Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN RICO BURIED
Rico took the photograph with both hands.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Clara watched his face carefully.
He did not look angry.
Not yet.
He looked fourteen.
Lost.
“My mother died in 2008.”
Rosen shook his head.
“You buried a closed casket.”
Rico looked up sharply.
“How do you know that?”
“Margaret attended from across the street.”
Rico’s voice turned cold.
“Why?”
“Because Lucia asked her to.”
That was the spark.
Rico slammed the photograph onto the counter.
“My mother asked a stranger to watch me bury her?”
“She wasn’t a stranger.”
Rosen’s tone stayed gentle.
“She was trying to keep Margaret alive.”
Clara stood.
“Explain.”
Rosen sat heavily.
“Lucia helped Salvatore cover up what happened to Margaret and Elena’s mother. Years later, she regretted it. Anthony had photographs. Lucia had records. They planned to expose Salvatore.”
“But Anthony died,” Rico said.
“Yes.”
“And my mother vanished.”
“Yes.”
“So everyone who threatened my father disappeared.”
Rosen didn’t answer.
Leo stirred against Clara.
“Daddy mad?”
Rico’s face softened instantly.
“No, buddy.”
He knelt.
“I’m not mad at you.”
Leo reached for him.
Rico picked him up.
It was the first time Clara had seen Leo allow his father to hold him without resistance.
The boy rested his head on Rico’s shoulder.
Rico closed his eyes.
That tiny trust steadied him.
Clara understood then that whatever Rico might have been before Elena died, fatherhood was forcing him into a war no gun could solve.
Truth against loyalty.
Blood against love.
Dante’s phone buzzed.
He read the screen.
“Rico.”
“What?”
“Salvatore is at Il Destino.”
Rico became still.
“Why?”
“He says he heard Leo had an incident.”
Clara’s stomach tightened.
“How would he know?”
Rico and Dante exchanged a look.
The restaurant had been cleared.
Only staff and Rico’s men knew.
Someone had reported to Salvatore.
Rico looked toward the photographs.
“We go back.”
Clara shook her head.
“With Leo?”
“No.”
Leo immediately tightened his arms around Rico’s neck.
Dante offered to take him to a safe house.
Leo refused.
Clara tried.
He shook his head violently.
“No room.”
“What room?” Rico asked.
Leo buried his face.
Clara looked at Rico.
“Don’t.”
Rico restrained himself.
Eventually they returned to Il Destino together, surrounded by two vehicles of security.
Salvatore Moretti sat alone at the king’s table.
Seventy-one.
Silver hair.
Dark suit.
Straight posture.
A man who looked less like a retired criminal than the chairman of a bank.
His eyes landed on Clara first.
Then her bracelet.
Something small but unmistakable moved across his face.
Recognition.
“Maggie’s girl.”
Rico stopped walking.
“You know her.”
Salvatore lifted his wine.
“I knew Margaret.”
“You told me you didn’t.”
“I told you many things when you were young.”
Rico placed the photograph of Lucia on the table.
His father’s glass stopped halfway to his mouth.
That reaction told Rico enough.
“She’s alive.”
Salvatore set the wine down.
“Was.”
Rico’s breath caught.
“When?”
“Four years ago.”
“How?”
“Cancer.”
Rico laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“Convenient.”
“Truth often sounds convenient when you’ve been lied to for years.”
Clara stepped forward.
“You don’t get to talk like you’re separate from the lie.”
Salvatore looked at her.
“You sound like Margaret.”
“Good.”
“She was stubborn.”
“So am I.”
“She died poor.”
Clara flinched.
Rico stepped between them.
“Careful.”
Salvatore studied his son.
“You’re protecting her already.”
“I’m warning you.”
“You think because Elena left you breadcrumbs, you understand the whole board.”
Rico tossed Margaret’s photograph down.
“Did you kill her mother?”
Salvatore’s face remained unreadable.
“No.”
“Did you have Anthony killed?”
“No.”
“Did you arrange the shooting that killed Elena?”
For the first time, Salvatore looked hurt.
