Chapter 4 - THE BOY WHO SAW TOO MUCH
“You watched my mother die?”
Vanessa's voice was so faint that I barely heard it.
Michael stared at the floor.
“Yes.”
Luca gripped the edge of the table.
“Then you're going to tell us exactly what happened.”
Michael swallowed.
“I was thirteen. Dad took me to the old grocery warehouse because he needed help moving some boxes.”
Maria shook her head.
“He never took you there at night.”
“That night he did.”
Michael looked at his mother.
“He told me to stay in the car.”
“But you didn't,” Luca said.
“No.”
Michael's hands trembled.
“I heard shouting. I went inside. Elena was standing near the loading doors. Victor Bellini was there.”
Vanessa stiffened.
“My father?”
“Your stepfather. They were arguing about a ledger.”
“What ledger?”
“I didn't understand then.”
Michael paused.
“Elena had discovered money disappearing from shipping accounts. She'd copied everything. Victor wanted the copies.”
Luca folded his arms.
“And Dad?”
“He was trying to calm them down.”
Michael rubbed his face.
“Victor grabbed Elena's purse. She pulled away. He shoved her.”
Vanessa closed her eyes.
“She fell?”
Michael nodded.
“Against a steel support.”
Maria whispered a prayer.
Michael stared at his hands.
“There was blood. Dad told Victor to call an ambulance.”
“Did he?” Luca asked.
“No.”
The room became painfully quiet.
“Victor said she was already dead. He said calling the police would destroy all of us.”
Luca's expression darkened.
“And Dad believed him?”
Michael didn't answer immediately.
“Dad believed he could protect the family.”
Vanessa stood.
“My mother could have been alive.”
Michael looked toward her.
“I don't know.”
“But nobody checked?”
“Dad did. He said she wasn't breathing.”
Vanessa began crying.
Not elegantly.
Not quietly.
She bent forward as though someone had struck her.
I moved instinctively toward her.
For a second, she seemed surprised.
Then she let me guide her into a chair.
“Would you like some water?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Thank you.”
It was the first time she'd ever thanked me.
Michael continued.
“Victor told Dad that Elena had stolen from him. He threatened to blame the whole thing on our family.”
Luca shook his head.
“So Dad buried her.”
“Dad paid for the burial.”
“That's not the same thing.”
Michael looked exhausted.
“Victor handled the arrangements. Dad provided the grave because he couldn't stand the thought of Elena being left without one.”
Maria started crying.
“My husband would never have hidden a body.”
Michael looked at her.
“Mom, he did.”
For a moment, she seemed unable to breathe.
Then Luca knelt beside her.
“Mom, you don't have to decide what to believe tonight.”
She held his hand.
“I lived beside that man for fifty-three years.”
“I know.”
“He wasn't perfect. But he was kind.”
Luca kissed her forehead.
“We'll find out what happened.”
I watched Maria struggle between the husband she'd loved and the terrible story her son had just told.
There was no easy comfort for that kind of pain.
A little later, while Luca called his security director, I helped Maria upstairs.
She walked slowly, the music box pressed against her chest.
“Emily?”
“Yes, Mrs. Moretti?”
“Do you think loving someone means you have to defend everything they've done?”
I considered the question.
“No, ma'am.”
She looked at me.
“I don't think so either.”
In her bedroom, she sat beside the window overlooking the gardens.
I placed the music box on her nightstand.
“Your husband wanted you to know the truth eventually,” I said.
“Perhaps.”
She looked at the box.
“Or perhaps he was afraid I'd stop loving him.”
I sat beside her.
“Would you?”
Maria looked toward her wedding photograph.
“No. But I might have asked him some very difficult questions.”
She managed a small smile.
“That was always the trouble with your Mr. Moretti. He could never win an argument with me.”
I laughed softly.
Then she caught my hand.
“Emily, Michael said something when he came to my room last Tuesday.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“He said if Luca learned the truth, he would lose everything his father left him.”
“Did he explain?”
She shook her head.
“He only said Victor Bellini was waiting for the right moment.”
A cold feeling settled inside me.
Vanessa's stepfather was supposed to attend the wedding in six weeks.
He was also one of the investors Luca planned to buy out of a major shipping partnership.
I remembered hearing those arrangements discussed during dinner service.
I hadn't understood their importance.
Now I did.
“Mrs. Moretti,” I asked, “did Michael mention the wedding?”
“Yes.”
She looked frightened.
“He said it was the only way to keep the family safe.”
Before I could ask more, Luca appeared in the doorway.
“Mom, we're leaving at eight tomorrow.”
Maria straightened.
“I'm going to see your father?”
“Yes.”
“And Elena?”
Luca hesitated.
“Both graves.”
She nodded.
He turned toward me.
“Emily, I'd like you to come.”
I thought about my mother's nurse.
“I have to be home by eleven, sir.”
“We'll make sure you are.”
He paused.
“And Emily?”
“Yes?”
“You should never have been threatened over your mother's medical care.”
My throat tightened.
“I didn't want to cause trouble.”
“You didn't.”
He looked toward Maria.
“You were the only person in this house willing to cause the right kind of trouble.”
The next morning, we drove through a cold Chicago rain.
Michael rode separately.
Vanessa insisted on coming, though she and Luca barely spoke.
Maria held her music box all the way to the cemetery.
When we reached the Moretti family plot, she stopped.
Her husband's old headstone was gone.
A temporary marker stood in its place.
Beside it, the little white marble angel had been moved beneath a canvas tarp.
Maria began trembling.
“Where's his name?”
Luca called the caretaker over.
The elderly man removed his cap.
“Mr. Moretti, I was told the replacement stone would arrive Friday.”
“Who authorized it?”
“Your brother.”
Michael stepped forward.
“I can explain.”
Luca ignored him.
“Show me the original burial records.”
The caretaker led us to a small office near the chapel.
Inside, he opened an old bound registry.
His finger moved down a yellowed page.
“October 16, 2001. Private burial, plot seventeen.”
Vanessa leaned closer.
“Name?”
The caretaker hesitated.
“Elena Ward.”
Michael exhaled.
But the man continued.
“There's something unusual.”
Luca looked up.
“What?”
“The burial permit lists a second person present.”
“Who?”
“An infant.”
Vanessa stared.
“That was me. I would have been a baby.”
The caretaker shook his head.
“No, ma'am. The child was listed as deceased.”
Nobody spoke.
Luca took the registry.
I watched his eyes move over the faded handwriting.
Then he looked at Michael.
“You told us Elena was buried alone.”
Michael's face was gray.
“I didn't know about a child.”
But Maria was staring at the page.
Her fingers moved toward a notation in the margin.
A tiny cross.
And beside it, three initials.
A.M.M.
She made a sound I had never heard from her before.
Luca looked toward her.
“Mom?”
Maria gripped the edge of the desk.
“Those are your father's initials.”
Luca frowned.
“So?”
She began shaking her head.
“No, sweetheart. Not his initials.”
She pointed again.
“Those are the initials of the name he wanted to give a daughter.”
The caretaker turned the page.
And beneath the burial entry was a handwritten description that made Vanessa stagger backward.
Female infant. Approximately three days old. Identification withheld by family request.
Vanessa whispered, “If I was the baby in the photograph…”
May you like
She looked toward Michael.
“Then whose baby was buried beside my mother?”
