Chapter 4 - THE BROTHER THEIR FATHER FEARED
Matteo did not sleep.
Neither did Luca.
By sunrise, the townhouse felt less like a home than a command center.
Carlo’s people checked every camera.
Every door.
Every staff record.
Every visitor from the previous six months.
Daniel’s room was searched.
Nothing useful remained.
His closets were half empty.
Not recently.
Gradually.
The man planning to marry Luca had also been preparing to disappear.
That realization bothered Luca more than he expected.
Elena found him in the kitchen at 6:20 a.m.
He stood alone near the coffee machine.
No jacket.
Sleeves rolled.
A cup untouched.
She stopped near the doorway.
“You haven’t slept.”
“Neither have you.”
“I wasn’t accused of possibly killing my father.”
Luca looked at her.
Matteo had been moved to a guarded guest room.
Not arrested.
Not accused.
But not trusted either.
Elena approached carefully.
“Do you believe Daniel?”
“I don’t know what I believe.”
“That might be safer.”
Luca gave her a tired look.
“You enjoy telling me when I’m wrong.”
“No.”
A beat.
“I enjoy when you notice.”
Against his will, he almost smiled.
Then it vanished.
“My father had one brother.”
Elena said nothing.
“Anthony.”
She waited.
Luca continued.
“My mother died when I was seventeen. After that, Dad trusted almost nobody outside family.”
“Except?”
“Carlo’s father. Two capos. Our priest.”
Elena’s eyes lifted.
“Priest?”
“Father Michael Donnelly.”
“Still alive?”
“Yes.”
“Still at St. Gabriel’s?”
Luca looked at her.
“Yes.”
Within forty minutes, they were at the church.
St. Gabriel’s had changed little since Luca was a boy.
Brownstone exterior.
Heavy wooden doors.
Candles burning near the Virgin Mary.
The smell of wax and old stone.
Father Michael was eighty-one now.
Thin.
White-haired.
Still sharp-eyed.
He looked at Luca.
Then Elena.
Then Carlo.
“I wondered when this family would finally stop pretending Vittorio died peacefully.”
Luca froze.
Carlo closed the doors.
Father Michael sat in the first pew.
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“For twelve years?”
“Yes.”
Luca’s anger rose.
“You buried my father.”
“I buried what remained of your father after fear had already done most of the work.”
Luca stepped closer.
“You had no right.”
Father Michael looked at him calmly.
“I made a promise.”
“To who?”
“Vittorio.”
Luca stopped.
The priest reached into his cassock.
Removed an old envelope.
Luca’s name was written across it.
Another message.
“You had this?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you give it to me?”
“Because your father ordered me to wait until you came asking about St. Gabriel’s.”
Luca stared.
Father Michael handed it over.
Inside was one sheet.
Luca read.
Matteo is not the danger.
He read it again.
Then lower.
If Anthony is alive, he may still be useful.
Luca’s jaw tightened.
Useful.
Not innocent.
Not safe.
Useful.
The final line:
The man I fear is the one who believes he loves my sons more than I do.
Luca frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Father Michael looked toward the altar.
“I asked your father the same question.”
“And?”
“He said, ‘He has been raising them beside me.’”
Carlo went very still.
Elena saw it.
Luca did too.
“Carlo.”
The security chief’s face tightened.
“My father.”
Salvatore DeSantis.
Vittorio’s closest friend.
His chief of security.
The man who had taught Luca how to shoot.
The man who had driven Matteo to school.
The man who had stood beside Vittorio for twenty-seven years.
Dead seven years now.
Or supposedly.
Luca felt his stomach turn.
“Your father died in Florida.”
Carlo nodded slowly.
“Stroke.”
“Body?”
Carlo looked at him.
“Closed casket.”
Silence.
Elena almost laughed at the awful pattern.
In this family, dead men had an alarming habit of not being seen.
Father Michael sighed.
“Salvatore loved your father.”
Luca’s voice hardened.
“That doesn’t fit the letter.”
“Oh, it fits perfectly.”
The priest looked at him.
“Love does strange things when mixed with certainty.”
He explained.
Salvatore believed Vittorio was losing control.
Not because Vittorio was weak.
Because he wanted to pull the family away from older criminal alliances.
Reduce violence.
Sell certain businesses.
Legitimize restaurants and trucking.
Salvatore thought that would destroy the Morettis.
Anthony disagreed with Vittorio too, but for different reasons.
Anthony wanted money.
Power.
The Savino connection.
Salvatore wanted preservation.
Both men undermined Vittorio.
Neither trusted the other.
“And Daniel?” Luca asked.
Father Michael looked surprised.
“Daniel Whitmore?”
“You know him.”
“I knew a boy named Daniel White.”
Luca frowned.
The priest continued.
“His mother cleaned the rectory. His father drank himself to death.”
Daniel had changed his surname.
Whitmore.
A polished reinvention.
