Chapter 9 - THE PRICE OF A BROTHER'S BETRAYAL|
Matteo stared at Gabriel as though he had spoken in another language.
"Dominic?"
Gabriel nodded.
"Our uncle."
"The man who taught me to drive?"
"Yes."
"The man who stood beside me at our mother's funeral?"
Gabriel lowered his eyes.
"Yes."
Matteo turned away.
I watched his hands curl into fists.
Dominic DeLuca had been dead for fifteen years.
He had died of a heart attack at fifty-two.
Matteo kept a photograph of him in his office.
I had dusted it every Friday.
A smiling man with silver hair, standing beside a younger Matteo.
I wondered how many times Matteo had looked at that photograph and remembered someone who had betrayed his father.
"How much?" Matteo asked.
Gabriel looked up.
"What?"
"How much did Victor pay him?"
Gabriel opened the notebook.
"Two million dollars."
Matteo laughed once.
It was a terrible sound.
"Two million."
He looked toward the ceiling.
"My father's life."
His voice broke.
"Two million dollars."
Eleanor began crying.
Margaret held her hand.
Gabriel spoke carefully.
"Dominic had gambling debts."
Matteo turned sharply.
"Don't make excuses for him."
"I'm not."
"He sold his brother."
Gabriel nodded.
"Yes."
Matteo walked toward the fireplace.
For several seconds, he stood with his back to us.
Then he spoke.
"Did Dominic know Victor planned to kill him?"
Gabriel hesitated.
"I don't know."
Matteo turned.
"Tell me what you know."
Gabriel took a breath.
"According to Anthony's notes, Dominic arranged the meeting."
"Why?"
"He told Anthony that Victor was willing to return the stolen money."
Matteo's expression darkened.
"And Anthony believed him."
"Yes."
Gabriel looked at the notebook.
"When Anthony arrived, Dominic opened a side entrance."
"Then?"
"Victor's men were waiting."
Matteo closed his eyes.
I could see him trying to control his breathing.
"What happened to Robert?"
Gabriel shook his head.
"Robert escaped."
"How?"
"He was outside making a phone call."
Matteo looked toward the documents.
"Convenient."
Gabriel nodded.
"That's why Isabella never fully trusted him."
I thought about Robert sitting in the dining room the previous evening.
His shaking hands.
His guilty expression.
His confession that he had signed an authorization.
How much had he known?
How much had he hidden?
And how many families had suffered because powerful men were afraid to tell the truth?
Matteo reached for his phone.
"Daniel."
The security chief answered immediately.
"Sir?"
"Where is Robert Hale?"
"At the police station."
"Has he spoken to investigators?"
"Yes."
"Good."
Matteo paused.
"Tell Detective Whitmore about Dominic."
Daniel acknowledged the instruction.
Matteo ended the call.
Then he turned toward Gabriel.
"Why come now?"
Gabriel looked at him.
"What?"
"You've been alive for thirty years."
His voice hardened.
"You knew where I lived."
"Matteo—"
"You knew I believed you were dead."
Gabriel's expression crumpled.
"Yes."
"Then why now?"
Gabriel looked toward Eleanor.
"Because Margaret called me."
Matteo stared.
"Last night?"
"Yes."
"Before the engagement dinner?"
Gabriel nodded.
"She told me Victor was trying to take the cottages."
Matteo looked at Margaret.
"You knew where he was?"
Margaret's eyes filled.
"Your mother asked me to keep his identity secret."
"For six years after she died?"
Margaret lowered her head.
"Yes."
Matteo stepped backward.
"Everyone knew."
Nobody answered.
"You."
He looked at Eleanor.
"Margaret."
Then Gabriel.
"Even my own brother."
His voice broke.
"And nobody thought I deserved the truth."
Eleanor began sobbing.
"Sweetheart, please."
Matteo shook his head.
"I need a minute."
He walked out.
The library door closed quietly behind him.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Gabriel covered his face.
"I knew he'd hate me."
I looked at him.
"He doesn't hate you."
Gabriel laughed bitterly.
"You saw his face."
"He's hurt."
"Because I lied."
"Because everyone lied."
Gabriel lowered his hands.
I sat across from him.
"Why didn't you tell him?"
He stared at the fireplace.
"Because Victor threatened to kill him."
My heart tightened.
"What?"
Gabriel nodded.
"When Matteo turned eighteen, I tried to contact him."
"What happened?"
"Victor found out."
Gabriel swallowed.
"He sent me a photograph of Matteo leaving college."
I felt cold.
"Then another photograph."
"Of what?"
"Isabella."
Gabriel looked toward Eleanor.
"She was standing outside a grocery store."
Eleanor began crying again.
Gabriel continued.
"Victor said if I approached either of them, he would make sure they disappeared."
I stared at him.
"So you stayed away."
"Yes."
"Even after Isabella died?"
Gabriel nodded.
"I attended her funeral."
Eleanor looked up.
"You were there?"
"In the back."
His voice broke.
"I watched Matteo carry her coffin."
The room fell silent.
Gabriel wiped his eyes.
"I wanted to tell him."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because Victor was standing beside him."
I remembered the photographs from Isabella's funeral.
Matteo in a black suit.
Dominic already dead.
Robert standing nearby.
