Chapter 5 - A Dead Woman’s Last Message
Dante refused to go alone.
Julian had asked for it.
That was reason enough not to comply.
Marco stayed with Sophia at the house while Dante, Clara, Michael, and two trusted men returned to Bellaforte.
Clara had argued about going.
Dante had argued harder.
“You are not bait.”
“I’m not trying to be.”
“He threatened your brother.”
“And Sophia trusts me.”
“Sophia is staying home.”
“She gave us the clue about Elena’s office. If there’s something there, I may notice what she was trying to show us.”
Dante had stared at her for a long moment.
Then he had said something Clara did not expect.
“I hate that you’re right.”
Now Bellaforte was empty.
The chandeliers remained lit.
Half-finished wineglasses still sat on tables abandoned after Dante had ordered the restaurant closed.
The chocolate-heart dessert remained where Clara had left it.
She looked at it as they passed.
Hours earlier, she had been worried about rent.
Now she was walking toward a hidden office with a mafia boss while being threatened by a man possibly connected to murder.
Life could become absurd very quickly.
Dante stopped at the stairwell.
“Stay behind me.”
Clara almost objected.
Then decided this was one instruction worth following.
They descended.
Elena’s office door stood open.
The lamp was on.
Nobody inside.
Dante entered.
“Julian!”
Silence.
A phone sat on the desk.
Not Dante’s.
Not Clara’s.
It began ringing.
Dante answered on speaker.
Julian’s voice filled the room.
“Hello, cousin.”
“Where are you?”
“Close enough.”
“What do you want?”
“The memory card.”
“You’re not getting it.”
“Then why come?”
“To hear you admit what you did.”
Julian laughed.
“You always did prefer simple answers.”
“Elena found you stealing.”
“I wasn’t stealing.”
“Then what?”
“I was building the future you were too sentimental to build.”
Michael shook his head.
Julian heard something.
“Is Reyes there?”
Michael stepped closer.
“Yes.”
“Still hiding behind other people, Michael?”
“At least I’m not hiding from a seven-year-old.”
Silence.
Then Julian’s tone changed.
“Sophia was never supposed to see anything.”
Dante’s hand tightened around the phone.
“But she did.”
“Yes.”
Clara watched Dante.
He was struggling to remain controlled.
“What happened that night?”
Julian sighed.
“Elena came here with Sophia. I followed her. We argued.”
“And then?”
“She threatened everything.”
“So you killed her?”
Julian paused.
Clara held her breath.
“No.”
Dante stared at the phone.
“No?”
“I frightened her. I threatened her. I tried to take the bracelet. But Elena ran.”
Michael frowned.
“That doesn’t match the police report.”
“Because the police report was wrong.”
Dante leaned toward the phone.
“Where did she go?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to finally understand that Elena had more enemies than me.”
Clara looked at Michael.
His expression suggested the same thought.
Julian was confessing to crimes, but denying the one crime that mattered most.
“Who killed her?” Dante asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Liar.”
“Open the safe-deposit box.”
Dante went still.
Julian knew about the key.
“How do you know we found it?”
“Because Teresa was never good at keeping secrets.”
Dante looked around the office.
Cameras.
Microphones.
Someone was watching.
Julian continued.
“You’ll find Elena’s second phone.”
“Why did you have it?”
“I found it here after she ran.”
“And you hid it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because there were messages on it that would have destroyed your faith in people far more important than me.”
Dante laughed bitterly.
“You think I have faith left?”
“You still believe Elena’s death was about money.”
The call ended.
Dante immediately ordered Marco by phone to secure Teresa and Sophia.
Both were safe.
Michael examined the office.
“He’s controlling the conversation.”
Clara nodded.
“He wants us at the bank.”
“Which means either the box is important,” Dante said, “or it’s a trap.”
“Probably both.”
The bank opened its private vault for Dante before dawn.
Clara did not ask how.
Some questions had obvious answers.
Inside Julian’s box were documents, cash, passports, and an old smartphone sealed inside a plastic bag.
Michael charged it.
The phone still worked.
There were dozens of messages.
Most meaningless.
Then Clara saw Elena’s name.
Dante opened the conversation.
Elena had texted someone identified only as R.
I HAVE THE RECORDS.
A response:
DON’T TELL DANTE YET.
Elena:
WHY?
R:
BECAUSE JULIAN ISN’T WORKING ALONE.
Dante stared.
