Chapter 8 - UNDER MY PROTECTION
“I think he left it with Mia.”
Elena’s first response was not fear.
It was anger.
“No.”
Victor stepped back.
“I didn’t mean—”
“She is seven.”
“I know.”
“You people keep saying Marco protected us while somehow every secret ends up tied to my daughter.”
Dante intervened.
“Victor is guessing.”
“Then tell him to stop.”
Victor nodded immediately.
“You’re right.”
Elena looked at Dante.
“We are going back to Mia.”
“Yes.”
No argument.
They returned to Lunetta.
Mia was asleep sideways across Rosa’s bed with one sock missing.
Elena stood in the doorway for a long time.
This child had already learned to lie about hunger.
She would not learn to live afraid of adults’ secrets too.
Dante remained in the hall.
“Elena.”
She turned.
“I need to tell you something before tomorrow.”
“What happens tomorrow?”
“The Moretti foundation dinner.”
“I don’t care about a dinner.”
“The Russos will be there.”
Her stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“Because Daniel requested a meeting after learning I found you.”
“How did he learn?”
“Enzo told him.”
Elena looked past Dante.
Enzo stood at the far end of the corridor.
At least he had the decency to look ashamed.
Dante continued.
“Daniel says someone else has been asking about Marco’s widow.”
“Who?”
“He won’t say unless we meet in person.”
“Convenient.”
“I agree.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you and Mia somewhere nobody can pretend they don’t know you’re protected.”
Elena’s expression hardened.
“There’s that word again.”
Dante understood.
“Then choose another.”
“Safe.”
“Fine.”
“Not owned.”
His face changed.
“Never.”
Elena crossed her arms.
“The title you people use. ‘Under my name.’ ‘Mine to protect.’ Whatever it is.”
Dante looked directly at her.
“If I say publicly that you and Mia are under Moretti protection, it tells anyone connected to this that approaching you creates a problem with me.”
“And what does it tell Mia?”
He had no answer.
“That powerful men get to claim women because they’re frightened?”
“No.”
“Then don’t.”
Dante nodded.
“All right.”
She hadn’t expected agreement so quickly.
“What will you say?”
“That Marco Bellandi was my brother.”
Elena stared.
“And?”
“That his wife and daughter are guests of my family by their choice.”
“By their choice.”
“Yes.”
“And if I walk out afterward?”
“I have the car brought around.”
Something inside her softened despite herself.
“Marco really loved you.”
Dante’s eyes dropped.
“I loved him too.”
The next night, Elena entered the Moretti foundation dinner wearing a navy dress Rosa borrowed from a friend.
No jewelry except Marco’s locket.
Mia wore yellow.
She had insisted.
“My raincoat is yellow.”
“That doesn’t mean every piece of clothing has to be.”
“Yes, it does.”
Dante had laughed when he heard.
Now three hundred people watched them enter beside him.
The difference from Lunetta only days earlier was almost painful.
No hostess looked at Elena’s coat.
No one pretended not to see her.
Dante stepped to the microphone before dinner.
He didn’t announce money.
He didn’t announce enemies.
He simply said:
“Marco Bellandi was raised in my home. He was my brother in every way that mattered. For years, my family allowed his name to carry accusations that were not true.”
The room changed.
Elena’s throat tightened.
Dante continued.
“His wife, Elena, and his daughter, Mia, are here tonight because they chose to be. They owe my family nothing.”
Elena looked at him.
He had remembered every word.
“If anyone has business concerning Marco Bellandi, bring it to me. Leave his family out of it.”
Not mine.
Not claimed.
His family.
Marco’s.
It mattered.
Afterward, Daniel Russo approached openly.
No shadowed corridor.
No bodyguards closing in.
He was about Dante’s age, neatly dressed, tired-looking.
He stopped several feet from Elena.
“Mrs. Bellandi.”
“Elena.”
He nodded.
“Marco spoke about you.”
“Apparently everybody knew more about my marriage than I did.”
Daniel almost smiled.
“He spoke about you. Not his work.”
That distinction helped.
He looked at Mia.
“And this is Mia.”
Mia hid behind Elena.
Daniel didn’t approach.
“He showed me a photograph once.”
Elena touched Marco’s locket.
“Why were you asking about us?”
“I wasn’t.”
Dante frowned.
