Chapter 9 - THE DEAD MATRIARCH
Vincent replayed the footage twelve times.
The result never changed.
Elena Moretti entered Luca’s office.
She knew the safe combination.
She removed Page 214.
She concealed it beneath her coat.
Then she looked directly into the hidden camera.
Almost as though she knew we would eventually watch.
At 3:53 a.m., she left.
The footage showed no disguise.
No mask.
No uncertainty.
It was Vincent’s mother.
Luca sat down.
“That is impossible.”
Vivian laughed bitterly.
“Again.”
Nobody corrected her.
Vincent stared at the image.
“I buried her.”
Gabriel said nothing.
“I watched them close the coffin.”
Still nothing.
“I identified her body.”
Margaret’s earlier warning returned to me.
Do not trust the first name you find.
I looked at Vincent.
“Could the footage be manipulated?”
Luca answered.
“Possible.”
“Likely?”
“No.”
Vincent looked at the camera device.
“Who had access to her medical care?”
“Margaret.”
“Doctors.”
“Private nurses.”
“Salvatore.”
Vivian lifted her head.
“My father?”
Vincent nodded.
“He visited constantly during the final month.”
She stared at the image.
“He knew.”
Gabriel rubbed his jaw.
“Or he arranged it.”
I looked at Vincent.
“What was the cause of death?”
“Heart failure.”
“Open casket?”
He hesitated.
“For family only.”
“You saw her face?”
“Yes.”
“Touched her?”
Another pause.
“No.”
Luca leaned forward.
“She had lost significant weight.”
Vincent looked at him.
“What are you suggesting?”
“That a similar-looking woman could have been used.”
Vincent’s chair moved backward sharply.
“You’re telling me I buried a stranger?”
“No.”
“I’m saying we don’t know.”
The house had become a place where nothing meant what it appeared to mean.
A dead sister had lived.
A dead mother might have survived.
A dead Daniel had become Gabriel.
Vivian’s dead mother was somewhere alive.
I suddenly wondered whether any grave connected to these people actually contained the person named on the stone.
At nine thirty the next morning, I prepared for Saint Cecilia’s.
Vincent gave up arguing after I refused to stay home.
We compromised.
I would enter alone.
His people would remain outside.
Vivian hated the arrangement.
“If Margaret knows where my mother is, I deserve to hear it.”
“You also nearly framed me for theft yesterday.”
Her face tightened.
“I know.”
The words were quiet.
I looked at her.
“You really do?”
“Yes.”
She swallowed.
“I don’t expect forgiveness.”
“Good.”
“But if my mother is alive…”
Her voice broke.
“I have to know.”
I understood.
That was inconvenient.
I looked at Vincent.
“She can wait in the car.”
Vivian seemed surprised.
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t do it for you.”
“I know.”
Saint Cecilia’s sat between newer buildings that made the old church look forgotten.
The stone steps were wet from melting snow.
No one stood outside.
I entered at exactly ten.
The sanctuary was nearly empty.
Candles flickered near the altar.
An elderly woman sat in the third pew.
Her hood covered most of her face.
“Margaret?”
She turned.
It was the woman from the airport video.
The same slight limp.
But not Elena.
I exhaled.
Margaret looked terrified.
“You brought them.”
“They’re outside.”
“I said alone.”
“I came inside alone.”
She almost smiled.
“Alessandra used to argue like that.”
My chest tightened.
“You knew my mother?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I was Elena’s nurse.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
Margaret looked toward the altar.
“Your grandmother hired me twenty-seven years ago.”
“To care for her?”
“To find Alessandra.”
I sat.
Margaret kept her voice low.
“Elena regretted signing the lake house agreement within hours.”
“She asked Luca to find her daughter.”
“He couldn’t.”
“So she hired me privately.”
“Why you?”
“My husband was a private investigator.”
“Matthew Sloan?”
“No.”
“Matthew is my son.”
The name clicked.
Belladonna’s chief engineer.
One of the people with security access.
“He helped you fake Elena’s death.”
Margaret looked sharply at me.
“You’re quicker than Vincent.”
“Did he?”
She didn’t answer.
That meant yes.
“Why?”
“Because Elena learned someone intended to kill her.”
“Who?”
“Salvatore?”
Margaret shook her head.
“Antonio was already dead.”
“So who?”
She looked toward the rear doors.
“I need to show you something first.”
She reached into her coat.
A photograph.
Two women stood outside a small farmhouse.
One was Margaret.
The other was older.
Thin.
But unmistakable.
Elena Moretti.
The date was three months ago.
My grandmother was alive.
“Where is she?”
“Safe.”
“Does Vincent know?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because Elena believes the threat is inside his inner circle.”
“Who?”
“She never confirmed.”
