for you.”
“Why?”
“She softened you.”
Rico stared.
“That bothered you?”
“It made you careless.”
“Interesting.”
She watched him now.
“What is this?”
“Lunch.”
“You’re not eating.”
“Neither are you.”
Camilla put down her cup.
“Rico.”
He leaned back.
“Where were you the night Elena died?”
Silence.
Then Camilla laughed.
“You cannot be serious.”
“Answer.”
“At home.”
“Whose?”
“Mine.”
“Anyone with you?”
“Staff.”
“Which?”
“Ask them.”
“I did.”
Her expression changed.
Rico continued.
“Your housekeeper was in Newark visiting her daughter.”
Camilla said nothing.
“Your driver dropped you in Manhattan at eight forty.”
“He dropped me at home.”
“No.”
Rico slid a photograph across the table.
Traffic camera.
A woman in a red coat entering a Bellandi Imports vehicle at 8:53 p.m.
Blurry.
But the coat was distinctive.
Camilla looked at it.
“That could be anyone.”
“Maybe.”
Rico added another photo.
Camilla wearing the same coat at a charity luncheon ten days earlier.
Italian label.
Custom tailoring.
Only six produced in that color.
Camilla’s face tightened.
“This proves clothing.”
“Yes.”
Rico leaned closer.
“That’s why I invited you instead of dragging you here.”
Her eyes flashed.
“Careful.”
“Why?”
“You are not the only Moretti with power.”
Rico smiled slightly.
“No.”
The smile vanished.
“I’m just the one whose child saw you murder his mother.”
Camilla’s cup tipped.
Coffee spilled across the saucer.
There.
Rico saw it.
Not innocence.
Shock.
“How dare you.”
“Leo remembers red.”
“He remembers colors. Congratulations.”
“He remembers fire.”
“Children hear stories.”
“He remembers Nico.”
Camilla stopped.
Rico watched.
“Sofia talked.”
Her face changed again.
“She’s lying.”
“About what?”
Camilla realized too late.
Rico leaned forward.
“I never told you what she said.”
Camilla stood.
“I’m leaving.”
“No.”
Two guards appeared at the doors.
Camilla laughed.
“You think you can hold me?”
“I think I can ask my cousin where his wife was the night mine died.”
Her face hardened.
“Matteo will tear this family apart.”
“Then let him.”
Camilla stared.
Rico continued.
“Did you love me?”
The question surprised her.
So did the answer in her eyes.
For one second, Rico almost pitied her.
Almost.
“You were supposed to marry me,” she whispered.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Our fathers discussed it.”
“You knew.”
“I knew they wanted it.”
“You chose her.”
“Yes.”
Camilla’s eyes filled.
“She was nobody.”
Rico’s jaw tightened.
“She was my wife.”
“She worked in a gallery.”
“She was my wife.”
“She made you weak.”
“No.”
Rico stood.
“She made me human enough to understand how empty you are.”
Camilla slapped him.
The guards moved.
Rico raised one hand.
Stopped them.
Camilla stared at her own palm.
Then at him.
He didn’t touch his face.
“Feel better?”
She started crying.
“You don’t know what she did.”
“What?”
“She humiliated me.”
“How?”
“She knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That I still loved you.”
Rico stared.
Camilla continued.
“She told me to stop coming to the house.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“She said you chose her.”
“I did.”
“She said I was embarrassing myself.”
Rico almost laughed.
“And for that you killed her?”
Camilla’s face twisted.
“I didn’t plan it.”
There it was.
The room became completely still.
Rico felt something inside him go cold enough to crack.
“Say it again.”
Camilla’s lips trembled.
“I didn’t plan it.”
Rico stepped closer.
“What did you plan?”
“Nico told me Elena was going to be taken.”
“And?”
“I wanted to scare her.”
“By what?”
“Being there.”
“Why?”
“So she would understand.”
“Understand what?”
“That your life would destroy her.”
Rico stared in disbelief.
