Chapter 4 - THE ROSARY IN MY FATHER'S GRAVE
For seventeen years, I'd believed my father wore his red rosary because he regretted the violence of his past.
Now I had to consider something much uglier.
Had the man who raised me ordered his own warehouse destroyed?
Had he let an innocent woman take the blame?
And had Marcus spent eighteen years hiding the truth because my father paid him to?
I stared at Elena.
"Are you certain your mother said the rosary was red?"
"Yes."
"Did she describe the man wearing it?"
"She said he had a deep voice and a scar near his thumb."
I looked at Raphael.
My father's right thumb had been scarred in a knife fight long before I was born.
Raphael noticed the change in my expression.
"Dante, don't draw conclusions yet."
"Why not? The description fits him."
"So does half the older generation of men we knew."
"Not the rosary."
He didn't answer.
Elena held Sophie close.
"I didn't come here to accuse your father. I came because my mother wanted her name cleared."
"And I'll make sure it is."
I meant it.
But I also knew promises meant nothing without evidence.
I returned to the mansion just after midnight.
Not through the front entrance.
Raphael and I entered through the garage while his trusted men quietly replaced Marcus's regular security team.
I wasn't ready to confront my oldest friend.
First, I needed the watch.
My private office looked exactly as I'd left it.
The dark leather chairs.
The polished walnut desk.
My mother's photograph beside the lamp.
And inside the top drawer, the gold pocket watch.
I lifted it carefully.
It was heavier than I remembered.
I pressed the winding crown.
Nothing happened.
Then I noticed a tiny indentation beneath the hinge.
I used the edge of a letter opener.
The rear casing clicked open.
Inside was the folded paper Marcus had examined.
It contained a single sentence.
The first key opens nothing without the second.
Beneath it was a sketch of a red rosary.
I showed Raphael.
His expression tightened.
"I've seen that handwriting."
"Whose?"
"Your father's."
The discovery left me cold.
My father had deliberately created a puzzle.
One involving Teresa's watch and his rosary.
But why hide the clues inside objects he knew I'd eventually inherit?
I studied the drawing.
The rosary had thirteen beads on one side and twelve on the other.
An unusual arrangement.
I remembered my father holding it during his final days.
He'd rubbed one particular bead until its red coating wore away.
I turned to Raphael.
"Where was he buried?"
Raphael looked at me as if I'd lost my mind.
"Dante..."
"Was the rosary in the coffin?"
"Yes."
"Then we need the rosary."
He shook his head.
"You cannot disturb your father's grave based on a drawing."
"I'm not asking permission."
"Dante, think about what happens if word gets out."
I looked at him.
"For eighteen years, a woman lived under the shame of being called a thief. Her daughter had to hide her name. And now someone is threatening a five-year-old child."
My voice hardened.
"I care more about that than what Chicago thinks of me."
Raphael studied me for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
"There's another way."
He explained that my father's burial had followed an old family custom.
The rosary placed inside his coffin had been a ceremonial copy.
The original had been preserved with his personal belongings in a sealed memorial case at our private chapel.
I hadn't visited that chapel in years.
The thought brought an unexpected ache.
My father and I hadn't parted peacefully.
During his last months, he'd become secretive and distant.
He'd warned me repeatedly about trusting the wrong people.
I'd accused him of becoming paranoid.
Then he'd died before we repaired what we'd broken.
At one-thirty, Raphael and I entered the chapel.
The air smelled faintly of old wood and candle wax.
Above the altar hung a portrait of my parents on their wedding day.
My mother was smiling.
My father looked younger than I remembered.
I opened the memorial cabinet.
Inside lay his signet ring, a silver cigarette case, his military decorations, and a small velvet box.
The rosary rested inside.
Dark red beads.
A silver crucifix.
One bead noticeably worn.
I lifted it.
Raphael handed me a magnifying glass.
The worn bead had a tiny seam.
I pressed it.
The bead opened.
Inside was a sliver of brass no larger than a fingernail.
A key.
I stared at it.
"The second key."
Raphael exhaled.
"Your father wanted someone to find this."
"Someone with Teresa's watch."
"And his rosary."
I examined the brass piece.
A number had been engraved on one side.
417\.
On the other was a small letter.
R.
"Does that mean anything?"
Raphael shook his head.
Before I could speak, a woman's voice came from the chapel entrance.
"It means your father didn't trust either of you."
Isabella stood in the doorway.
She wore a long gray coat over her nightdress.
Her hair hung loose around her shoulders.
And there were bruises on her wrist.
Raphael moved his hand toward his gun.
"Don't," I said.
Isabella watched me.
"I knew you weren't in Detroit."
I slipped the brass key into my pocket.
"How?"
"Because Marcus told me your plane never took off."
I felt anger rising.
"You knew he was tracking me?"
"He tracks everyone."
"You've been hiding envelopes behind my toilet."
She closed her eyes.
"Yes."
"And taking flash drives from the same place."
"Yes."
I waited.
"Explain."
Isabella looked toward the portrait of my father.
"I thought I was helping someone."
"Who?"
"Marcus."
"Helping him do what?"
She laughed bitterly.
"Find proof that your father ruined his family."
I stared.
"Marcus told you that?"
"He showed me photographs. Financial records. Letters."
"Did you verify any of them?"
"No."
"Then why believe him?"
Her eyes filled.
"Because I had reasons of my own to hate the Moretti name."
Raphael stiffened.
"What reasons?"
Isabella looked at me.
"My father was a warehouse accountant. He died after the explosion in 2008."
Something moved in my memory.
An accountant.
A man who'd reportedly disappeared after stealing company money.
"What was his name?"
"Anthony Bell."
I remembered him.
He'd worked for my father for nine years.
"Your last name..."
"My mother remarried. I use hers."
I looked at the bruises on her wrist.
"Did Marcus do that?"
She didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
"Isabella."
"Yes."
The admission hit harder than I expected.
She'd deceived me.
But she was also frightened.
"Why didn't you come to me?"
"Because I didn't know whether you'd believe me."
"And now?"
She reached into her coat.
Raphael moved instantly.
But Isabella only withdrew a small photograph.
She held it out.
It showed my father standing beside Marcus and Anthony Bell outside the warehouse.
On the back was a handwritten message.
October 17. Midnight. Bring the ledger.
My eyes narrowed.
"Where did you get this?"
"From Marcus's office."
"Why?"
"Because yesterday he told me Sophie Rossi was going to have an accident."
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Isabella's voice broke.
"I couldn't let him hurt that little girl."
I stepped closer.
"Where is Marcus now?"
"At the estate."
"Doing what?"
She looked toward Raphael.
"Searching for Elena."
Raphael was already reaching for his phone.
Then Isabella grabbed my hand.
"There's something else."
"What?"
"Marcus knows about the watch."
"We know."
"He knows about the rosary too."
I felt the brass key in my pocket.
"How?"
She swallowed.
"Because he was standing outside this chapel yesterday."
My eyes moved toward the entrance.
Isabella shook her head.
"No, Dante. You're not understanding."
Her voice dropped.
"He wasn't alone."
"Who was with him?"
She pointed toward the portrait above the altar.
"The woman in that picture."
I stared at my mother's smiling face.
May you like
Then Isabella whispered:
"Marcus has been meeting with your father's widow."
