Chapter 4 - The Traitor Inside the Family
Rosa nearly dropped the phone.
“Salvatore, where are you?”
Static.
Then his voice.
“Not safe.”
“Who betrayed us?”
A pause.
“Someone close to Lucia.”
Dante moved closer.
“Put it on speaker.”
Rosa did.
“Salvatore,” Dante said.
Silence.
Then the old man replied.
“You sound like your father.”
“My father has been dead eleven years.”
“I know.”
“Where are you?”
“Watching.”
Dante’s expression hardened.
“For twenty-nine years?”
Rosa whispered, “Dante.”
“No.”
His voice rose only slightly.
“You disappear for nearly three decades while Rosa thinks you’re dead, while Elena grows up without answers, while my mother dies carrying secrets, and now you’re watching?”
Salvatore breathed heavily.
“You think I had a choice?”
“I think everyone claims they had no choice after somebody else pays the price.”
Isabella looked at him.
That sentence came from somewhere deep.
Salvatore said nothing.
Then Isabella stepped forward.
“Grandpa?”
The word felt strange.
The line went silent.
“Isabella?”
His voice broke.
She swallowed.
“Yes.”
“I heard your mother in your voice.”
Isabella’s anger surged.
“You don’t get to say that.”
Rosa touched her arm.
Isabella pulled away.
“You don’t get to disappear and then talk about Mom like you were there.”
“I loved her.”
“She died five years ago.”
“I know.”
“How?”
Silence.
“How did you know?”
“I watched the funeral.”
Rosa made a sound between a gasp and sob.
“You were there?”
“Across the street.”
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
“Because Carlo had people watching you.”
Dante asked, “If Carlo isn’t the traitor, why does he have my man?”
“Because Carlo is dangerous.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No. It’s a warning.”
“Who betrayed Lucia?”
Salvatore breathed.
“Her lawyer.”
Dante froze.
“Which lawyer?”
“Martin Bellini.”
Dante stepped back.
Father Gabriel crossed himself again.
Rosa whispered, “He’s still alive?”
“Very.”
Dante looked at Isabella.
“My family attorney.”
“Current?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Thirty-five years.”
Rosa stared at him.
“He handled Lucia’s estate.”
Dante’s face changed.
“And my father’s.”
Salvatore continued.
“Bellini created the charity accounts. He knew every transfer. Carlo stole, yes. But Bellini was the one feeding him information.”
“Why?”
“Because the money was never the real prize.”
“What was?”
“The property.”
Isabella frowned.
“What property?”
“Brooklyn waterfront. Warehouses. Apartment buildings. Development parcels. Your great-grandfather bought half of them through shell companies in the seventies.”
Dante understood instantly.
“Worth billions now.”
“Yes.”
“And Bellini controlled the documents.”
“Yes.”
“Carlo thought he was stealing cash.”
“He was helping Bellini erase ownership.”
Rosa whispered, “Salvatore found it.”
“I found enough.”
Dante asked, “Where is the rest?”
“Lucia hid it.”
“We know.”
“No.”
Salvatore’s voice sharpened.
“You know about the copies. You don’t know what she hid at Romano’s.”
Isabella looked toward Dante.
“Table six.”
Salvatore heard.
“Yes.”
“What’s there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how do you know it exists?”
“Lucia told me the night before I disappeared.”
Rosa began crying harder.
“Why didn’t you trust me?”
“I trusted you enough to stay away.”
“That wasn’t trust. That was cruelty.”
“I know.”
Silence.
Then Salvatore said, “I’m sorry.”
Rosa covered her mouth.
Twenty-nine years collapsed into those two words.
Dante interrupted.
“Carlo wants Rosa’s box.”
“He thinks it contains the deeds.”
“It doesn’t.”
“No.”
“Then what does Bellini think?”
A long pause.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether Bellini knows Isabella exists.”
Everyone looked at her.
Isabella whispered, “He knows.”
“How?”
“The men followed me.”
Salvatore cursed.
“Then you have hours.”
“Until what?”
“Until Bellini moves the assets.”
Dante looked at the clock.
“Carlo gave me until midnight.”
“Carlo is baiting you away.”
