The Sins Of The Father

“Liar!”

Camille’s voice cracked violently, breaking the heavy silence.

She lunged forward, her hands slamming onto the dining table, rattling the crystal glasses.

“He’s lying, Dante! Your father is a monster! He’s trying to frame me!”

Dante didn’t look at her.

He stared at his father.

“If you knew she was driving, why didn’t you go to the police? Why let her walk free for six years? Why let me put a ring on her finger?”

Carmine picked up his scotch again.

“Because she wasn’t the one driving.”

The entire room stopped breathing.

Even Camille froze, her mouth slightly open.

Dante’s jaw clenched.

“You just said she dragged him out of the car.”

“She did,” Carmine said calmly. “She left him on the side of the road and walked away to hail a cab. I saw her do it. But Daniel didn’t get back into the driver’s seat. Someone else picked him up.”

Sarah took a shaky step forward.

Her face was the color of ash.

“Who?”

Carmine looked at Sarah.

There was no warmth in his eyes. Only a cold, calculated judgment.

“Why don’t you tell them, Sarah? Since you drove three hours to clear your conscience tonight.”

Every face in the room turned to the widow.

Sarah shrank back, wrapping her arms around her waist as if she were suddenly freezing.

“No. No, I wasn’t there. I was at home.”

“You were at the river,” Carmine said.

He reached into his pocket again and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper.

He opened it.

It was a child’s drawing. Crayon on construction paper. A picture of a house, a dog, and a little boy.

“I found this in Daniel’s jacket pocket at the morgue,” Carmine said.

“Daniel didn’t have a child. But he was planning to disappear with you to start a family, wasn’t he?”

Sarah’s eyes filled with tears.

“He wanted out, Dante,” she sobbed, finally looking at her brother-in-law.

“Daniel hated the business. He hated the blood. He knew Camille was working for your father’s rivals to trap him, and he was terrified. He called me from the road. He begged me to come pick him up.”

Dante’s voice was completely hollow.

“You picked him up?”

“I found him walking in the rain,” Sarah wept.

“He was freezing. He got into the passenger seat of my car. We were going to drive to the airport. We were going to leave Chicago forever.”

“Then why did his car crash?” Dante demanded.

Sarah shook her head violently.

“It wasn’t his car that crashed! It was mine! The police found Daniel in my dark blue sedan, but the newspapers reported it as his black coupe because your father paid the commissioner to change the report!”

Dante turned to Carmine.

“Why?”

“Because my son was running away like a coward,” Carmine spat, his composure finally breaking.

“Because he was going to abandon his blood! A Caruso does not run.”

“So you ran them off the road,” Dante realized, the horror dawning on his face.

“You chased them. You rammed Sarah’s car into that tree.”

Carmine didn’t deny it.

He just looked at Sarah.

“I thought they both died. When I realized she had crawled out of the wreckage and run into the woods, I let her go. I told her if she ever came back, I’d finish the job.”

Sarah wiped her face, her eyes flashing with a sudden, fierce defiance.

“And I stayed away. For five years, I stayed in the shadows. But I didn’t come back tonight for myself, Carmine. I came back because I’m tired of running.”

Sarah reached into her purse.

She didn’t pull out a weapon.

She pulled out a small, worn photograph.

She walked over and placed it on the table in front of Dante.

“I came back because Daniel didn’t die before he gave me the one thing your father couldn’t destroy.”

Dante looked down at the photograph.

It was a picture of a little boy.

About five years old. Dark hair. Sharp features.

He looked exactly like Daniel.

“He has a son,” Sarah whispered.