Chapter 4 - WHAT MY MOTHER KNEW
We returned to Renato’s mansion after midnight.
I should have been asleep.
Mom said so at least six times.
But I had learned that adults often told children to sleep right before saying the most important things.
So I sat on the stairs where nobody could see me.
Renato, Mom, Marco, and Dr. Chen gathered in the library.
The captured attacker had refused to speak.
The police had been given a false explanation involving corporate espionage because, as Marco said, “Some questions are easier to answer after we know who is asking them.”
I didn’t completely understand that.
I understood the important part.
Renato still didn’t know who to trust.
“The ring bothers me,” Mom said.
“It should,” Renato replied.
“Why would Vittorio carry around your father’s ring for eight years, then give it to someone attacking a storage unit?”
“He wouldn’t.”
“Exactly.”
“So someone is framing him?”
“Or someone wants you to think they are.”
Renato rubbed his temples.
“The problem is Vittorio already has enough evidence against him without the ring.”
Dr. Salvi’s statement.
His presence at St. Andrew’s.
The foundation crest.
The missing toxicology request.
But no direct proof he poisoned Antonio.
Marco’s phone buzzed.
He read a message.
“Vittorio just contacted the house.”
Renato looked up.
“What did he say?”
“He wants to meet.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
Mom stood.
“No.”
Renato looked at her.
“What?”
“If he might be involved, you don’t bring him into the same house as Grace.”
“He won’t touch her.”
“You don’t know that.”
The certainty in Mom’s voice made Renato pause.
For most of my life, powerful people had talked over my mother.
Landlords.
Managers.
Debt collectors.
Doctors.
She always became quieter.
Not with Renato.
Maybe because once you spend years surviving without anyone important helping you, important people stop being that impressive.
Renato nodded.
“You’re right.”
Mom seemed surprised.
“So where do you meet him?”
“Nowhere.”
Marco looked at him.
“Boss?”
“If Vittorio wants to explain himself, he can do it by phone.”
The call came ten minutes later.
I crept down two more stairs.
Vittorio’s voice filled the library speaker.
“Renato.”
It was deep.
Warm.
The kind of voice that sounded like it belonged to someone’s favorite uncle.
I stopped breathing.
I had heard that voice before.
Behind the hospital.
Not clearly enough to be sure.
But something about it scratched at my memory.
“You disappeared,” Renato said.
“I disappeared because armed men arrived at my office.”
“You knew about my medication?”
Silence.
“Who told you that?”
“Answer.”
“No.”
Renato’s face hardened.
“Did you kill my father?”
Vittorio laughed.
Not loudly.
Sadly.
“Antonio was my brother.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No. I did not kill him.”
“Were you at St. Andrew’s the night he died?”
“Yes.”
Renato went still.
“Why did you never tell me?”
“Because your father asked me to come.”
“After he collapsed?”
“Before.”
That changed everything.
Vittorio explained that Antonio called him from the restaurant bathroom fifteen minutes before collapsing.
He believed somebody had been stealing from the Moretti Foundation.
He had discovered false medical-supply invoices.
He planned to confront a business partner after dinner.
“Who?”
Vittorio hesitated.
“Your godfather.”
Renato’s expression changed.
“Gabriel?”
Marco swore.
Gabriel Russo.
Even I knew that name because his photograph appeared in newspapers beside Renato’s sometimes.
He had been Antonio Moretti’s closest friend.
After Antonio died, Gabriel became chief financial officer of the Moretti family’s legitimate businesses.
He attended Renato’s birthdays.
His father’s funeral.
Every Christmas dinner.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Renato demanded.
“Because I couldn’t prove it.”
“You let me work beside him for eight years.”
“I watched him for eight years.”
“And found nothing?”
“Nothing enough to survive accusing him.”
Mom crossed her arms.
“That sounds convenient.”
Vittorio paused.
“Who is that?”
“Dana Carter.”
Another pause.
Longer this time.
Then Vittorio whispered, “The records clerk.”
Mom’s face changed.
“You remember me?”
“I tried to find you.”
“Why?”
“Because you had something Antonio needed.”
“The toxicology request?”
“Yes.”
Mom stared at the speaker.
“You knew.”
“I knew Antonio suspected poison. I did not know whether he had already been poisoned.”
Renato’s voice became ice.
“Then why did you take the request from Salvi?”
“I didn’t.”
Dr. Salvi had said Vittorio took it.
Someone was lying.
Renato ended the call without warning.
Nobody spoke.
Then I came down the stairs.
Mom spotted me instantly.
“Grace Carter.”
That tone usually meant trouble.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“You were listening.”
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes.
Renato looked at me.
“What did you hear behind the hospital?”
“All of it.”
“No. I mean the second man.”
I thought.
“His voice was lower than Vittorio’s.”
Everyone became still.
“Are you sure?” Marco asked.
“I think.”
“Think carefully.”
I closed my eyes.
Behind the south wall.
Cold brick against my back.
A bag of aluminum cans beside me.
Dr. Salvi saying:
Three days, maybe seven.
The second man answering:
Mr. Moretti won’t make it to Sunday.
Then something else.
A phrase.
I opened my eyes.
“He called him ‘Matty.’”
Dr. Salvi looked startled.
“What?”
“The other man said, ‘Don’t lose your nerve, Matty.’”
Renato turned toward Salvi.
“Who calls you Matty?”
Salvi’s mouth opened.
Closed.
Then he whispered, “Gabriel.”
The room exploded into movement.
Marco reached for his phone.
Renato stood.
Mom pulled me toward her.
Gabriel Russo had known Dr. Salvi for thirty years.
Their families vacationed together when they were younger.
And Gabriel controlled the Moretti Foundation accounts when Antonio died.
Renato looked at Dr. Chen.
“Can Gabriel access my prescriptions?”
“Not directly.”
“Indirectly?”
“If he has authorization through the family medical office.”
Marco looked up from his phone.
“He does.”
The answer landed like thunder.
As chief financial officer, Gabriel approved payment for Renato’s private medical team.
He could see appointments.
Pharmacy schedules.
Medication deliveries.
Everything.
Renato whispered, “Godfather.”
That word sounded broken.
Then my mother suddenly sat down.
She had gone pale.
“What?” I asked.
She looked at Renato.
“There’s something I never told anyone.”
Her hands trembled.
“The night your father died, a man came into medical records after security removed me.”
Renato stared.
“Who?”
“I didn’t know his name.”
“And now?”
Mom pointed toward a framed photograph on Renato’s bookshelf.
Antonio Moretti stood beside three younger men.
Renato.
Vittorio.
And Gabriel Russo.
Mom’s finger stopped on Gabriel.
“Him.”
A silence unlike any other filled the room.
“He told my supervisor I was confused,” Mom whispered. “He said pregnancy was making me emotional.”
Her voice hardened.
“Then he watched them escort me out.”
Renato looked at Marco.
“Bring Gabriel in.”
Marco did not move.
“Boss…”
“What?”
“He’s already here.”
My stomach dropped.
Marco looked toward the security monitor.
A black sedan had just entered the gates.
Gabriel Russo was walking toward the mansion.
May you like
And on his right hand was a silver ring engraved with a falcon.
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