Chapter 6 - The Man in the Old PhotographThe cassette tape was twenty-eight years old.
Finding something capable of playing it took Alessandro’s people less than forty minutes.
That disturbed me almost as much as everything else.
“Do you have a person for obsolete electronics?” I asked.
He glanced at me.
“I have people for many things.”
“That answer is becoming less charming each time you use it.”
“You thought it was charming before?”
“I said less. Not that it started high.”
We were sitting in the Marchesi family house outside Palermo.
Alessandro had refused to let Teresa remain at the restaurant after the brick came through the window.
She protested.
He ignored her.
That, apparently, was a family tradition.
The house was surrounded by lemon trees and stone walls. Not enormous, but old enough to have history embedded in every crack.
Teresa placed the cassette inside a player on the dining room table.
My mother’s metal box sat between us.
Sofia had joined by video from New York.
Alessandro stood behind my chair.
Teresa pressed play.
Static filled the room.
Then a woman’s voice.
Caterina.
I had never heard her speak before.
Alessandro inhaled sharply.
His aunt had died when he was eleven.
“Gabriel, if you are hearing this, then either we became very old and very dramatic…”
A soft laugh.
“…or something went wrong.”
Alessandro’s eyes closed for half a second.
The recording continued.
Caterina explained that she and Lucia had copied documents proving Vittorio Caruso had used legitimate companies to conceal decades of corruption.
She named lawyers.
Officials.
Business partners.
No details that meant anything to me.
Then she mentioned Daniel Reed.
My father.
“Daniel says the evidence is enough if we can get the originals out of Sicily.”
I stopped breathing.
My father’s voice appeared next.
American.
Younger than I imagined.
“Say your name for the recording.”
“Why?”
“So twenty years from now when they make a terrible movie about this, the actress knows who to thank.”
Caterina laughed.
I put a hand over my mouth.
For the first time, my father became real.
Not a name.
A voice.
A man joking in a room somewhere before I existed.
Then my mother spoke.
“Daniel, stop teasing her.”
My eyes burned instantly.
Lucia.
My mother at twenty-two.
Strong.
Alive.
Speaking Sicilian.
I had not heard her voice in two years.
The grief hit with physical force.
Alessandro’s hand settled gently on my shoulder.
I did not move away.
On the tape, Daniel explained that the documents would be divided.
No single person would know where everything was stored.
Caterina had one portion.
Gabriel another.
Lucia another.
Matteo Bellini would handle transport.
“And if something happens?” my mother asked.
Daniel answered.
“We make sure the children never inherit this war.”
Children.
Plural.
I looked at Alessandro.
He frowned.
The tape ended seconds later.
“What children?” I asked.
Teresa looked away.
“Alessandro?”
“I don’t know.”
He genuinely didn’t.
We searched the box again.
Near the bottom, beneath yellowed legal papers, I found another photograph.
Two babies.
One wrapped in yellow.
One wrapped in blue.
A date on the back.
Five days after my birth.
My stomach twisted.
“Who is the second baby?”
Teresa sat down.
I turned toward her.
“No more secrets.”
She whispered, “Gabriel and Caterina had a son.”
Alessandro stared at his mother.
“What?”
“He was born before their wedding.”
“You told us Caterina never had children.”
“We told everyone that.”
“Why?”
“Because after the fire, the baby disappeared.”
I looked at the photograph again.
The infant beside me had a tiny dark curl visible beneath the blanket.
“What was his name?”
“Luca.”
Alessandro paced away.
“My cousin.”
“Yes.”
“Alive?”
“We never knew.”
“And Gabriel?”
“He vanished the same night.”
Alessandro turned.
“You thought he took Luca.”
“For years.”
“But?”
Teresa touched the edge of the photograph.
“Later I learned Gabriel had been injured in the fire. Matteo got him out.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
I stared at the babies.
“Why are Luca and I together?”
“Because Lucia cared for both of you for several weeks.”
“Why?”
“Caterina knew she was in danger.”
The pattern was becoming painfully clear.
Everyone had known danger was coming.
Everyone except the children at the center of it.
Alessandro’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
Then looked toward me.
“What?”
“We found Matteo Bellini.”
My heart jumped.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Cefalù.”
Less than an hour away.
I stood.
“We’re going.”
“No.”
I stared at Alessandro.
“Excuse me?”
“He has been living under another name for sixteen years. If we arrive openly, anyone watching—”
“I am going.”
“Julia.”
“Do you understand that every person in this story has spent my entire life deciding what I’m allowed to know?”
“Yes.”
“I’m done.”
He studied me.
The silence stretched.
Then he nodded.
“Fine.”
I blinked.
“That was unexpectedly easy.”
“I am learning.”
Teresa muttered something in Sicilian about miracles.
Two hours later, Alessandro and I entered Cefalù separately.