“You told me someone was.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Daniel looked toward the room.
“Victor Salvi.”
Elena went still.
Victor was twenty feet away speaking to Enzo.
“No.”
Daniel’s expression remained calm.
“He contacted two former Russo employees asking whether Marco gave us anything before he died.”
Dante said, “Victor has been helping us.”
“I know.”
“Then why search separately?”
Daniel looked at Elena.
“That is what I thought you should ask.”
Dante started toward Victor.
Elena caught his sleeve.
“No scenes.”
He looked at her hand.
Then at her.
“All right.”
They brought Victor into a private library.
Enzo came too.
Victor didn’t deny it.
“Yes. I asked.”
“Why?” Elena demanded.
“Because Margaret left me something before she died.”
He removed a small photograph from his wallet.
His sister stood outside a school with three children.
One was a boy.
The other two were girls.
On the back:
THE SHARES WERE NEVER FOR US.
Dante frowned.
“What shares?”
“The employee trust shares.”
Victor swallowed.
“My sister discovered Salvatore had been using payroll deductions to buy ownership in Moretti companies.”
“For himself?”
“No.”
“For whom?”
Victor looked at Elena.
“The workers.”
Silence.
Enzo stared at him.
“What?”
“Salvatore was building an employee ownership trust.”
Dante looked genuinely shocked.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It does if you remember the strike.”
Victor pointed toward the ballroom.
“Salvatore realized the company would eventually tear itself apart if workers owned nothing and risked everything.”
Elena thought of Enzo describing him as a man willing to steal from a relief fund.
People were rarely only one thing.
Victor continued.
“He began moving shares into employee names quietly.”
“Why quietly?”
“Because the older Moretti partners would have stopped him.”
“What happened?”
“When Salvatore became ill, someone began transferring those shares back out.”
“Who?”
“That’s what Marco discovered.”
Dante’s expression hardened.
“The last account.”
“Yes.”
“Ownership.”
“Yes.”
Elena whispered, “And you thought he left the proof with Mia.”
Victor looked ashamed.
“I thought he might have hidden the beneficiary list in something meant for her.”
Mia’s yellow dress.
Her medal.
Her bracelet.
The blue book.
Elena suddenly remembered one object nobody had examined.
“Her stuffed rabbit.”
Everyone looked at her.
“What?” Dante asked.
“Marco bought Mia a stuffed rabbit the week before he died. It has one ear stitched differently.”
They went upstairs immediately.
Rosa found the rabbit beneath Mia’s blanket.
Mia protested when Elena examined it.
“Bunny’s fine.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
Elena touched the left ear.
Hand stitching.
Marco’s clumsy work.
She opened three threads.
Inside was not a list.
Not money.
A small brass shipping tag.
Stamped with one word.
BELLANDI.
On the back:
EMPLOYEE TRUST — 12%.
Dante stared.
Twelve percent of Moretti Holdings.
Enough to change control.
Mia hugged the rabbit.
“Is Daddy’s thing bad?”
Elena kissed her forehead.
“No.”
Dante looked at the brass tag.
“Marco put the employee trust under his name temporarily.”
Victor nodded slowly.
“To keep someone from taking it.”
Enzo whispered, “Then legally everyone thought Marco stole company ownership.”
Elena finally understood the accusation.
Marco hadn’t run with Moretti money.
He had moved twelve percent of the company into his own name to stop someone else from stealing it.
Dante looked at Victor.
“Who was transferring the shares out?”
Victor’s face changed.
“I never knew.”
Then Daniel Russo, who had followed them upstairs, spoke from the doorway.
“I do.”
Everyone turned.
He looked at Enzo.
“So do you.”
Enzo’s face went white.
Dante stared at his uncle.
“Who?”
Enzo slowly sat down.
“My brother.”
Dante frowned.
“My father?”
“No.”
Enzo looked at him.
“Paolo.”
Adrian’s father.
Dante’s uncle.
Dead for twenty years.
Dante’s expression hardened.
“That’s impossible.”
Enzo shook his head.
“Paolo started it before he died.”
“Then who continued after?”
Enzo looked toward Victor.
Nobody spoke.
Victor’s face collapsed.
Dante whispered his name.
Victor closed his eyes.
And when he opened them, the man who had helped search for the truth for four days finally stopped pretending.
May you like
“I did.”
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