Chapter 5 - THE MAN ISABELLA TRUSTED
Cesare Valenti did not look like a traitor.
He looked exactly as he always did.
Silver hair.
Black wool coat.
Perfect manners.
The sort of man who remembered birthdays and funeral anniversaries.
The man who had poured Isabella lemonade when she was eight and taught Octavio how to drive.
He entered the Conti library at 11:22 P.M.
His eyes found the train ticket immediately.
Then the pocket watch.
Then me.
For one brief second, something painful crossed his face.
“Michael’s daughter.”
I stood.
“You knew my father.”
“Yes.”
“That’s more than you told people.”
Cesare removed his coat.
“You’ve been speaking with Octavio.”
“Don’t blame him for my questions.”
“I wasn’t.”
He looked at Octavio.
“You found Margherita’s chest.”
“Isabella did.”
That made Cesare close his eyes.
“Clever girl.”
“Where is she?”
“Safe.”
Octavio’s voice hardened.
“Where?”
“No.”
I expected shouting.
Instead Octavio became terrifyingly calm.
“You are in my house.”
Cesare almost smiled.
“I changed your diapers in this house.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Not to me.”
For a second I saw what made betrayal inside families so dangerous.
Love did not soften the weapon.
It sharpened it.
Octavio placed the photograph of Cesare entering the church beside Isabella on the desk.
“She trusts you.”
“She should.”
“Should I?”
Cesare looked at him for a long time.
“Not if you have to ask.”
Octavio flinched so slightly most people would have missed it.
I didn’t.
“Tell me about Michael Hayes,” I said.
Cesare turned toward me.
“Your father was the bravest frightened man I ever knew.”
“That’s a strange compliment.”
“It’s the only kind that matters.”
He picked up the train ticket.
“Michael discovered financial transfers between one of Enzo’s legitimate construction companies and the Falcone organization.”
“Money laundering?”
“Among other things.”
“Was my father part of it?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
“He was trying to stop it.”
I finally breathed.
“But he wrote that you knew.”
“I did.”
“You met him the night before he died.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you tell everyone you hadn’t?”
Cesare’s face hardened.
“Because Michael made me promise.”
“Why?”
“Because he believed someone close to Enzo was feeding information to the Falcones.”
Octavio stepped forward.
“Who?”
“We didn’t know.”
“Then why keep me away?”
Cesare looked at him.
“Because you were twenty-four, angry, arrogant, and convinced bullets were arguments.”
Octavio’s jaw tightened.
“He was right,” Cesare added.
I glanced at Octavio.
To my surprise, he didn’t disagree.
“What happened at Union Station?” I asked.
Cesare looked toward the windows.
“Michael arrived late. He was frightened.”
“He gave you the ledger?”
“No.”
“He gave it to Enzo?”
“No.”
“Then where is it?”
“I never knew.”
My frustration broke.
“Everybody keeps telling me they never knew!”
Cesare looked at me.
“That is why people survived.”
Before I could respond, Octavio placed Isabella’s note on the desk.
“Why does she trust you?”
“Because unlike you, I listened.”
That cut.
Cesare continued.
“She discovered the old Falcone transfers three months ago. They started again.”
Octavio stared.
“Impossible.”
“No.”
“I closed every Falcone account eight years ago.”
“You closed the ones you knew about.”
“And you knew?”
“Recently.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because every time Isabella tried to talk about leaving Chicago, you doubled her security.”
“To protect her.”
“To imprison her.”
Octavio’s face went rigid.
Cesare looked almost sad.
“You love with locks, Tavio.”
The nickname changed the room.
Not boss.
Not Mr. Conti.
Tavio.
Family.
Cesare reached into his jacket.
Marco’s hand moved toward his weapon.
Cesare gave him a disappointed look.
“Relax, Marco. If I intended to kill anyone in this room, we would not be having dessert conversation.”
He removed an envelope.
Inside was a marriage certificate.
Isabella Conti.
Daniel Mercer.
Married that evening in Cicero.
I smiled despite myself.
“She did it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she loves him.”
“No. Why the deception?”
Cesare looked at Octavio.
“Because someone wanted her engaged to Adrian Falcone.”
Octavio’s face changed.
“I refused that proposal.”
“I know.”
“Then who—”
Cesare’s silence answered before his words.
“Someone used your authority.”
I stared.
“Forged his approval?”
“Yes.”
Octavio looked furious.
“Who?”
“That is what Isabella was trying to learn.”
Cesare placed another document on the desk.
A security directive.
Octavio’s name.
Octavio’s signature.
Ordering increased surveillance on Isabella and authorizing negotiations with the Falcone family.
Octavio looked at it once.
“This isn’t mine.”
“I know.”
“Who had access to my signature?”
“Six people.”
Marco said quietly, “Including me.”
Cesare nodded.
“And me.”
Another crack opened beneath us.
“Isabella believed marrying Daniel would make the Falcone arrangement impossible,” Cesare said. “She also believed whoever forged that document would panic.”
“And they did,” I whispered.
The threats.
The tracker.
The blood in the garage.
Cesare looked at me.
“Yes.”
“Then where is she?”
He hesitated.
That was the first time he looked afraid.
“She was supposed to be at Saint Agnes until midnight.”
“Supposed to be?”
“When I arrived twenty minutes ago, she and Daniel were gone.”
Octavio crossed the room.
“You left them unprotected?”
“I left two men.”
“Where are they?”
“Missing.”
Octavio grabbed his coat.
“Marco.”
But I was staring at the fake security directive.
Something bothered me.
The signature.
Not the signature itself.
The paper.
I had seen it before.
I picked it up.
“What?”
Octavio stopped.
“This watermark.”
Cesare frowned.
I held it toward the lamp.
A faint crest appeared.
Three wheat stalks beneath a crown.
I knew it because I had drawn it sixty times.
It was embossed on the stationery used at Sunday dinners.
Not Octavio’s office stationery.
Someone else’s.
“Where have I seen that?”
Then I remembered.
My sketchpad.
Dinner.
A man writing beside the fireplace while Isabella complained about dessert.
I closed my eyes.
My mind saw the room exactly as it had been.
The stationery.
The fountain pen.
The hand.
And on one finger—
A black onyx ring.
My eyes opened.
Octavio saw my face.
“Who?”
I whispered the name.
“Marco.”
Silence.
Every person in the library turned toward Octavio’s security chief.
Marco didn’t move.
Then very slowly, he removed his hand from inside his jacket.
May you like
And blood began dripping from his sleeve.
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