Chapter 5 - THE UNCLE WHO CARRIED HIM HOME
Salvatore Bellacorte entered the library under his own power.
Seventy-two.
White hair.
Heavy cane.
Tailored dinner jacket.
He looked less like a prisoner than an irritated grandfather.
That was dangerous.
Men underestimated old power because it moved slowly.
Adriano placed Elena’s photograph on the table.
Salvatore looked at it.
Nothing.
No visible surprise.
Adriano saw.
“You knew.”
Salvatore sighed.
“Eventually.”
“When?”
“Three days after.”
Adriano stood.
Victoria moved away from the table.
Lucian remained still.
Salvatore looked at Adriano.
“Sit.”
Adriano almost laughed.
“You are in my house.”
“It was your father’s before it was yours.”
“And tonight it’s mine.”
Salvatore nodded.
“Then behave like it.”
Adriano’s hand tightened.
Salvatore looked at Sophia’s empty chair.
“Your daughter needs a father tomorrow.”
The sentence stopped him.
Not because Salvatore deserved mercy.
Because Adriano understood the manipulation and still recognized the truth inside it.
He sat.
“Tell me.”
Salvatore looked at Elena’s photograph.
“She survived the road.”
“Who took her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Lie.”
“No.”
“You brought me home.”
“Yes.”
“You told me she was dead.”
“I believed she would be.”
Adriano leaned forward.
“Explain that sentence carefully.”
Salvatore exhaled.
“The men who hit her car were not ours.”
“Whose?”
“Unknown.”
“Custodian?”
“Maybe.”
Adriano’s eyes narrowed.
“You know about that too.”
Salvatore smiled sadly.
“Of course.”
“Were you one?”
“No.”
“Widow?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“I was the man your father used when he wanted the Custodian watched.”
Another layer.
Always another.
“What happened after the crash?”
Salvatore looked at Victoria.
“She should not hear this.”
Victoria laughed.
“You people have been saying that to women for fifty years.”
Adriano did not remove her.
Salvatore continued.
“Elena’s driver died. Elena was taken before we reached the vehicle.”
“By who?”
“We thought whoever attacked her.”
“But?”
“Three days later Margaret contacted me.”
Adriano looked toward the empty seamstress room in his mind.
“Margaret.”
“She said Elena was alive.”
“Where?”
“She refused to say.”
“Why?”
“She said Elena did not trust Bellacorte.”
Adriano absorbed the insult.
It hurt because Elena had earned the right to feel it.
“What did you do?”
“I told Margaret to bring her home.”
“And?”
“She said Elena refused.”
“Why?”
“Because someone inside your inner circle knew where she would be that night.”
Adriano went silent.
Only six people knew Elena’s route.
Adriano.
Salvatore.
Lucian.
Victoria.
Anthony Serra.
And Adriano’s consigliere, Roman D’Angelo.
Roman had died seven months later after a sudden stroke.
Another dead man carrying secrets.
“Which one?”
“Elena didn’t tell Margaret.”
“Why not?”
“She said she needed proof.”
Lucian looked away.
Adriano saw.
“You knew she suspected someone.”
Lucian said nothing.
Adriano slammed his palm against the table.
Lucian answered:
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Before she died.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because she asked me not to.”
Adriano laughed bitterly.
“Everyone protects me by lying.”
Lucian’s jaw tightened.
“She said you would kill the first person you suspected.”
Silence.
Adriano could not deny it.
Eighteen months earlier, he would have.
Maybe he still wanted to.
Salvatore continued.
“The photograph was Margaret’s proof to me that Elena lived.”
“Then why didn’t you show me?”
“Because two hours after Margaret gave it to me, my driver was murdered.”
Adriano stared.
Salvatore’s voice became low.
“Someone knew she had spoken.”
“What happened to Margaret?”
“She disappeared for three weeks.”
“And returned.”
“Yes.”
“Why keep her here?”
“To watch her.”
“You suspected her.”
“I suspected everyone.”
Adriano looked at the photograph.
“Where is Elena now?”
Salvatore’s face darkened.
“I don’t know.”
“Margaret?”
“I don’t know.”
Adriano stood.
“That answer is becoming expensive.”
Salvatore looked at him.
“You want revenge because revenge gives grief direction.”
Adriano froze.
The old man continued.
“But if you start killing before you understand, whoever took Elena wins twice.”
Victoria watched Adriano carefully.
So did Lucian.
Every person in the room knew the reputation he carried.
Adriano looked toward the photograph again.
Then at the black key.
“What does this open?”
Salvatore’s expression changed.
He recognized it.
“Where did you get that?”
“Elena hid it in Sophia’s doll.”
Salvatore’s face drained.
“Then she found Nico.”
Adriano went still.
“What?”
“The key belongs to the lower chapel at Saint Orsin.”
“I know the chapel.”
“No.”
Salvatore leaned forward.
“You know the building.”
His eyes moved toward the serpent token.
“You do not know what is under it.”
Adriano felt the old war awakening again.
“What is under it?”
May you like
Salvatore whispered:
“The room where your father kept Nico after telling everyone he was dead.”