And Victor Bellini beside the grave, one hand resting on Matteo's shoulder.
The thought made my stomach turn.
Gabriel looked at me.
"Claire, I didn't come here to hurt him."
"I know."
"I came because Victor is running out of time."
I frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Gabriel opened his notebook.
"Victor's companies are collapsing."
"How?"
"Debt."
He turned several pages.
"Investigations."
"From whom?"
"Federal authorities."
I leaned forward.
"He's already being investigated?"
Gabriel nodded.
"Quietly."
"Does Matteo know?"
"Probably not."
"Why would Victor risk stealing the cottages now?"
"Because he needs assets he can sell quickly."
Gabriel looked toward the window.
"The cottages are worth millions."
"And the west wing?"
"Much more."
I thought about Vanessa.
Her red satin dress.
Her diamonds.
Her insistence that the elderly residents were wasting family money.
Suddenly, her behavior made sense.
She wasn't simply cruel.
She was desperate.
I looked at Gabriel.
"Was Vanessa involved?"
He hesitated.
"I don't know how much she knew."
"But she knew something."
"Yes."
A knock sounded.
Daniel entered.
"Miss Bennett?"
I stood.
"Yes?"
"Your sister is asking for you."
My stomach tightened.
"Is she okay?"
"She's fine."
He hesitated.
"She's upset about something she found."
I hurried upstairs.
Lily sat on the edge of her guest bed.
Her laptop was open.
When she saw me, she stood.
"Claire."
"What happened?"
She turned the screen toward me.
"I was checking our mother's old email account."
I stared.
"You still have access?"
"She gave me the password before she died."
I sat beside her.
"Why were you checking it?"
"Because of the letter."
Lily swallowed.
"I thought maybe she left something else."
On the screen was an email dated March 18, 2020.
The sender's name was Isabella DeLuca.
My heart stopped.
"Open it."
Lily clicked.
The message was short.
Anna, I have secured the documents Thomas entrusted to me.
If anything happens to either of us, the truth must reach our children.
The key is where the lions sleep.
I stared at the final sentence.
The lions.
Matteo's family crest.
The embroidered sweaters.
The carved wooden photograph frame.
Everything seemed connected.
Lily scrolled down.
There was an attachment.
A scanned photograph.
She opened it.
The image showed a stone statue of a lion.
Behind it stood a large iron gate.
I recognized the location.
The DeLuca family cemetery.
Matteo's parents were buried there.
Beneath the photograph was another sentence.
THE FIRST PROMISE IS BURIED WITH ANTHONY.
I stared at the screen.
Lily looked at me.
"Claire, what does that mean?"
I swallowed.
"I think Isabella hid something at the cemetery."
Lily's face went pale.
"Are you going there?"
"Not alone."
She grabbed my arm.
"Please don't."
I looked at her.
"We need to know what happened to Dad."
Tears filled her eyes.
"I know."
"Then we have to keep going."
She shook her head.
"Claire, I don't want to lose you too."
I pulled her into my arms.
"You won't."
I held her until her breathing slowed.
Then I returned downstairs.
Matteo stood in the library.
He looked exhausted.
But when he saw me, he straightened.
"Claire?"
I showed him the email.
He read it silently.
Then his expression changed.
"The cemetery."
I nodded.
He looked at the photograph.
"The lion statue."
"Do you know it?"
"Yes."
He swallowed.
"It's beside my father's grave."
Gabriel stood.
"Matteo, we should contact Detective Whitmore."
Matteo looked at him.
For several seconds, neither brother spoke.
Then Matteo nodded.
"You're right."
Gabriel seemed surprised.
Matteo continued.
"We're not doing this alone."
He turned toward me.
"Claire, will you come?"
I looked at the photograph of the stone lion.
I thought about my father.
My mother.
Lily.
And Eleanor standing in the hallway with her broken shoe.
"Yes."
Matteo nodded.
"Then we go together."
Three hours later, Detective Whitmore met us at the cemetery.
The sky was gray.
A cold wind moved through the trees.
Matteo led us toward a row of marble monuments.
At the center stood Anthony DeLuca's grave.
Beside it was a stone lion.
Its mouth was slightly open.
Matteo knelt.
He examined the base.
Then he noticed a small metal plate.
He touched it.
A hidden compartment opened.
Inside was a waterproof cylinder.
Detective Whitmore carefully removed it.
She unscrewed the lid.
Inside were photographs, a sealed letter, and a small recording device.
The detective examined the label.
"Anthony DeLuca."
Matteo stared.
"That's my father's handwriting."
She pressed the playback button.
A man's voice filled the cold morning air.
Deep.
Tired.
Frightened.
"Isabella, if you're hearing this, I failed to come home."
Matteo closed his eyes.
His father's voice.
After thirty years.
The recording continued.
"Victor Bellini has been stealing from the Harbor families."
A pause.
"Dominic helped him."
Matteo's jaw tightened.
Then Anthony said something none of us expected.
"But there is one person I fear more than either of them."
The recording crackled.
Matteo leaned closer.
"Who?"
Anthony's voice returned.
"The person who controls the trust documents."
A pause.
May you like
Then the final sentence.
"If Robert Hale tells you I died at the warehouse, don't believe him."
