Chapter 2 - THE THREE MEN WHO ALREADY KNEW
Matteo Bellini did not look at Bianca.
He looked at the three captains standing behind him.
That frightened me more.
Because all three men had reacted before Carlo Ricci finished speaking.
Enzo Bellini, Matteo’s cousin and head of trucking, had lowered his eyes.
Dominic Greco, who controlled two warehouses near Red Hook, had stopped breathing for half a second.
And Peter Salerno, the oldest captain in the room, had quietly removed his glasses.
Matteo noticed all of it.
“You knew.”
Nobody answered.
His voice remained calm.
That was apparently worse.
“Which one of you wants to tell me why my fiancée’s father is discussing the future of Pier Twelve as though I already gave it to him?”
Enzo spoke first.
“We knew Russo expected a concession after the wedding.”
“A concession.”
“Yes.”
Matteo glanced at the wedding invitation on the table.
“Pier Twelve is a concession now?”
Enzo’s jaw tightened.
“We were told you had agreed to shared oversight.”
“By whom?”
Silence.
Bianca stepped forward.
“Matteo, this is being made to look worse than it is.”
He turned toward her.
“You knew the interpreter was changing Ricci’s words.”
“No.”
“You told him to make me agree tonight.”
“I told him to help the meeting reach an agreement.”
“That isn’t what Sofia heard.”
Every face turned toward me.
I wished the marble floor would open.
Bianca folded her arms.
“You’re trusting a maid over the woman you’re supposed to marry.”
Matteo’s expression did not change.
“I’m trusting the person who translated the sentence correctly.”
The words landed harder than shouting.
Carlo Ricci leaned back.
For the first time that night, he almost looked entertained.
Then Matteo pointed toward the interpreter.
“What’s your name?”
“Paolo Baresi.”
“Who hired you?”
Paolo swallowed.
“The club arranged it.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Dominic Greco shifted.
Matteo saw him.
“Dominic?”
Dominic rubbed his thumb across his wedding ring.
“I recommended him.”
Bianca’s face changed.
Just slightly.
Matteo noticed that too.
“Why?”
“Because we needed somebody both families would accept.”
“You’ve known this man before tonight?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Years.”
Matteo walked slowly around the table.
Nobody moved.
“My own people chose the interpreter. The interpreter changes the language. My future father-in-law expects control of my pier. My fiancée tells a maid to stay quiet when she catches it.”
He stopped beside Dominic.
“And somehow I’m the only person in this room hearing the plan for the first time.”
Dominic looked ashamed.
“We thought you knew.”
“Who told you that?”
Enzo answered.
“Gabriel.”
That name changed Matteo.
Not dramatically.
His shoulders simply became still.
Gabriel Bellini was Matteo’s uncle.
More importantly, he was his consigliere.
He had advised Matteo’s father before him.
At Bellini House, even captains lowered their voices when Gabriel entered a room.
Matteo stared at Enzo.
“My uncle told you I approved this?”
“He said discussions were already underway.”
Peter Salerno finally spoke.
“He said Russo control would be limited. Mostly ceremonial. Something to keep Aldo satisfied until the marriage joined the families.”
Carlo Ricci gave a humorless laugh.
“Nothing involving Aldo Russo is ceremonial.”
Bianca glared at him.
“Stay out of this.”
Carlo lifted both hands.
“This started because your father put his hands into a negotiation between my family and his.”
Matteo looked at Paolo.
“Did Gabriel tell you to change the translation?”
Paolo looked toward the doorway.
I followed his eyes.
An older man stood there.
Gray hair.
Dark suit.
Silver-headed cane he didn’t actually need but carried because it had belonged to Matteo’s grandfather.
Gabriel Bellini.
Nobody had heard him arrive.
“Answer him,” Gabriel said.
Paolo looked miserable.
“No.”
Matteo’s gaze moved to his uncle.
Gabriel walked into the library.
“No games,” Matteo said. “Did you know Russo expected Pier Twelve after the wedding?”
“Yes.”
Bianca closed her eyes.
Enzo looked relieved that the burden had moved to someone else.
Matteo did not.
“And you decided I didn’t need to know?”
“I decided you didn’t need another reason to reject the marriage.”
My stomach tightened.
Matteo’s face hardened.
“You arranged my marriage.”
“No. You chose Bianca.”
“And you negotiated the price behind my back.”
Gabriel rested both hands on his cane.
“I negotiated stability.”
“For whom?”
“For this family.”
Matteo laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“Then maybe somebody should explain why stability requires people lying to me in two languages.”
Nobody answered.
Gabriel looked toward me.
His attention was different from Bianca’s.
Not contempt.
Recognition.
“You’re Marino’s girl.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Your father was Lorenzo Marino.”
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Matteo looked at me.
“You know her father?”
Gabriel did not answer immediately.
I did.
“My father owned a bakery.”
“Later,” Gabriel said.
A cold feeling moved through me.
“Later than what?”
Gabriel looked at the watch on his wrist.
Old.
Steel.
Square-faced.
A thin scratch crossed the glass near the number seven.
I knew that scratch.
I had seen it every Sunday morning when I was a child.
My father used to place that watch beside the bread mixer so flour would not get into the band.
I took one step forward.
“That watch.”
Gabriel looked down.
My voice shook.
“That belonged to my father.”
The entire room went quiet again.
Gabriel’s expression changed.
For the first time, the most composed man in the Bellini family looked tired.
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“My father told me he lost it.”
“He didn’t.”
“Then why do you have it?”
Gabriel slowly unfastened the watch.
Matteo watched his uncle closely.
Bianca forgot to look angry.
Even Carlo Ricci sat forward.
Gabriel held the watch in his palm.
“Because fifteen years ago, your father handed it to me at Pier Twelve and told me he was finished translating for men who heard whatever they wanted to hear.”
I could barely breathe.
“My father never worked at the docks.”
Gabriel’s eyes met mine.
“Yes, Sofia.”
He placed the watch on the table.
“He did.”
Then he looked at Matteo.
“And the last time somebody deliberately mistranslated an agreement at Pier Twelve, Lorenzo Marino was the man who stopped it.”
Matteo stared at the watch.
“Who was the interpreter?”
Gabriel’s face became grim.
“Aldo Russo.”
Bianca’s father.
And suddenly, the lie we had uncovered that night did not look new at all.
May you like
It looked fifteen years old.
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