“Vittorio took an interest in him,” Father Michael said. “Got him work. Paid for school.”
Elena’s eyes narrowed.
“Then Daniel wasn’t just an errand boy.”
“No.”
“He owed Vittorio.”
“Yes.”
Father Michael looked at Luca.
“Your father trusted him.”
Luca thought of the tape.
Protect him if you can.
Then why lie for two years?
Father Michael answered without being asked.
“Because after Vittorio died, Daniel disappeared.”
“To where?”
“Chicago.”
“For twelve years?”
“Most of them.”
Luca shook his head.
“Then he came back and arranged to meet me like we were strangers?”
Father Michael looked at him sadly.
“Maybe he did not arrange to meet you.”
That sentence landed differently.
Luca remembered.
A charity dinner.
Daniel seated beside a museum director.
Their introduction seemingly accidental.
Who had arranged the table?
Matteo.
Luca closed his eyes.
Of course.
He turned.
“Bring Matteo here.”
Carlo made the call.
Twenty minutes later, Matteo entered the church.
He looked furious.
“Twelve years of being your brother and one sentence from Daniel puts guards outside my door?”
Luca held up the letter.
“Dad cleared you.”
Matteo’s anger vanished.
“What?”
Luca gave him the paper.
Matteo read it.
His face crumpled slightly.
He sat.
“He knew.”
“What?”
“That I’d think he suspected me.”
Luca looked at him.
Matteo laughed bitterly.
“The night Dad called, I went to his office. I was drunk. Angry. He told me to grow up.”
Luca had never heard this.
Matteo continued.
“We fought.”
“About what?”
“You.”
Luca’s expression changed.
“He said you’d lead after him. I told him I was tired of everybody deciding you were the responsible one.”
Luca nearly smiled.
“At twenty-two?”
“You were not responsible.”
“Fair.”
Matteo’s eyes filled.
“I told Dad maybe Anthony was right. Maybe the family needed somebody less sentimental.”
Luca understood.
Matteo had spent twelve years believing those might have been among his last words to Vittorio.
“I left.”
“What time?”
“Ten forty.”
“Dad died around midnight.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Matteo looked toward the confessional.
“I saw Salvatore DeSantis enter the house when I left.”
Carlo’s face changed.
“My father?”
Matteo nodded.
“I never told you.”
Carlo stepped closer.
“Why?”
“Because after Dad died, your father was the one who held everything together.”
The horrible logic became clear.
Salvatore took control of security.
Controlled information.
Controlled access.
Helped twenty-six-year-old Luca inherit safely.
Maybe because he cared.
Maybe because he wanted to shape what came next.
Carlo looked sick.
“My father raised me to protect Luca.”
Matteo looked at him.
“Maybe that was guilt.”
No one spoke.
Then a side door opened.
Every head turned.
An old man entered with a cane.
Gray suit.
Thinner than memory.
But unmistakable.
Luca had seen his face in photographs his entire life.
Anthony Moretti.
Alive.
Matteo stood so quickly the pew slammed backward.
Carlo drew his weapon.
Anthony raised both hands.
“I’d prefer not to survive twelve years hiding just to get shot in church.”
Luca stared.
“You’re dead.”
Anthony smiled faintly.
“Obviously not.”
“You betrayed my father.”
“Yes.”
The answer was immediate.
No denial.
No excuse.
“I laundered Savino money. I planned to push Vittorio out.”
Luca’s jaw clenched.
“Did you kill him?”
Anthony’s smile disappeared.
“No.”
“Who did?”
Anthony looked directly at Carlo.
“Salvatore DeSantis.”
Carlo looked like he had been struck.
Anthony continued.
“And if Daniel is back in Brooklyn, Salvatore knows the truth is coming out.”
Luca stared.
“Salvatore is alive.”
Anthony nodded.
“He never went to Florida.”
“Where is he?”
Anthony’s eyes moved toward the altar.
“Closer than you think.”
Then the church bells began ringing.
Not normally.
Seven sharp strikes.
Father Michael turned white.
“What?”
The priest whispered:
“That’s the old emergency signal.”
Carlo’s phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
“Boss.”
Luca looked at him.
“The townhouse alarm.”
Elena’s blood ran cold.
Carlo continued.
“Somebody just entered using my father’s old security code.”
And Elena suddenly remembered something that made her grip Luca’s sleeve.
“My room.”
Luca turned.
“What?”
“The photograph wasn’t the only thing I found.”
His expression sharpened.
“What else?”
Elena swallowed.
“A letter Daniel hid beneath my mattress last night.”
Luca stared at her.
“You didn’t tell me?”
“I found it right before dinner. Then everything happened.”
“What did it say?”
Her face went pale.
“Don’t let Luca marry me.”
Silence.
“And?”
May you like
Elena’s voice dropped.
“Because if he does, Salvatore will kill him before they leave the church.”