Michael leaned closer.
Another message.
Elena:
WHO ELSE?
The answer:
MEET ME AFTER BELLA FORTE. COME ALONE.
Dante whispered, “Who is R?”
Michael searched the contacts.
No full name.
But there was a phone number.
Marco ran it.
The number had belonged to Robert Vale.
Dante’s former attorney.
Clara watched his expression.
“You know him.”
“He handled everything for my family for twenty years.”
“Where is he now?”
“Dead.”
“When?”
“Six months after Elena.”
Michael looked up sharply.
“How?”
“Heart attack.”
Nobody spoke.
Clara scrolled farther.
There was a voice memo recorded automatically at 11:43 p.m. the night Elena died.
Dante pressed play.
Elena’s voice.
She sounded frightened.
“I left Bellaforte. Julian tried to take the card. Sophia hid it before he could.”
A car door closed.
“I’m taking Sophia home.”
Then Elena spoke more quietly.
“Robert called me. He says Julian isn’t alone.”
Dante closed his eyes.
Elena continued.
“If anything happens to me, Dante needs to know the foundation wasn’t just stealing money.”
A pause.
“It was paying people.”
Michael leaned closer.
“For what?”
The recording continued.
“Judges. Police. Inspectors. Politicians. Julian built a protection network using Dante’s name.”
Dante’s face hardened.
Then Elena whispered:
“And someone inside Dante’s organization approved it.”
The recording ended.
Marco stood very still.
Clara noticed.
Dante noticed too.
“Marco?”
The older man looked offended.
“You think it was me?”
“I think Elena said someone inside.”
“I’ve served you for twenty-two years.”
“So did Julian.”
That silenced him.
Michael opened the financial records.
“We can compare signatures.”
For the next hour, they followed transactions.
Most led nowhere.
Shell companies.
False directors.
Closed accounts.
Then Michael found one recurring authorization code.
DV-02.
Dante frowned.
“DV-01 was mine.”
Michael nodded.
“Then DV-02 was somebody with nearly identical authority.”
Marco said quietly, “Your father created two executive codes.”
Dante looked at him.
“For me and Julian?”
“No.”
Marco swallowed.
“For you and your mother.”
Dante froze.
“My mother died ten years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Who had her code afterward?”
Marco hesitated.
Dante’s voice sharpened.
“Who?”
“Your father ordered it transferred.”
“To whom?”
Marco looked at him.
“Julian.”
Dante laughed bitterly.
“So it was him.”
Michael shook his head.
“No.”
He pointed at the screen.
“This code was used yesterday.”
Everyone stared.
Julian could have used it.
But the system showed biometric verification.
Dante leaned closer.
“Whose biometric?”
Michael opened the authentication file.
A name appeared.
Marco Bellini.
Silence.
Clara slowly looked toward the gray-haired man.
Marco did not move.
Dante stared at him.
“Tell me that’s wrong.”
Marco’s face changed.
Not guilt.
Fear.
“I can’t.”
Dante stepped forward.
“Marco.”
“I can explain.”
“Then explain.”
Marco’s phone rang.
He looked at it.
His expression became terrified.
“Don’t answer,” Dante said.
Marco answered anyway.
A distorted voice spoke.
“Tell Dante where Sophia really is.”
Dante went pale.
He immediately called the house.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
He called the security team.
A guard answered.
“Sir?”
“Where’s Sophia?”
A pause.
“Upstairs with Teresa.”
“Check.”
Footsteps sounded through the phone.
A door opened.
Then the guard said two words that emptied the room of air.
“She’s gone.”
Dante turned toward Marco.
Marco looked just as shocked.
Then Clara’s phone buzzed.
A video arrived.
Sophia sat in a chair.
She was frightened but unharmed.
Behind her was a wall Clara recognized.
Bellaforte.
The old office.
But they had just left it.
A man stepped into the frame.
Silver hair.
Black tuxedo.
Julian.
He looked into the camera.
“Bring me the card.”
Sophia stared at someone standing beyond the camera.
Her eyes widened.
Then she whispered:
“Mommy’s friend.”
The video ended.
Clara looked at Dante.
“Julian isn’t alone.”
Dante’s phone rang.
He answered.
This time, another voice spoke.
A voice Dante knew immediately.
“Hello, son.”
Dante’s face went white.
Because the man speaking had supposedly been dead for twelve years.
May you like
His father.
Vittorio Vancini.
