Chapter 12 - THE NAME GIOVANNI NEVER SAIDThe letter arrived on a Tuesday morning.
There was nothing threatening about it.
No black envelope.
No anonymous handwriting.
No armed messenger at the gate.
Just a certified envelope from a law firm in Hartford addressed to:
Giovanni Moretti. Personal and Confidential.
Nora almost placed it with the rest of his correspondence.
Then Giovanni saw the return address.
His spoon fell from his hand.
Nora froze.
“Giovanni?”
His breathing changed.
Lorenzo looked up from across the breakfast room.
“What happened?”
Giovanni pointed toward the envelope.
Once.
Again.
Nora brought it closer.
“Do you want me to open it?”
Two movements.
No.
Lorenzo approached.
“Me?”
Again.
No.
Giovanni’s finger moved toward his communication tablet.
Nora positioned it.
His first word took nearly a minute.
SAFE.
Lorenzo frowned.
“What safe?”
STUDY. OLD.
The original wall safe behind Giovanni’s former desk had not been opened since before his stroke.
Lorenzo knew the combination.
Or thought he did.
It failed.
Giovanni typed another number.
The door opened.
Inside were no guns.
No cash.
No hidden ledgers.
Only a thin leather folder, a faded photograph, and a small silver bracelet.
Lorenzo picked up the photograph.
A young Giovanni stood beside a dark-haired woman on a beach.
He looked no older than twenty-five.
Between them stood a little girl.
Maybe six.
Lorenzo stared.
“Who is she?”
Giovanni closed his eyes.
Nora watched something old and painful move across his face.
Then he typed.
LUCIA.
“Lucia who?”
Giovanni did not answer immediately.
His finger trembled.
Finally:
MY DAUGHTER.
Silence swallowed the room.
Lorenzo actually laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because sometimes disbelief came out sounding like amusement.
“No.”
Giovanni looked at him.
“Yes?”
One movement.
Lorenzo looked again at the photograph.
“You have a daughter?”
Yes.
“My sister?”
Yes.
Nora sat down slowly.
Lorenzo’s face hardened.
“How old is she?”
FORTY-SEVEN.
“You had a daughter before me.”
Yes.
“And you never told me.”
Giovanni looked away.
That hurt Lorenzo more than the answer.
“Is she alive?”
A long pause.
Then:
I THINK.
Lorenzo stared.
“You think?”
Giovanni pointed toward the certified envelope.
Lorenzo opened it.
The letter was only three pages long.
He read the first paragraph.
Then stopped.
Nora saw his face change.
“What?”
Lorenzo handed it to her.
The writer was an attorney representing Dr. Lucia Carbone.
She was requesting access to sealed Moretti family records regarding the death of her mother, Elena Carbone, in 1987.
The final sentence was worse.
Dr. Carbone has reason to believe Giovanni Moretti possesses information showing that Elena Carbone’s death was not accidental.
Nora looked at Giovanni.
“Did you know?”
Giovanni closed his eyes.
One movement.
Yes.
Lorenzo stepped backward.
“You knew how her mother died?”
Yes.
“And you let your own daughter spend forty years wondering?”
Giovanni’s breathing became uneven.
Nora moved between them.
“Lorenzo.”
“No.”
His voice cracked.
“For five years I hated myself because I thought I abandoned him.”
He pointed at Giovanni.
“Now I find out he abandoned someone else first?”
Giovanni slammed one trembling finger against the tablet.
Again.
Again.
Nora looked down.
Three words appeared.
I SAVED HER.
Lorenzo stopped.
May you like
Giovanni typed again.
THAT WAS THE LIE.
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