“No.”
Rico stared.
Clara watched Salvatore carefully.
The answer had come too fast to be calculated.
Maybe that meant nothing.
Maybe it meant everything.
Salvatore looked at Leo.
The boy had hidden behind Clara’s skirt.
“Come here, grandson.”
Leo shook his head.
Salvatore’s face tightened.
“Leo.”
The boy whispered, “Bad watch.”
Rico watched his father.
Salvatore looked at the gold watch now lying in Rico’s pocket.
Then something unexpected happened.
He laughed softly.
“Is that what this is about?”
Rico took the watch out.
“Elena told Clara not to trust the man wearing it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it was never my watch.”
Rico frowned.
“You gave it to me.”
“I gave you Anthony’s watch.”
Clara felt another piece shift.
“Why?”
Salvatore’s expression darkened.
“Because your mother wanted you to have something from your real father.”
Silence.
Rico did not move.
Dante whispered, “Sal…”
Rico’s voice cracked like a whip.
“Say that again.”
Salvatore looked at him.
“Anthony Moretti was your biological father.”
Rico stared as though someone had struck him.
“No.”
“Lucia was married to me. She loved my brother.”
“No.”
“She got pregnant. I raised you anyway.”
Rico’s fists clenched.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect nothing from you.”
“Why hide it?”
“Because Anthony wanted to take Lucia, you, Elena, Margaret—everyone—and run.”
Salvatore looked toward Clara.
“He believed he could save people by telling truths he didn’t understand.”
Clara’s voice hardened.
“So you killed him.”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Salvatore looked directly at Dante.
Dante’s expression shifted.
Rico noticed.
“Why are you looking at him?”
Salvatore leaned back.
“Because Dante’s father was driving the truck that crushed Anthony’s car.”
Dante went pale.
“My father died believing it was an accident.”
“It wasn’t.”
Rico looked at his oldest friend.
Dante shook his head.
“I swear I didn’t know.”
Salvatore nodded.
“He didn’t.”
Then Rico turned back.
“Who ordered it?”
Salvatore did not answer immediately.
His eyes moved toward Leo.
Then Clara.
“It wasn’t me.”
“Who?”
“Lucia.”
Rico’s face emptied.
“My mother killed Anthony?”
“She believed he was about to expose something that would have sent all of us to prison and left you children unprotected.”
Clara felt sick.
Salvatore continued.
“She changed her mind afterward. Guilt does that.”
Rico’s voice dropped.
“And Elena?”
Salvatore looked genuinely weary.
“I spent six months trying to discover who killed her.”
“You expect me to trust you?”
“No.”
He reached inside his coat.
Dante instantly drew his weapon.
Salvatore slowly removed a child’s drawing.
Crayon on folded paper.
He placed it on the table.
Rico recognized Leo’s scribbled figures.
There were four people.
Daddy.
Mommy.
Leo.
And a fourth person drawn in red beside Elena.
Clara leaned closer.
Above the figure, in Elena’s handwriting, was one word.
Nina.
Rico frowned.
“Who is Nina?”
Leo peeked from behind Clara.
His face changed when he saw the drawing.
He pointed at the red figure.
“Nina room.”
Clara crouched.
“What room, sweetheart?”
Leo trembled.
“The room Mommy said don’t tell.”
Rico’s heart began pounding.
“Where?”
Leo pointed toward the back of Il Destino.
Not toward the kitchen.
Toward Rico’s private office hallway.
Salvatore’s face changed.
“Rico.”
But Rico was already moving.
At the end of the hallway, Leo stopped before a decorative wood panel beside Rico’s office.
He touched a small carved flower.
The panel clicked.
A narrow compartment opened.
Inside hung a child-sized red coat.
And beneath it sat a framed photograph of Elena holding hands with a little girl Rico had never seen.
The girl looked about six.
She had dark curls.
Moretti eyes.
And around her neck was Clara’s silver bird charm.
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On the back, Elena had written:
Nina Moretti. Rico must never know she exists until I know who tried to take her.