No convoy.
No dramatic security.
His people remained nearby.
I wore jeans, sunglasses, and a scarf around my hair.
Alessandro somehow managed to look conspicuous even in a plain navy sweater.
“You are terrible at blending in,” I whispered.
“So I’ve been told.”
“By me.”
“Repeatedly.”
Matteo Bellini lived above a tiny watch-repair shop near a side street away from the tourist center.
We climbed narrow stairs.
Alessandro knocked.
Nothing.
Again.
A lock clicked.
The door opened two inches.
An older man looked out.
Gray hair.
Weathered face.
Sharp blue eyes.
His gaze went first to Alessandro.
Then to me.
The color vanished from his face.
“Lucia.”
Everyone kept doing that.
“No.”
I removed my sunglasses.
“I’m Julia.”
The door opened fully.
Matteo stared.
His eyes filled with tears.
“You have Daniel’s eyes.”
My knees nearly gave out.
“You knew him.”
“I loved him like a brother.”
He stepped aside.
“Come in.”
The apartment was small and obsessively neat.
Clocks covered one wall.
Dozens of them.
Ticking slightly out of rhythm.
Matteo poured coffee with shaking hands.
“You should not be here.”
“So I keep hearing.”
“Vittorio knows?”
“Someone does.”
I placed the threatening note on his table.
He read it.
Then laughed bitterly.
“Gabriel dies twice.”
“You know what it means?”
“Yes.”
“Is Gabriel alive?”
Matteo looked at Alessandro.
Then at me.
“He was when I saw him four months ago.”
The room stopped.
“Where?”
“I cannot tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because he has spent twenty-eight years hiding his son.”
Luca.
Alessandro leaned forward.
“My cousin is alive?”
Matteo nodded.
“He does not know who he is.”
“What’s his name now?”
“I will not say.”
Alessandro’s voice hardened.
“Matteo.”
“No.”
The old man stood.
“I failed Caterina once. I failed Lucia when she left Sicily. I will not fail Luca.”
I stepped between them.
“What happened to my father?”
Matteo looked at me.
“Daniel?”
“Yes.”
His face softened.
“He loved your mother.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No.”
He sat again.
“Daniel discovered someone inside his own investigation was passing information to Vittorio.”
“A corrupt official?”
“Yes.”
“He planned to expose them.”
“He planned to return to America with Lucia.”
“And me?”
His eyes filled with sadness.
“You had not been born.”
I swallowed.
“What happened?”
“The car accident was not an accident.”
My chest tightened.
“Caruso killed him?”
“We believed so.”
“Believed?”
Matteo looked at Alessandro again.
“Because years later I learned someone else ordered Daniel followed that night.”
Alessandro’s expression changed.
“Who?”
Matteo hesitated.
Then he said the name.
“Riccardo Marchesi.”
Alessandro’s father.
The silence was suffocating.
“No,” Alessandro said.
Matteo’s voice remained calm.
“I did not say Riccardo ordered Daniel killed.”
“But he had him followed.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Riccardo believed Daniel was putting Caterina in danger.”
Alessandro stood.
“He would have protected his sister.”
“He tried.”
“Then what are you implying?”
“That whoever followed Daniel reported his route.”
“To who?”
Matteo looked toward the window.
“I spent twenty years trying to answer that.”
Then his face changed.
He stood suddenly.
“Down.”
Alessandro reacted before I understood.
He pulled me away from the window.
A second later, the glass cracked.
Not shattered.
A small round hole appeared near the frame.
Someone had fired from outside.
Alessandro pushed me behind the wall.
Matteo reached beneath the table and hit an alarm.
Footsteps thundered downstairs.
Within seconds, Alessandro’s security entered.
The street outside erupted in shouting.
No second shot came.
Matteo looked through the side window.
“They weren’t trying to kill us.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
He pointed.
The bullet had struck one of the clocks.
The largest one.
Its glass face had shattered.
Behind it, hidden inside the wooden case, was a photograph.
Matteo pulled it free.
Four men stood outside the Palermo courthouse in 1998.
Daniel Reed.
Riccardo Marchesi.
Gabriel Caruso.
And a fourth man.
Alessandro stared at him.
“Who is that?”
Matteo’s face hardened.
“The man who betrayed all of us.”
I looked closer.
The fourth man appeared younger, but I had seen that face recently.
At Bella Notte.
Sitting beside Alessandro.
Laughing when I insulted his negotiation skills.
My blood turned cold.
“Marco?”
Alessandro did not move.
Matteo shook his head.
“No.”
He pointed to the older man standing behind Marco in the photograph.
“Marco’s father.”
Then he looked directly at Alessandro.
“And if the son serves you now, Alessandro…”
May you like
His voice lowered.
“…you need to ask yourself who he truly serves.”
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