Chapter 8
Rocco moved Noah before dawn.
No announcement.
No convoy.
Maria took him through the kitchen entrance with Clara.
Two men Rocco trusted from before he became boss drove them to a smaller Bellacorte property in the hills.
Bianca watched from the staircase.
“Where are you taking him?”
Rocco looked at her.
“Somewhere you don’t know.”
Her face tightened.
“That’s fair.”
“Yes.”
She almost smiled sadly.
Rocco did not soften.
Motive did not erase a child crying under coats.
But something had changed.
Bianca was no longer the center of the threat.
She was one of its victims.
And one of its perpetrators.
Both could be true.
Rocco went to the old chapel with Leonard.
Frank Bellacorte was dead by the time he arrived.
No dramatic confession.
No convenient final words.
Just a man who had chosen August’s side and died before explaining why.
Rocco stood over him.
“Matteo did this?”
Leonard shook his head.
“No.”
“You said he was here.”
“He was.”
“Then?”
“Frank was already wounded.”
“By who?”
“Matteo wouldn’t say.”
Rocco stared.
“And you simply let my brother walk away?”
Leonard looked at him.
“I tried to follow.”
“What happened?”
“He put a gun against my chest and asked whether you still punch before listening.”
Rocco almost smiled despite himself.
“That sounds like him.”
Leonard leaned against the chapel wall.
“I thought he was dead.”
“So did I.”
“My father knew.”
Rocco looked at him.
“What?”
“Before my father disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
Leonard nodded.
“Your father didn’t kill him.”
August lied.
Again.
“What happened?”
“My father found Matteo here.”
“When?”
“Twenty-one years ago.”
One year after Black Harbor.
Rocco stared.
“Matteo was alive for at least a year.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he come home?”
Leonard looked toward the altar.
“Because he thought you chose August.”
Rocco’s jaw tightened.
“I didn’t know.”
“He didn’t know you didn’t know.”
Another tragedy built from absence.
Leonard continued.
“My father helped him leave the country.”
“And?”
“Then my father vanished too.”
“August told me Carlo killed him.”
“Maybe August believed it.”
Rocco frowned.
“Or wanted me to.”
Leonard nodded.
Rocco looked at his cousin.
“Why help Elena?”
“Because she found me.”
“When?”
“Four months before she died.”
“What did she know?”
“That Matteo lived.”
Rocco closed his eyes.
His wife knew his brother might be alive.
Never told him.
Why?
The answer hurt before Leonard spoke.
“She didn’t trust what you would do.”
Rocco laughed once.
Everyone had been protecting him from himself.
Or protecting others from him.
“What did she want?”
“To bring Matteo home.”
“Did she find him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you kill her?”
Leonard’s face changed.
“No.”
“Did you know someone would?”
“No.”
“Who was in my house before she died?”
Leonard hesitated.
Rocco saw it.
“Name.”
“Maria.”
Rocco stared.
“My housekeeper.”
“Yes.”
“She has been here twenty-six years.”
“Exactly.”
Rocco’s face hardened.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying Elena trusted Maria more than anyone.”
“I know.”
“And Maria knew every passage.”
“Yes.”
“And every meal.”
“Careful.”
Leonard raised both hands.
“I am not accusing her.”
“Then?”
“I am telling you Matteo’s message exactly.”
“The person has lived inside the house since before Elena died.”
“Many people have.”
“Yes.”
Leonard stepped closer.
“But only one person had access to Noah’s nursery after Bianca dismissed Clara.”
Rocco went still.
Maria.
No.
He refused the instinctive answer.
That was how August had controlled him at thirty-two.
Evidence first.
“What access?”
“Bianca dismissed Clara yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“Who took over Noah’s care?”
“Maria.”
Rocco stared.
Leonard continued.
“Who dressed him before the reception?”
“Maria.”
“Then how did he end up in torn clothes?”
Rocco stopped breathing.
Maria had claimed she dressed him correctly.
If true, someone changed him afterward.
If false—
No.
Rocco pulled out his phone.
Called Maria.
No answer.
Called the guards with Noah.
Nothing.
May you like
Rocco looked at Leonard.
“Where is my son?”