“From where?”
“Romano’s.”
Isabella’s stomach dropped.
Table six.
They moved before nine.
Dante insisted Isabella remain behind.
She ignored him.
He insisted again.
She put on her coat.
“Do you understand what danger means?” he asked.
“Yes. Do you understand this is my family too?”
The word family stopped him.
Neither had adjusted to it.
Uncle.
Niece.
Their lives had changed in twelve hours.
Finally Dante nodded.
“Stay beside me.”
“Don’t order me around.”
“Get used to being disappointed.”
She almost laughed.
Almost.
Romano’s was closed when they arrived.
Tony, the manager, opened the back door in pajamas under his coat.
“What is happening?”
Dante asked, “Who owns this building?”
Tony blinked.
“My landlord?”
“Name.”
“Bellini Holdings.”
Everyone went silent.
Isabella stared at Dante.
Martin Bellini.
Tony noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Isabella said.
They entered.
Table six looked ordinary.
White cloth.
Four chairs.
Candleholder.
Dante removed everything.
Nothing.
Isabella knelt.
The floor beneath the table was old hardwood.
One board had a darker nail.
She pressed it.
Nothing.
Dante crouched beside her.
“What are you looking for?”
“My grandmother taught me something when I was little.”
“What?”
“Old Sicilians never hide valuables where thieves search.”
“Where do thieves search?”
“Walls. Safes. Mattresses.”
“So?”
“They hide things where people are too busy to notice.”
She ran her hand beneath the table.
Tape.
She pulled.
A tiny brass key fell into her palm.
Dante looked at her.
“Busy enough.”
The key carried the crescent-and-lion crest.
They searched nearby.
No lock.
Then Isabella noticed the wine cabinet.
Six compartments.
Each numbered.
She opened number six.
At the back was a keyhole.
The brass key fit.
A hidden panel released.
Inside sat a metal document case.
Dante lifted it.
No one spoke.
The case had Lucia Moretti’s initials.
L.M.
Dante’s hands shook as he opened it.
Inside were property deeds.
Trust documents.
Photographs.
Cassette tapes.
And a sealed envelope addressed:
TO MY CHILDREN.
DANTE.
ELENA.
Dante stared.
Isabella touched his arm.
“Open it.”
He did.
The letter was six pages.
Lucia wrote the truth.
Elena was her daughter.
Rosa had protected her.
Dante had a sister.
Bellini and Carlo had stolen from the family fund.
But only Bellini knew the location of the original deeds.
Lucia had placed them into a trust.
The beneficiaries were her children.
Dante and Elena.
If one died, the share passed to their descendants.
Isabella.
Half the waterfront empire belonged legally to her.
She stared at the document.
“No.”
Dante examined the signature.
“It’s real.”
“I don’t want it.”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“It isn’t.”
His phone rang.
Carlo.
Dante answered.
“Midnight,” Carlo said.
“You won’t get the box.”
“I don’t need the box anymore.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“Because Bellini knows about the restaurant.”
Everyone froze.
Dante looked at the hidden compartment.
Carlo laughed.
“You’re late.”
The restaurant lights died.
Tony cursed.
Footsteps moved in the kitchen.
Dante pulled Isabella behind him.
His men drew weapons.
A side door slammed.
Someone ran.
“Stay here,” Dante said.
He followed.
Isabella ignored him again.
They reached the alley.
Empty.
Then smoke appeared inside the restaurant.
“Fire!”
Tony shouted.
Flames climbed from the kitchen.
Dante grabbed the metal case.
Everyone ran outside.
Within minutes, fire swallowed the back room.
Sirens approached.
Isabella stood across the street watching her workplace burn.
Dante held Lucia’s documents under his arm.
His phone buzzed.
A video.
Martin Bellini appeared on screen.
Elegant.
Silver-haired.
Smiling.
Behind him sat Salvatore Romano.
Alive.
Tied to a chair.
Bellini leaned toward the camera.
“Good evening, Isabella.”
She stopped breathing.
Bellini placed a document on the table.
“I believe you have something that belongs to me.”
Then Salvatore lifted his head.
May you like
And whispered one word.
“Run.”
