Chapter 11 - The Secret Beneath the Third Stair|
Saint Anthony's Restaurant had been closed for almost twenty years.
Its red awning was faded.
The windows were covered with dust.
And the gold lettering above the entrance had nearly disappeared.
But when Luca stepped out of the car, his entire expression changed.
“My father used to bring me here every Sunday.”
His voice was quiet.
“He would order coffee.”
“I would eat cannoli until my mother threatened to take me home.”
Margaret smiled sadly.
“You always ended up with powdered sugar on your jacket.”
Luca looked at her.
“You remember?”
“Every Sunday, sweetheart.”
I watched the two of them standing beneath the old awning.
For a moment, they weren't people caught in a dangerous investigation.
They were simply two members of a family remembering better days.
Then Maya approached.
“Everyone stays together.”
Her team had secured the main entrance and begun checking the property.
Luca's attorney had confirmed that the building remained legally owned by a Moretti family company.
That meant investigators could enter with the owner's permission while arranging formal evidence collection.
But none of us knew whether Victor had already sent someone inside.
Tomas checked the rear alley.
Margaret held my arm as we walked through the restaurant.
Dust covered the tables.
Broken glass glittered across the wooden floor.
A large clock hung motionless above the bar.
The dining room smelled of old wood and damp plaster.
Luca stopped near a framed photograph.
It showed Dominic standing in front of the restaurant with several employees.
One of them was a young man with sandy hair and a friendly smile.
“Leonard Price,” Margaret whispered.
Luca studied the photograph.
“He worked here too?”
“He helped your father with repairs before moving to the warehouse.”
I looked at the young man's face.
Thirty years earlier, Leonard had been an ordinary working man trying to support his family.
He had gone to work one night and never returned.
And for three decades, the world had believed his body belonged to somebody else.
“Did he have children?” I asked.
Margaret nodded.
“A daughter.”
“Rachel.”
“She was seven when he died.”
My heart tightened.
Another child had grown up without a father because of Victor Bellini.
Luca carefully removed the photograph from the wall.
“We find her.”
His voice was firm.
“She deserves the truth.”
We continued toward the kitchen.
Three narrow wooden steps led down into the old storage basement.
Margaret stopped.
“These are the stairs.”
Luca looked at the brass key his father had left him.
Then he knelt.
The third step was wider than the others.
A small metal plate had been fastened beneath its edge.
Tomas helped him remove it.
Behind the plate was a narrow compartment.
Inside sat an old steel box.
I stared at it.
Thirty years of secrets had been hidden beneath a single wooden stair while an entire family fell apart.
Luca inserted the key.
It turned.
The lid opened with a metallic click.
Inside were several notebooks wrapped in oilcloth, photographs, property documents, and a small cassette tape.
Maya immediately asked us to leave everything in place until her evidence specialist could photograph it.
Luca stepped back.
His hands trembled.
“That's it.”
Margaret began crying.
“Dominic was telling the truth.”
The investigators carefully documented the contents.
The first notebook contained handwritten records of payments made through companies controlled by Victor Bellini.
Several names appeared repeatedly.
Police officers.
Property officials.
Business partners.
And one name that made Luca freeze.
Graham Pike.
I looked at him.
“Who is that?”
Luca's voice became cold.
“My chief financial officer.”
“He's managed my company's accounts for more than twenty years.”
Tomas swore under his breath.
“He's been telling us everything is clean.”
Maya examined another page.
“These entries suggest he was receiving payments from Bellini before the warehouse fire.”
Luca looked sick.
Graham wasn't simply someone who had become corrupt after joining the Moretti organization.
He had been connected to Victor for decades.
And Luca had trusted him with nearly everything.
I suddenly understood Dominic's warning.
The betrayal wasn't buried in the past.
It had been living inside Luca's own home.
Another folder contained photographs of Leonard Price's family.
One picture showed a little girl sitting on her father's shoulders.
On the back was a handwritten message.
Rachel's eighth birthday next month.
I looked at Luca.
He had tears in his eyes.
“My father kept this?”
Margaret nodded.
“He was trying to help Leonard leave Chicago.”
“But he failed him.”
Luca carefully placed the photograph beside the ledger.
“We're going to make sure his daughter knows what happened.”
Then Tomas's phone rang.
His expression changed as he listened.
“Luca, we've got a problem.”
“What?”
“Graham Pike emptied his office this afternoon.”
“His car was found at O'Hare.”
Maya turned.
“We'll alert the team tracking Bellini's associates.”
Suddenly, a heavy metallic sound echoed from the back of the restaurant.
Everyone froze.
Tomas looked toward the kitchen entrance.
“Who's there?”
No response.
Then a familiar voice answered from the darkness.
“I'm sorry, Luca.”
Salvatore Russo stepped into the doorway.
His silver hair was neatly combed.
He wore the same black overcoat I had seen him wearing at the wedding.
Luca stared at him.
“Uncle Sal?”
Salvatore's eyes filled with tears.
“You should have left your father's secrets buried.”
Luca took a step forward.
“Tell me it isn't true.”
Salvatore looked down.
“I did what I had to do.”
“For Victor?”
“For survival.”
Luca shook his head.
“You helped keep my father away from me.”
Salvatore's voice cracked.
“I told myself it was too late to fix.”
Luca approached him.
“You watched me grow up.”
“You watched me bury my mother.”
“You watched me visit my father's grave.”
Salvatore began crying.
“I know.”
“You let me call you family.”
“I know.”
Then Salvatore looked past him toward the steel box.
“Victor needs those documents.”
Maya's agents began moving toward the doorway.
Salvatore reached behind him.
I smelled something sharp and chemical.
Gasoline.
My stomach dropped.
“Luca!”
Salvatore stepped backward.
A small flame appeared near his hand.
And before anyone could stop him, he dropped the burning object onto the gasoline-soaked floor.
Fire raced across the entrance.
The kitchen filled with smoke.
Then the heavy rear door slammed shut.
May you like
And I heard Salvatore scream through the flames.
“I'm sorry, Little Wolf!”
