Chapter 10 - THE LAST SECRET OF ANTONIO DELUCA
Matteo survived.
Barely.
The bullet had missed his heart but damaged an artery.
Three hours of surgery.
Two blood transfusions.
A surgeon who emerged looking exhausted.
“He has a chance.”
For Lorenzo, chance was enough.
He had learned the value of impossible chances.
Lucia slept against Isabella’s chest in the hospital family room.
Emma slept curled beside Sophia.
For once, no one wanted to separate.
Lorenzo sat near the window watching dawn over Manhattan.
Isabella came beside him.
“You lowered the gun.”
He knew what she meant.
“Gabriel.”
“Yes.”
“I wanted to kill him.”
“I know.”
“I still do.”
“I know that too.”
Lorenzo looked at his daughter.
“But I’ve buried enough people.”
Isabella rested her head against his shoulder.
For several minutes, they said nothing.
Then Lorenzo whispered:
“I should have protected you.”
She lifted her head.
“No.”
“Bella—”
“You didn’t put that truck on the road.”
“I built a life where men like Gabriel could reach you.”
“You loved me.”
“That wasn’t enough.”
“It was to me.”
Lorenzo looked at her.
She appeared older than eight months ago.
So did he.
Grief aged people.
Survival did too.
“I thought you stopped looking,” Isabella whispered.
His face tightened.
“Never.”
“Gabriel showed me newspaper photographs. You at meetings. At restaurants. He said you were moving on.”
“I tore New York apart.”
“I know that now.”
She touched his cheek.
“Lucia?”
“I buried an empty coffin.”
Isabella began crying.
Lorenzo pulled her close.
“I’m sorry.”
Neither knew what else to say.
There were griefs apologies could not repair.
But sometimes love stayed anyway.
Matteo woke the next afternoon.
Lorenzo stood beside the hospital bed.
Matteo opened one eye.
“You look terrible.”
“So do you.”
“Good.”
Silence.
Then Matteo said, “You should hate me.”
“I do.”
“Fair.”
“I also spent eight months wondering which rival family destroyed my life while my best friend knew the truth.”
Matteo looked toward the window.
“Yes.”
“You helped kidnap Isabella.”
“Yes.”
“You let Lucia remain hidden.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Matteo swallowed.
“At first? Fear.”
Lorenzo waited.
“Gabriel had my sister’s daughters. He showed me pictures every week. School. Grocery store. Bedroom windows.”
“Why not come to me?”
“Because Gabriel had people inside your house.”
“Salvatore.”
“And Benedetti. Two guards. One accountant. A detective you trusted.”
“So you trusted him more than me?”
“I trusted that he would kill children.”
That answer landed hard.
Matteo continued.
“Then after the convoy attack, everything changed. I thought Isabella and Lucia were dead.”
“When did you learn?”
“Two days later.”
“And you said nothing.”
“Gabriel told me Isabella would die the moment you knew.”
“Lucia?”
“I found out she was alive months later.”
“That’s when you moved her to St. Catherine’s.”
Matteo nodded.
“I started trying to undo pieces without Gabriel noticing.”
“The recording.”
“Me.”
“The bracelet.”
“Me.”
“Sophia?”
“I saw her at St. Catherine’s. I threatened her because Gabriel had men watching.”
“You told her she would disappear.”
“I needed her terrified enough not to talk until I could move Lucia.”
Lorenzo shook his head.
“You nearly destroyed her.”
“I know.”
“And Emma?”
“When Gabriel learned she had spoken to you, his men were sent to kill them both. I got there first.”
“The church.”
“I knew you would come.”
“And the gunshot?”
“I fired into the ceiling.”
Lorenzo was silent.
Matteo looked at him.
“I don’t expect forgiveness.”
“Good.”
“I just wanted you to know.”
“I do.”
Matteo closed his eyes.
Then remembered something.
“The chess box.”
“Where?”
“Salvatore kept everything your father owned after his death. Most of it went to storage.”
“What storage?”
“A warehouse in Yonkers.”
They found the box that evening.
Small.
Walnut.
Dusty.
Lorenzo remembered every scratch.
His father had taught him chess using those pieces.
Inside the box were thirty-two chessmen.
Nothing else.
Nico frowned.
“Maybe Matteo was wrong.”
Lorenzo picked up the black king.
He heard his father’s voice.
Three moves ahead.
Lorenzo twisted the base.
It opened.
Inside was a tiny brass key.
A number had been engraved along the side.
A bank box.
The following morning, federal agents accompanied Lorenzo to a Manhattan bank.
The box contained three ledgers, photographs, tapes, copies of bank transfers and a letter.
Lorenzo opened the letter.
Son,
If you are reading this, I failed to leave this life before it swallowed me.
Lorenzo stopped.
His hands began shaking.
Isabella stood beside him.
He continued.
I have done things no father should ask a son to forgive. But I will not ask you to repeat them.
Power is a debt disguised as a gift.
If Salvatore tells you blood is all you can trust, remember that Cain and Abel were brothers.
Choose better than I did.
Choose a family you can hold without fear.
And when the door opens, walk through it.
Lorenzo sat silently.
For thirty years he had believed his father died defending an empire.
Instead, Antonio DeLuca had died trying to end one.
The evidence in those boxes destroyed what remained of Gabriel Vescari’s network.
Eleven public officials were arrested.
Three retired police commanders.
Two judges.
A state senator.
Four businessmen.
The scandal filled newspapers for weeks.
Lorenzo made another decision.
He called every capo into the mansion.
Twenty-three men sat around the long table where his father once sat.
Lorenzo placed the ledger in front of him.
“The DeLuca organization as you know it is finished.”
No one moved.
Vincent Caruso laughed nervously.
“You can’t just finish it.”
“I can.”
“People depend on this.”
“Legitimate companies remain. Construction. Freight. Restaurants. Real estate.”
“And everything else?”
“Gone.”
Someone stood.
“You’ve lost your mind.”
Lorenzo looked at him.
“No.”
He thought of Lucia.
“I found it.”
The transition was not peaceful.
Men threatened rebellion.
Some left.
Some were arrested through evidence Lorenzo turned over.
Some discovered that legitimate money spent exactly the same as dirty money when children needed college tuition.
Within six months, the DeLuca empire became something Antonio DeLuca had never managed to build.
Legal.
Not perfect.
But free.
Yet one thing remained unresolved.
One evening, Lorenzo returned home and found Isabella standing beneath her old memorial portrait.
The white carnations were gone.
The portrait remained.
“What are you doing?”
She looked at the painted woman.
“Trying to decide who she was.”
Lorenzo approached.
“You.”
“No.”
Isabella shook her head.
“She was a woman who thought tomorrow was guaranteed.”
Lorenzo slipped his arms around her.
“And you?”
“I know better now.”
Lucia’s laughter came from the hallway.
Emma chased her while Sophia tried unsuccessfully to stop both children.
Isabella smiled.
Then suddenly became serious.
“There is one grave we haven’t opened.”
Lorenzo knew instantly.
The cemetery.
The coffin beneath Isabella’s headstone.
“You want it opened?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I want to know whose body Gabriel buried under my name.”
Three days later, under court supervision, the coffin was exhumed.
The DNA result arrived forty-eight hours after that.
Lorenzo read the name.
Then read it again.
The dead woman was not random.
Her identity revealed the final secret Gabriel had hidden.
And when Isabella saw the report, she whispered:
“Oh my God.”
May you like
Because the woman buried beneath her name was someone who had supposedly disappeared thirty years earlier.
Matteo’s mother.
