Chapter 11 - THE BRIDE WHO WATCHED A MAN DIE|
Vanessa called Luca that evening.
She didn't apologize.
She didn't ask how he was feeling.
She simply told him she knew what he had discovered and wanted to meet before the restaurant was demolished.
Luca agreed only after speaking with Evelyn.
They arranged to meet in a private conference room at a downtown hotel, with their attorneys present.
I wasn't planning to attend.
But Vanessa made one condition.
"Bring Claire," she said.
"I want her to hear this."
I didn't understand why she wanted me there.
Perhaps she wanted another opportunity to humiliate me.
Perhaps she hoped I would feel guilty about the collapse of her marriage.
Or perhaps, for the first time in her life, Vanessa Bellini was frightened enough to tell the truth.
When we entered the conference room, she was sitting beside a window overlooking the Chicago River.
Her hair was perfectly styled.
Her makeup was flawless.
But the confidence I'd seen on our wedding night had disappeared.
She looked exhausted.
"Hello, darling," she said to Luca.
He didn't respond.
Evelyn placed a recorder on the table after obtaining everyone's consent.
Vanessa's attorney nodded, indicating that the discussion could proceed under the agreed conditions.
Luca remained standing.
"You watched my father die."
Vanessa's face tightened.
"Anthony Russo told you."
"Yes."
She looked down.
"I knew he'd talk eventually."
I felt anger rising inside me.
"You let an innocent man spend twenty years in prison."
Vanessa turned toward me.
"You have no idea what it was like."
"Then tell us."
For a moment, she looked as though she might refuse.
Then she began speaking.
"I was sixteen."
"My father told me we were going to meet a business associate."
"We drove to Frank Moretti's restaurant, and Victor got out of the car."
"He told me to keep my head down."
Her hands trembled.
"I heard them arguing."
"Frank was shouting that he'd never sign another agreement."
"Victor said my father had been patient long enough."
"Then Frank told him that copies of the original papers were hidden somewhere inside the restaurant."
Luca's expression hardened.
"What happened next?"
Vanessa closed her eyes.
"Victor pulled out a gun."
"Frank stepped backward."
"And Victor shot him."
The room became silent.
I looked at Vanessa's hands.
She was gripping the edge of her chair so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.
"My father told me not to say anything."
"He said Victor had acted to protect our family."
"He told me that if I spoke, people would come after me."
Luca sat down slowly.
"You were a child."
Vanessa nodded, tears sliding down her face.
"I was terrified."
For a moment, I almost felt sorry for her.
A sixteen-year-old girl had watched a murder and then been forced to live under the control of a dangerous father.
But the image of the necklace inside my bag returned.
So did the memory of being escorted into a police car while Vanessa smiled.
"You were a child then," I said quietly.
"But you weren't a child when you framed me."
Vanessa looked up.
Her expression hardened.
"That was different."
"How?"
"Because you were destroying everything."
"What was I destroying?"
"My marriage."
"My father's reputation."
"My entire life."
I stared at her.
"Your father destroyed a family before you ever married Luca."
"And you helped him do it again."
She looked away.
Luca spoke before the argument could continue.
"Why did you marry me, Vanessa?"
Her lips trembled.
For the first time, she seemed unable to invent an answer.
"My father wanted the properties consolidated," she admitted.
"He said a marriage would make the business arrangements easier."
"And you agreed?"
"I thought we could make it work."
"While you were stealing from me?"
She lowered her head.
Luca's voice broke.
"You stood beside me at our wedding knowing who killed my father."
"You watched me hold his watch for the first time in forty years."
"And you laughed."
Vanessa began crying again.
"I didn't know the watch was going to appear."
"That isn't an answer."
She wiped her cheeks.
"No."
"It isn't."
Evelyn asked whether Vanessa would provide a formal statement to investigators.
Her attorney intervened immediately, explaining that any cooperation would need to be negotiated through the proper legal process.
Luca didn't argue.
He simply stood beside the window, staring at the river below.
Then I asked the question that had been haunting me since Anthony's prison visit.
"Vanessa, why does your father want to demolish the restaurant now?"
She looked toward her attorney.
He hesitated but allowed her to answer.
"Because the transfer was blocked."
"He expected to control the building after the wedding."
"When your lawyers stopped it, he decided to remove whatever Frank had left inside before anyone could search."
Luca turned around.
"Does he know where the papers are hidden?"
"No."
"But he thinks they're somewhere in the old kitchen."
My heart began pounding.
The kitchen.
The place where Frank had spent his life feeding people.
The heart of the restaurant my grandfather had helped him save.
Vanessa reached into her purse and removed a faded photograph.
It showed the restaurant's original kitchen before a major renovation.
There was an enormous copper ventilation hood, a brick oven, and a narrow storage room behind the pantry.
"Frank argued with Victor about the records," she said.
"He told him that the place where the family kept its bread would outlast every lawyer in Chicago."
I stared at the picture.
My grandfather had once told me that Frank Moretti never trusted banks with anything he couldn't afford to lose.
He believed the safest place for family treasures was the place where his children had learned to eat.
Then I noticed something in the photograph.
A small brass plate was fastened to the old pantry wall.
And carved into its surface was a familiar number.
418.
I looked at Luca.
"We need to get into that kitchen."
Vanessa suddenly leaned forward.
"Be careful."
Her voice was barely audible.
"My father knows you've been asking questions."
"And Victor doesn't leave unfinished business."
Luca looked at her for a long moment.
Then he turned toward the door.
As we were leaving, Vanessa called after him.
"Luca, did you ever love me?"
He stopped.
For a moment, I thought he might answer cruelly.
Instead, he spoke with a sadness that made the room feel colder.
"I loved the woman I thought you were."
Then he walked away.
Outside the hotel, the evening sky had turned dark over Chicago.
Evelyn was already calling Detective Ortiz about the imminent demolition and the possible evidence inside the restaurant.
I held the photograph of the old kitchen against my chest.
May you like
Somewhere behind those walls, Frank Moretti had left a final message for his son.
And tomorrow morning, we were going to find it before Angelo Bellini could bury it forever.
