Chapter 5 - The Recording of Alessandro's Murder
"No."
The word left my mouth before I understood it.
"My brother is alive."
Father Tomas looked confused.
"Not Luca."
I stared.
"Then who?"
He swallowed.
"Marco Rossi was your father's brother."
My body went cold.
I had heard that name once.
Maybe twice.
Uncle Marco.
The brother nobody discussed.
My father had told us Marco disappeared before I was born.
Family argument.
Left New York.
Never came back.
Father Tomas gripped the pew.
"He didn't disappear."
Alessandro moved beside me.
"You knew him?"
The priest nodded.
"Marco worked for the Ducas."
I looked at Alessandro.
"Did you know?"
"No."
That answer came immediately.
Father Tomas continued.
"Marco became an informant."
"For police?" I asked.
"Federal investigators."
Alessandro's expression sharpened.
"Against my father?"
"Against both families."
The truth began assembling itself in ugly pieces.
Marco Rossi.
My father's brother.
A confidential informant.
Connected to the Duca and Moretti organizations.
A man whose identity had been erased.
A burned body placed inside Alessandro's car.
My stomach twisted.
"They killed him and used his body to fake Alessandro's death?"
Father Tomas shook his head.
"Not exactly."
Salvatore shouted from where agents held him.
"That priest is lying."
Father Tomas looked toward him.
"No, Salvatore. I've lied for you long enough."
The old priest sat down heavily.
"Marco was already dying."
I stared.
"What?"
"Cancer."
He rubbed his face.
"Advanced. He had weeks."
Alessandro listened carefully.
"Then why was he at the warehouse?"
"Because he contacted Salvatore."
Salvatore stopped struggling.
Father Tomas continued.
"Marco had spent twenty-seven years gathering evidence against men in both organizations. He knew he wouldn't live long enough to testify. He offered Salvatore the archive."
"In exchange for what?" Alessandro asked.
"Protection for Elena's family."
My breath stopped.
"For us?"
Father Tomas looked at me.
"Your father had died. Marco knew you were involved with Alessandro. He believed the war between the families would eventually reach you."
I couldn't speak.
"So he tried to buy our safety."
"Yes."
"With evidence."
"Yes."
Alessandro's expression darkened.
"Salvatore never intended to honor it."
"No."
Father Tomas looked at him.
"He planned to kill Marco, kill you, burn both bodies, and destroy the archive."
"But Alessandro survived."
"Because Carlo changed the plan."
Everyone looked at Carlo.
He stood several feet away with one FBI agent.
Carlo spoke quietly.
"I learned Salvatore had ordered an ambush."
"Why didn't you warn Alessandro?" I demanded.
"I did."
Alessandro shook his head.
"Not enough."
Carlo closed his eyes briefly.
"I didn't know the location until minutes before."
He looked at me.
"When I arrived, the warehouse was burning. Alessandro was outside. Injured. Marco was inside."
"Alive?"
"For a few minutes."
My throat tightened.
Carlo continued.
"Marco made me promise two things."
"What?"
"Hide Alessandro."
"And?"
Carlo looked at me.
"Keep you away from the truth until we knew who else was compromised."
I laughed through tears.
"So every man in my life decided what I was allowed to know."
No one answered.
That silence was answer enough.
Alessandro stepped toward me.
"Elena—"
"Not now."
He stopped.
Federal agents moved Salvatore and Vittorio into separate areas.
The wedding had become a crime scene.
My mother sat with Luca near the side chapel.
I wanted to go to them.
Instead Father Tomas said, "There is more."
Of course there was.
There was always more.
"What?"
"Marco gave me the original recorder."
"The one in the coffin."
"Yes."
"Why bury it?"
"Because Salvatore searched the church, my rectory, my car. He had men watching me."
The priest's hands trembled.
"The burial was the only place I knew they would never search."
Alessandro looked toward me.
"Your grave visits."
I understood.
Every Sunday.
For two years.
I had sat feet above the evidence.
"Why didn't you retrieve it?"
Father Tomas looked ashamed.
"Because someone else knew it was there."
Alessandro's face hardened.
"Who?"
"I never learned his name."
The old priest reached inside his robe.
He removed a yellowed envelope.
"Marco wrote this before he died."
My name was on the front.
ELENA.
I opened it.
The handwriting was shaky.
Elena,
You do not know me except as the uncle who disappeared. Your father believed I abandoned him. It was safer that way.
If you are reading this, my last attempt to end what our families began has failed.
There is one thing you must understand.
The Ducas and Morettis were not always enemies.
They were partners.
And the man who made them enemies is still alive.
I stopped.
Alessandro leaned closer.
I continued.
He is the one who ordered your father's death.
My vision blurred.
My father had supposedly died in a construction accident eight years earlier.
I looked at Father Tomas.
"My father's death wasn't an accident?"
"No."
My legs almost failed.
Alessandro caught my elbow.
I didn't pull away this time.
"Who?" I whispered.
Father Tomas shook his head.
"The rest is on the recording."
The FBI obtained an emergency order that afternoon.
By evening, Saint Gabriel Cemetery was sealed.
I stood behind a line of temporary fencing while investigators reopened the grave I had visited every Sunday.
Alessandro stood beside me.
Neither of us spoke.
At 8:17 p.m., the coffin came up.
The sight broke something inside me.
That box had carried two years of my grief.
Now it was evidence.
Technicians opened it beneath a tent.
Inside were remains.
Not Alessandro.
Marco.
My uncle.
A forensic specialist removed a sealed metal capsule hidden beneath the interior lining.
Inside:
A second recorder.
A flash drive.
Three photographs.
And a list of names.
The FBI took everything.
At headquarters in Manhattan, we listened.
Marco's voice.
Weak.
Breathing hard.
Then Salvatore.
Then Vittorio.
Then another man.
A voice I had heard countless times growing up.
My blood turned to ice.
The recording said:
"Once Alessandro and Marco are gone, Elena becomes the bridge. Moretti marries her, takes Duca's legitimate holdings, and we finish what we started with her father."
I whispered, "No."
Alessandro stared at the recorder.
The voice continued.
"Antonio Rossi should have kept his mouth shut."
My father's name.
Then Salvatore:
"You handled Antonio."
The third man laughed softly.
"He never saw the truck coming."
I stood so quickly my chair crashed backward.
I knew that laugh.
I knew the voice.
The FBI agent stopped the audio.
"Ms. Rossi?"
I couldn't breathe.
Alessandro rose.
"Elena."
I backed away.
"No."
The voice belonged to the man who had attended every birthday after my father's death.
The man who had walked my mother into church that afternoon because my father couldn't.
The man who had called me his second daughter.
The man who had told me Alessandro was dangerous.
My godfather.
Dominic Bellini.
An agent entered the room holding a phone.
"We have a problem."
Alessandro turned.
"What?"
May you like
The agent looked directly at me.
"Dominic Bellini just took your mother."
