Chapter 5 - LOCKER 314
Luca’s father had died fourteen years earlier.
I knew that much.
Even people outside his world knew.
Giuseppe Moretti had suffered what newspapers called a fatal cardiac event after a private Christmas Eve dinner.
No arrests.
No scandal.
No public suspicion.
Now Luca stared at Vittorio Bellini as though the floor had shifted under him.
“My father wasn’t murdered.”
Vittorio looked exhausted.
“That is what you were told.”
“By doctors.”
“Doctors signed what they were given.”
Luca stepped closer.
“How did he die?”
“I wasn’t there.”
“Then how do you know?”
Vittorio looked at the old restaurant receipt in Adrian’s hand.
“Because Maria was.”
Vanessa stared.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Caruso sat down again.
Vanessa looked at her.
“You knew.”
“I suspected.”
“Did everybody know things about my mother except me?”
Mrs. Caruso’s eyes filled.
“Your mother spent her life trying to keep you outside this.”
Vanessa laughed bitterly.
“That worked beautifully.”
Luca took the brass key back from Vittorio.
“We’re going to Union Station.”
Vittorio shook his head.
“The old lockers were removed years ago.”
“I know.”
That surprised me.
Luca looked at one of his men.
“Storage records.”
The guard nodded and left to make arrangements.
I thought of my father.
Alive.
At home.
Probably asleep in the recliner because lying flat made his shoulder ache.
“We should ask him.”
Luca looked at me.
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
“If he knows about my father’s death, I want to hear it.”
“So do I.”
Vanessa stepped forward.
“I’m coming.”
Luca’s gaze hardened.
“No.”
Her chin lifted.
“My mother is part of this.”
“You switched my plate and lied about why.”
“I switched it because I thought mine had been tampered with.”
“You could have warned me.”
Her face tightened.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
She looked ashamed.
“Because I thought whoever sent the photograph was testing me.”
“For what?”
“To see whether I would protect you.”
Luca stared.
Vanessa continued.
“The note that came with the photograph had another line.”
My stomach tightened.
“You didn’t show us everything?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it said, ‘If Luca eats first, you’ll finally know what your father chose.’”
Luca looked toward Vittorio.
Vanessa’s voice shook.
“I thought Dad had arranged some stupid loyalty test before our marriage.”
Vittorio looked genuinely offended.
“I would never risk his life.”
Vanessa laughed.
“You’ve lied about half our family history tonight. Forgive me if your standards are confusing.”
For the first time, I almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
She had humiliated me publicly.
That mattered.
But the woman standing before me now looked less like a villain and more like someone raised inside a house where information was rationed like medicine.
Luca said, “You should have told me.”
“I know.”
“Instead, you made a decision for me.”
Vanessa stared at him.
“You do that to everyone.”
The words landed hard.
Nobody spoke.
Luca’s expression darkened.
Then slowly changed.
Because she was right.
That realization did not repair anything between them.
But it stopped him from dismissing her.
An hour later, we were in a private records facility three blocks from Union Station.
The original lockers had been removed during renovations.
Their sealed contents had been transferred into numbered storage cages.
Locker 314 still existed on paper.
Nobody had claimed it in twenty-one years.
The clerk unlocked a narrow steel cage.
Inside sat one object.
A brown metal toolbox.
My father’s initials had been scratched into the lid.
T.R.
I touched them.
My eyes filled.
“I know this box.”
Luca stood beside me.
“You’re sure?”
“He used it until I was in high school.”
“Then why was it stored here?”
“He told us it had been stolen.”
I unlocked it with the brass key.
Inside were old elevator tools.
A wrench.
A voltage tester.
Leather gloves.
And beneath the removable tray, a flat black notebook.
Vittorio cursed softly.
The ledger.
I lifted it.
Luca did not reach for it.
That surprised me.
He let me open it first.
Most pages contained numbers.
Construction addresses.
Payments.
Initials.
But near the back, the handwriting changed.
My father’s.
DECEMBER 24.
GIUSEPPE SICK AFTER DINNER.
MARIA SAYS SAME SMELL AS HALSTED.
V.B. LEFT EARLY.
DO NOT TRUST THE MEDICAL REPORT.
My heartbeat quickened.
Vanessa covered her mouth.
Vittorio whispered, “Thomas thought I did it.”
“Did you?” Luca asked.
“No.”
“You left early.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Vittorio closed his eyes.
“Because Giuseppe confronted me about the money.”
Luca’s face hardened.
“So you had motive.”
“I had shame. There’s a difference.”
I continued reading.
The next line was underlined twice.
MARIA TOOK THE CUP.
ROSA SAW HER.
All eyes turned toward Mrs. Caruso.
She had insisted on coming.
Her face collapsed.
Luca’s voice dropped.
“You saw Vanessa’s mother take my father’s cup?”
Mrs. Caruso nodded.
“At the restaurant.”
“Take it where?”
“Into the service hallway.”
“And then?”
“She brought it back.”
Vanessa went white.
“No.”
Mrs. Caruso stood.
“Your mother did not poison Giuseppe.”
“How can you know?”
“Because she was trying to stop it.”
Luca’s head snapped toward her.
“Explain.”
“Maria saw someone near the table while Giuseppe was outside smoking. She thought something had been put into his coffee.”
“Who?”
“I never saw.”
“Then what did Maria do?”
“She carried the cup into the kitchen and poured it out.”
Vittorio frowned.
“Then why did Giuseppe die?”
Mrs. Caruso’s eyes moved to the ledger.
“Because that wasn’t the cup.”
Silence.
I looked down.
My father had written another line.
SECOND CUP BROUGHT FROM PRIVATE ROOM.
NOT ON CHECK.
Luca’s face changed.
“Private room?”
Mrs. Caruso whispered, “Your father met someone after dinner.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
I flipped another page.
A folded envelope fell out.
Inside was a photograph.
Christmas Eve.
Fourteen years ago.
Giuseppe Moretti stood near the rear entrance of the restaurant.
Beside him was my father.
Between them, mostly obscured by shadow, stood a third man.
I brought the image under the overhead light.
Luca leaned closer.
The third man wore a heavy overcoat.
Only half his face was visible.
Vittorio inhaled sharply.
Vanessa looked at him.
“You know him.”
Vittorio said nothing.
Luca’s patience snapped.
“Name him.”
Vittorio looked at Luca.
“Salvatore Caruso.”
We all turned toward Mrs. Caruso.
Her face went blank.
Luca stared at her.
May you like
“Your husband?”
Mrs. Caruso whispered, “He was supposed to be dead.”
