Chapter 6 - The Dead Man at Union Station
We went to Union Station before sunrise.
Luca insisted my mother be moved to a private medical facility under another name.
For once, I did not argue.
Marisol volunteered to stay with her.
“I have the knife,” she reminded me.
“You are alarmingly proud of that.”
“I finally have a purpose.”
At 4:20 a.m., Luca, Salvatore, and I entered the lower concourse.
The city above us was still dark.
Salvatore led us through a maintenance corridor to a row of old storage compartments.
Locker 317.
Two locks.
Two keys.
Mine entered the upper lock.
Bianca’s key opened the lower.
Inside was a steel case.
Luca lifted it out.
We opened it on the floor.
There were no stacks of cash.
No guns.
No jewels.
Just paper.
Hundreds of pages.
And photographs.
My father had documented years of theft from legitimate Vericio businesses.
Money had been diverted into shell companies.
One name appeared repeatedly.
B. Vericio.
“Bruno,” I said.
Luca shook his head.
“Maybe.”
“You still doubt it?”
“I doubt anything designed to be discovered.”
Salvatore gave him an approving glance.
We continued.
Then I found a photograph dated 2 weeks before my father’s death.
My father stood outside a restaurant with Bruno Vericio.
Beside them was Bianca.
Pregnant.
I looked at Salvatore.
“She knew him.”
“Everyone knew Bruno.”
“Not like that.”
The photograph showed Bruno’s hand at Bianca’s waist.
Luca stared.
“Antonio believed the baby was his.”
“What baby?”
Salvatore’s face aged in seconds.
“Bianca gave birth after Antonio died.”
I had never seen a child in the mansion.
“What happened?”
“The baby supposedly died.”
Luca took the photograph.
“Supposedly?”
Salvatore looked deeply uncomfortable.
“Bianca left Chicago for several months. She returned alone.”
A noise came from the corridor.
Luca killed the flashlight.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Approaching.
A voice entered the darkness.
“I always wondered whether Matteo left enough clues for his daughter.”
Luca raised his gun.
A man stepped into the emergency light.
He looked around 60.
Silver hair.
Expensive coat.
A scar ran from his temple to his jaw.
Luca whispered, “Uncle.”
Bruno smiled.
“Hello, nephew.”
Salvatore raised his weapon.
“You should be dead.”
“I found death inconvenient.”
Bruno’s gaze moved to me.
“Rosalie Bellucci.”
I hated the way he said my name.
As though he had known me before I knew him.
“You killed my father.”
“Did Luca tell you that?”
“I’m asking you.”
“No.”
“Did you order the fire?”
“No.”
“Then why hide for 8 years?”
Bruno smiled.
“Because Luca’s father tried to kill me.”
Luca stepped forward.
“My father buried an empty coffin because you disappeared after murdering 3 people.”
“Your father buried an empty coffin because it was easier than admitting his brother knew what he had done.”
“What did he do?”
Bruno pointed toward the documents.
“Read carefully.”
I did.
One page contained payments authorized by V. Vericio.
Vittorio.
Luca’s father.
My stomach dropped.
“These transfers started before the fire.”
Luca took the page.
His expression did not change, but his hand tightened.
Bruno spoke softly.
“Matteo discovered Vittorio had been siphoning money from his own businesses to fund politicians, judges, police. Antonio Lazzeri helped him. Then Antonio became frightened and told Bianca.”
“Why would my father die for that?”
“Because Matteo wanted out.”
I looked at Salvatore.
He said nothing.
“Is that true?”
“Yes.”
Bruno smiled.
“Finally.”
Salvatore continued.
“But Vittorio agreed to let him leave.”
Bruno laughed.
“Of course you still defend him.”
Salvatore aimed his gun.
“And you still lie.”
The two old men stared at each other.
Then Luca asked the question that mattered.
“Why attack Rosalie’s house?”
Bruno’s smile disappeared.
“I didn’t.”
“Your man did.”
“Carlo Vane stopped working for me months ago.”
“Who does he work for?”
Bruno looked toward the photograph in my hand.
“Ask Bianca.”
I shook my head.
“She was being framed.”
“Was she?”
A train rumbled somewhere above.
Bruno stepped backward.
“Your father’s final recording is missing.”
I looked inside the case.
There was no recorder.
“Who has it?”
Bruno’s eyes met mine.
“The child everyone believes died.”
Then the lights went out.
Luca grabbed me.
A gunshot exploded.
By the time emergency lights returned, Bruno was gone.
Salvatore was on the floor.
Blood spread beneath his coat.
Luca knelt beside him.
“Salvatore.”
The old man opened his eyes.
“Not fatal.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I have been shot before.”
I pressed my hands against the wound.
Apparently all men associated with this family considered being shot a personality trait.
Salvatore looked at me.
“Rosalie.”
“Yes?”
“Find Gabriel.”
“Who?”
May you like
His face tightened with pain.
“Bianca’s son.”
