Chapter 6 - WHAT ANTONIO MORETTI HID
Luca did not accuse his father of murder.
Not immediately.
That was almost worse.
He simply sat across from Teresa and asked questions.
Precise.
Cold.
One after another.
“Where was the blood?”
“His sleeve.”
“Fresh?”
“I think so.”
“How much?”
“Not much.”
“Did he explain it?”
“No.”
“Did you ask?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“That it wasn’t his.”
Luca leaned back.
“And you believed him?”
Teresa closed her eyes.
“I wanted to.”
“What else did he say?”
“He asked if Elena had come to see me that week.”
“And?”
“I lied.”
Luca’s face tightened.
“I said no.”
“Why?”
“Because she had asked me not to tell him.”
“Why?”
“Because they had been fighting.”
“About Richard?”
“Yes.”
Luca walked to the window.
“So my mother didn’t trust my father.”
Teresa’s voice softened.
“She loved him.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No.”
Teresa wiped her eyes.
“She did not trust what fear was making him do.”
Luca looked back.
“What was he afraid of?”
“Losing the company.”
Patrick spoke from behind us.
“And losing you.”
Everyone turned.
Luca stared at him.
“Explain.”
Patrick sat down.
For the first time since the engagement dinner, he stopped protecting Antonio Moretti.
“Bellini money funded nearly half of your father’s first trucking operation.”
“How much?”
“In today’s dollars?”
Patrick hesitated.
“Maybe twelve million.”
“And it was illegal?”
“Some of it almost certainly came from bookmaking and protection money.”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
“Did my father know?”
“At first?”
“Yes.”
Teresa closed her eyes.
Luca continued.
“How long?”
“Two years.”
“And then?”
“Antonio wanted out.”
“Bellini didn’t.”
“No.”
“So Richard helped.”
Patrick nodded.
“Richard was young. Smart. He created new entities, refinanced trucks, moved legitimate revenue into clean companies.”
“He laundered the company.”
“In effect.”
Luca laughed once.
“My father spent thirty years pretending Moretti Holdings was born clean.”
Patrick looked ashamed.
“He spent thirty years trying to make it clean.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No.”
I watched Luca.
This was bigger than Vanessa now.
Bigger than Caruso’s.
The man he had built his identity around was changing in front of him.
Not becoming evil.
Becoming human.
Flawed.
Afraid.
Capable of compromise.
Maybe Luca hated that more.
Patrick continued.
“Richard kept copies of everything.”
“For blackmail.”
“Insurance.”
“Same thing.”
“Yes.”
“And my mother discovered he was stealing.”
“Yes.”
“From my father?”
“From everyone.”
“How much?”
“Millions.”
“So she wanted him exposed.”
“Yes.”
“And my father refused because Richard could expose the Bellini money.”
“Yes.”
Luca stared at the floor.
“My mother was protecting the company from Richard.”
Patrick shook his head.
“No.”
Luca looked up.
Patrick’s voice softened.
“She was protecting you from becoming the kind of man who believed the company mattered more than the truth.”
No one spoke.
That line hurt.
I saw it.
Then Luca looked at Teresa.
“Why was there blood on my father?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he ever tell you?”
“No.”
“Did he return?”
“The next morning.”
“What happened?”
“He looked worse.”
“And?”
“He gave my husband an envelope.”
“What was inside?”
“I never knew.”
“Where is it?”
“My husband died eleven years ago.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Teresa looked toward the restaurant ceiling.
“Maybe still upstairs.”
Caruso’s had an apartment above the dining room.
Teresa had lived there with her husband for decades.
We searched.
Old tax records.
Photographs.
Christmas cards.
Boxes of recipes.
Finally Teresa found an envelope behind the backing of an old framed wedding photograph.
Antonio Moretti’s handwriting.
FOR MICHAEL CARUSO ONLY.
Teresa stared.
“He never told me.”
Inside was a handwritten statement.
Dated April 21, 1995.
Luca read aloud.
“Michael, if anything happens to me, Walter Reed knows what was wrong with the furnace.”
My heart stopped.
“Walter Reed?”
Luca looked at me.
“My grandfather.”
Teresa covered her mouth.
The statement continued.
“Walter inspected the house before Elena died. Richard sent him.”
I could barely breathe.
My father had never once told me Grandpa Walter knew the Morettis.
Luca kept reading.
“Walter believes the exhaust vent was intentionally obstructed.”
Silence.
“Richard told him Antonio authorized the work.”
Luca’s hand began shaking.
Then the final lines.
“I did not.”
He stopped.
Read again.
“I did not authorize anything at Taylor Street.”
Below that:
“If Elena’s death was not an accident, Richard Hale knows why.”
The blood on Antonio’s shirt suddenly meant something else.
Not guilt.
Maybe a confrontation.
Daniel asked, “Did Antonio confront Richard that night?”
Patrick nodded slowly.
“I think so.”
“How?”
“I remember Richard came into the office two days later with stitches over his eyebrow.”
Teresa whispered, “The blood.”
Luca sat down.
His father had arrived at Caruso’s with someone else’s blood on his shirt because he had probably attacked Richard.
“Why didn’t he call police?” I asked.
Patrick looked at me.
“Because Richard showed him something.”
“What?”
“I never knew.”
Then my phone rang.
Dad.
I answered.
His speech was still slow after the stroke.
“Emma.”
“Dad?”
“Man… here.”
My stomach dropped.
“What man?”
“Asked… Walter.”
I stood.
“Where are you?”
“Clinic.”
Luca was already moving.
“Security is with him.”
I put the phone on speaker.
Dad continued.
“Man said… old debt.”
“What did he look like?”
My father struggled.
Then:
“Gray hair.”
Patrick whispered, “Richard?”
“No.”
Dad breathed heavily.
“Bellini.”
Everyone froze.
“How do you know that name?”
Silence.
Then my father said something I had never heard in twenty-seven years.
“Grandpa… worked for them.”
The room tilted.
My family was not simply connected to the Morettis.
Walter Reed had worked for the Bellinis too.
May you like
And before Dad could explain, somebody grabbed his phone.
The line went dead.
