Chapter 6 - The Witness Who Had Been Silent for Twenty-Eight Years|
The photograph of my apartment door made my hands go numb.
I turned the phone toward Luca.
He read the message without speaking.
Then he looked at Marco.
“Contact Detective Torres and send her everything we have.”
Marco nodded.
Detective Maya Torres had been assigned to review our report after Luca's attorney brought Elena's letter and the threatening messages to the Chicago Police Department.
She was a serious woman with sharp eyes and little patience for people who tried to influence an investigation.
When Luca first introduced himself, she hadn't seemed particularly impressed.
“I don't care how powerful your family is, Mr. Moretti,” she'd told him.
“If someone committed murder, we'll need evidence that can survive a courtroom.”
Those words had frightened me.
But they had also given me hope.
For years, the truth had belonged to people with money, connections, and secrets.
Now there was a chance it might belong to someone willing to investigate it properly.
While Marco contacted the detective, I looked through my mother's notebook again.
One name appeared beside several handwritten addresses.
Rosa Alvarez.
I remembered hearing Frank mention her.
She had worked as a waitress at the restaurant during its busiest years.
When I asked Luca, he nodded.
“Rosa still lives in Chicago.”
“Dad sends her a Christmas card every year.”
We found her the following afternoon in a small church kitchen in Pilsen.
She was seventy-two years old, with silver hair, kind brown eyes, and hands that shook when she poured our coffee.
The moment she saw me, she began crying.
“Ruth's little girl.”
She covered her mouth.
“You look just like your mother.”
I sat across from her.
“Mrs. Alvarez, did you know Elena Moretti?”
She gave a sad smile.
“Of course.”
“That woman was the reason half the neighborhood ate dinner when money was tight.”
“She never turned away a hungry family.”
Luca looked down.
I understood why.
People often spoke about his power.
But every memory of his mother seemed to involve something much quieter.
Kindness.
I placed Elena's photograph on the table.
Rosa immediately recognized the man standing behind her.
“Anthony Bellini.”
Her voice changed.
“What do you know about him?”
“Enough to be afraid,” I admitted.
Rosa slowly folded her hands.
“Then Ruth finally left you something.”
My heart skipped.
“You knew?”
“Your mother told me she'd hidden records in case Anthony ever came looking for her.”
“She said she couldn't let Elena's death mean nothing.”
I leaned forward.
“What happened that night?”
Rosa glanced toward the church windows.
Then she began speaking.
“Elena came to the restaurant late that evening.”
“She was frightened, but she told me she'd arranged to meet someone who could help.”
“She said she had enough information to bring down Anthony Bellini.”
Rosa swallowed.
“After she left, I saw Daniel Price standing beside a tow truck across the street.”
“He worked for Anthony at the time.”
Luca frowned.
“Was he following her?”
“I believe so.”
Rosa pressed a tissue against her eyes.
“The next morning, we heard about the crash.”
“Everybody said Elena had lost control.”
“But Daniel came to my house two days later.”
“He looked terrible.”
“His hands wouldn't stop shaking.”
“What did he tell you?” I asked.
Rosa looked directly at Luca.
“He told me he knew why Elena's car had crashed.”
I felt my heart pounding against my ribs.
“Did he tell the police?”
“He said he tried.”
“But somebody warned him that his family would suffer if he kept talking.”
“Then he disappeared.”
Luca slowly pushed back his chair.
“Do you know where he went?”
Rosa hesitated.
“I haven't seen him in many years.”
“But something happened last month.”
She reached into her handbag and pulled out a faded postcard.
“Daniel sent me this.”
The front showed a small diner along a highway outside Chicago.
On the back was a short handwritten message.
“If Ruth Bennett's daughter ever comes looking, tell her I'm ready to tell the truth.”
I stared at the card.
“He knew about me?”
Rosa nodded.
“Your mother wrote to him before she died.”
“She told him Claire was grown and deserved to know what happened.”
A chill moved through me.
Even during the final months of her illness, my mother had been trying to uncover the truth.
Rosa reached across the table and held my hand.
“Claire, your mother wasn't a famous woman.”
“She didn't have money or powerful friends.”
“But she was brave.”
“She believed people shouldn't have to be rich to receive justice.”
I began crying.
For six years, I'd remembered my mother as a tired woman who worked too much and smiled even when bills were overdue.
Now I was discovering a part of her life she had sacrificed to protect me.
Luca gently placed his hand on my shoulder.
Then Rosa's phone rang.
She looked at the screen.
Her expression changed.
A message had arrived from an unfamiliar number.
It contained a photograph of her granddaughter leaving school.
Underneath were the words:
“Old women should stop remembering.”
Rosa dropped the phone.
Luca immediately called Detective Torres.
He didn't threaten anyone.
He didn't order his men to hunt down the sender.
Instead, he asked the detective to help protect Rosa and her family.
I noticed the difference.
So did Rosa.
When we left the church, she pulled Luca aside.
“Your mother would have been proud of that choice.”
For a moment, he couldn't answer.
Then he nodded.
But as we climbed into the SUV, I examined Daniel Price's postcard one more time.
There was another message written beneath the stamp.
It was so small I had almost missed it.
May you like
“Ask Frank what happened after the funeral.”
And suddenly, I understood that the old man we loved might still be hiding something.