I thought of Gabriel.
Luca.
House staff.
Security.
Every person.
“Did Elena put Page 214 in Luca’s pocket?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To force him to confess.”
“So she is inside Belladonna House?”
“Sometimes.”
“How?”
“There are passages Salvatore never discovered.”
That explained the impossible movements.
“What about Vivian’s mother?”
Margaret’s expression became sad.
“Camille is with Elena.”
My heart accelerated.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Does Vivian’s father know?”
“He knows she survived.”
“Does he know where she is?”
“No.”
“Why did Camille stay hidden for twenty-eight years?”
Margaret looked at me.
“Because she was the witness.”
“To my mother being attacked?”
“Yes.”
“Who attacked her?”
Margaret hesitated.
I leaned closer.
“Tell me.”
“A man arrived at the lake house after midnight.”
“Camille thought he came to help.”
“He wore a Moretti family ring.”
“Who?”
“Camille saw him strike Alessandra.”
My nails dug into my palms.
“Who?”
“Then she saw Salvatore arrive.”
“Who was the first man?”
Margaret’s eyes filled with fear.
“Before I answer, you need to understand something.”
“What?”
“The man Camille saw was supposed to be dead before that night.”
I stared.
“Who?”
Margaret whispered a name.
“Marco Moretti.”
I frowned.
“I don’t know that name.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“He was Antonio’s younger brother.”
“Vincent’s uncle?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to him?”
“He supposedly died in Sicily in 1989.”
“So he was alive.”
“Yes.”
“Why attack my mother?”
“Because Marco believed the Moretti empire belonged to him.”
“And Alessandra’s child threatened that?”
“Yes.”
I felt cold.
“Is Marco alive now?”
Margaret looked away.
“I don’t know.”
The church doors opened.
A man entered.
Margaret immediately stood.
“We have to go.”
“Who is that?”
“Don’t turn around.”
I did anyway.
The man looked ordinary.
Gray coat.
Baseball cap.
He sat near the back.
Margaret grabbed my hand.
“Side door.”
We moved quickly.
The man stood.
I saw him reach into his coat.
We ran.
The side door opened into an alley.
Vincent’s car was half a block away.
Luca spotted us.
He began moving.
The man came through the church door behind us.
Margaret shouted.
“Run!”
Vincent’s security surrounded us.
The stranger stopped.
Then something unexpected happened.
He raised both hands.
“Isabella!”
I froze.
Vincent’s guards pushed him against the wall.
He didn’t resist.
“Check his coat.”
They did.
No weapon.
Only a leather notebook.
The man looked directly at me.
“My name is Thomas Reed.”
“Who?”
“I work for the United States Attorney’s Office.”
Every Moretti guard became still.
Vincent approached.
Thomas showed identification.
“I have been investigating Salvatore DeMarco for six years.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“Why follow Isabella?”
“I wasn’t following her.”
He looked at Margaret.
“I was following her.”
Margaret’s face went pale.
Thomas continued.
“Because Margaret Sloan is not her real name.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
Thomas removed a photograph from his notebook.
It showed a much younger Margaret.
Underneath was another name.
MARIA MORETTI.
Vincent stared.
“No.”
Thomas looked at him.
“Yes.”
“Margaret Sloan is Marco Moretti’s daughter.”
My stomach dropped.
The woman who had just warned me about Marco was his child.
Margaret suddenly stepped backward.
Vincent’s guards surrounded her.
I stared.
“You lied to me.”
Margaret looked devastated.
“About my name.”
“About everything?”
“No.”
“Is Elena alive?”
“Yes.”
“Camille?”
“Yes.”
“Did Marco attack my mother?”
Tears entered her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
Margaret whispered.
“I’ve spent twenty-eight years trying to answer that.”
Thomas stepped closer.
“I can answer it.”
Everyone turned toward him.
He looked at Vincent.
“Marco Moretti has been living under another name.”
My stomach tightened.
Thomas continued.
“He has been closer to Belladonna House than any of you realized.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“What name?”
Thomas looked directly at Luca Ferraro.
“Tell them.”
Luca’s face became gray.
I stared at him.
“No.”
Luca whispered.
“Not me.”
Thomas shook his head.
“I didn’t say it was you.”
He turned toward the black sedan parked behind us.
Inside, one of Vincent’s guards sat at the wheel.
Thomas pointed.
“Your security supervisor Ethan Pike is Marco Moretti’s son.”
The driver suddenly accelerated.
The sedan shot forward.
And in the back seat, through the tinted glass, I saw an elderly man watching us.
He lifted one hand.
On his finger was a heavy gold Moretti ring.
Margaret screamed.
“My father.”
Marco Moretti was alive.
May you like
And he had been watching Belladonna House all along.
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