“You were trying to prove my life was dangerous by joining a kidnapping?”
“I didn’t know anyone would shoot.”
“But they did.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
Camilla began sobbing.
“Nico panicked.”
“Then you burned the car.”
“She was dying.”
“She was alive.”
Camilla looked away.
“She was dying.”
Rico’s voice lowered.
“My son was there.”
“Nico took him out.”
“Before or after you poured gasoline through the window?”
Camilla covered her mouth.
Rico turned away because for the first time in years he was afraid of himself.
He could order her death.
One sentence.
Nobody outside the family would ever find her.
Old Rico would have done it.
The man who spent six months answering blood with blood.
Then he thought of Leo screaming when Dante reached for him.
A child learning that force was how adults solved pain.
Rico looked back at Camilla.
“You’re going to the police.”
She stared.
Then laughed.
Actually laughed.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“You’re turning me over?”
“Yes.”
“You are Rico Moretti.”
“I know.”
“You don’t use police.”
“Today I do.”
Her face changed.
“What happened to you?”
Rico looked toward the ceiling.
His son was upstairs.
Clara with him.
“What should have happened six months ago.”
Camilla stared.
Rico continued.
“I should have wanted truth more than revenge.”
Sirens sounded outside.
Camilla’s face drained.
“You called them already.”
“Yes.”
She moved toward him.
“Rico, please.”
He stepped away.
“You didn’t give Elena that.”
The police arrived with an organized-crime detective Rico knew but did not trust.
Today, trust wasn’t necessary.
Evidence was.
Sofia had agreed to cooperate.
Traffic footage existed.
Clara would give a statement.
Nico was still missing.
Camilla was taken out through the side entrance.
She screamed Rico’s name once.
Leo heard it upstairs.
He stiffened.
Clara crouched beside him.
“Loud noise.”
He nodded.
“You’re safe.”
Leo looked toward the door.
“Papa?”
“Papa’s downstairs.”
The boy thought.
Then whispered:
“Papa mad.”
Clara smiled sadly.
“Probably.”
Leo shook his head.
“No gun.”
Clara froze.
“What?”
Leo touched his own chest.
“Papa gun.”
She looked toward the stairs.
Three years old.
And he already knew what his father did when angry.
That night, Clara found Rico alone in his study.
A pistol lay on the desk.
Not in his hand.
That mattered.
She stood at the door.
“Leo asked if you used your gun.”
Rico looked up.
“What did you tell him?”
“That I didn’t know.”
“You know now.”
Clara looked at the weapon.
“No?”
“No.”
He pushed it farther away.
She entered.
“Camilla confessed?”
“Enough.”
“And Nico?”
“Missing.”
“Do you think he’ll come after me?”
Rico didn’t lie.
“Yes.”
Clara absorbed that.
“Wonderful.”
“He knows you can identify the event.”
“I barely saw him.”
“You can connect him.”
She sat.
Rico looked exhausted.
Less mafia boss.
More thirty-two-year-old father who hadn’t slept.
Clara asked:
“What happens when you find him?”
Rico’s eyes went to the pistol.
Then away.
“I don’t know.”
“That scares me.”
“It scares me too.”
She had not expected that answer.
Rico continued.
“Six months ago, I would have known.”
“What would you have done?”
He looked directly at her.
“Killed him.”
Clara said nothing.
“And now?”
Rico thought of Leo.
“I want my son to stop thinking angry men always reach for weapons.”
For the first time, Clara saw not weakness in him.
Possibility.
Then the security alarm sounded.
Three short bursts.
Rico stood.
Dante’s voice came through the intercom.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We have a breach at the east gate.”
Rico’s hand went toward the pistol.
Then stopped.
“Who?”
Dante’s answer came immediately.
“Nico Bellandi.”
Clara went cold.
Rico looked at her.
Dante continued:
May you like
“And he says he has Detective Delaney with him.”
The detective Clara had believed dead for three months.
