Chapter 5 - The Black Ledger
Mr. Bellini met us at the cafe cellar after police cleared the arson scene.
He looked exhausted.
“My father told me never to touch the old wine cabinet.”
The brass key fit an iron lock behind the lowest shelf.
Inside sat a black leather ledger wrapped in oilcloth.
Christopher stared.
“That’s it.”
I opened it.
Names.
Dates.
Payments.
Judges.
Construction companies.
Police officials.
Political donors.
Vitali.
Greco.
Men whose grandchildren now ran respectable corporations.
Then movement flashed behind the stairs.
A man grabbed me.
One arm locked around my shoulders.
Cold metal pressed my ribs.
“Drop the book.”
Christopher froze.
Marco raised his weapon.
The attacker pulled me backward.
“Matteo wants the ledger.”
Christopher said, “Take me.”
The man laughed.
“You think you matter more?”
“To Greco? Yes.”
He was stalling.
I knew it.
Christopher looked directly at me.
“Emily.”
His voice changed.
Calm.
“Remember your stage.”
My stage.
Rhythm.
Nona taught me never to rush a phrase when frightened.
One-two-three.
Pause.
The attacker shifted his weight.
I stomped his foot and drove my elbow backward.
He cursed.
The weapon moved away from me for one second.
Christopher crossed the cellar.
He struck the attacker’s wrist.
The gun clattered.
A second punch sent the man into the stone wall.
Marco restrained him.
Christopher stopped.
He turned immediately to me.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
His hands cupped my face.
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
Our foreheads nearly touched.
Then Mr. Bellini cleared his throat.
“I am very happy nobody died beside my wine.”
We stepped apart.
I returned to the ledger.
A recent entry caught my eye.
MATTEO GRECO — BOSTON TRANSFER — AUTHORIZED BY C. VITALI.
Christopher went white.
“That is not my signature.”
Below it was a witness.
MARCO DELUCA.
Marco stared.
“Not mine either.”
The ink looked newer than the rest.
Christopher closed the ledger.
“Someone inside my family authorized Greco’s money.”
“Who had your codes?” I asked.
He looked at Marco.
Marco answered.
“Three people.”
“Christopher, you, and?”
Marco’s face hardened.
“Dominic Vitali.”
Christopher’s uncle.
The man who had helped raise him after his parents died.
We returned to the safe house.
Christopher called Dominic.
No answer.
Twenty minutes later, Dominic arrived without being invited.
That was the answer.
He entered furious.
“I hear you locked Nico up.”
Christopher stood slowly.
“Who told you?”
Dominic stopped.
The mistake registered.
Christopher’s eyes turned cold.
“I asked who told you.”
Dominic saw the ledger.
Then me.
“So Lucia’s girl found it.”
I stepped back.
Christopher moved in front of me.
“Uncle.”
Dominic sighed.
“Your father should have burned that book.”
“You forged my authorization.”
“I used your authority.”
Christopher’s voice dropped.
“Not the same thing.”
“It is in our world.”
“Not anymore.”
Dominic laughed.
“You think hotels made you clean?”
Christopher did not deny the past.
“I know what I inherited.”
Dominic looked at me.
“Maria was weak.”
Christopher hit him.
One hard punch.
Dominic fell back into a chair.
Christopher stopped there.
“Do not speak about her like that.”
I caught his sleeve.
“Don’t give him more.”
Christopher breathed once.
Twice.
He stepped away.
Dominic smiled through a split lip.
“There he is.”
Christopher ordered Marco to call the police.
Dominic stared.
“You’re turning family over to cops?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll destroy your father’s empire.”
Christopher looked at the ledger.
“Maybe that is overdue.”
As guards restrained him, Dominic shouted one last thing.
“You think that book matters?”
Christopher turned.
“Maria kept the second one.”
The room went silent.
“What second book?”
“Lucia kept names,” Dominic said. “Maria kept debts.”
Giulia closed her eyes.
Christopher looked at her.
“Where is it?”
She whispered, “With Matteo Greco.”
Dominic laughed.
Giulia continued.
“And he believes you are the only person who can prove it is real.”
Before leaving for the yacht, Christopher showed me how to remove the wire if something went wrong.
“You pull here.”
“I know.”
“If Matteo’s people search you—”
“I know.”
“If you think he suspects—”
“Christopher.”
He stopped.
“What?”
“You are doing it again.”
“What?”
“Preparing for every possibility except the one where I can think.”
His expression softened.
“Sorry.”
“You can worry.”
“I do.”
“You cannot turn worry into instructions until I disappear.”
He nodded.
“Understood.”
Then I noticed his cufflinks.
Old silver.
A tiny V.
“Your father’s?”
“Yes.”
“Why wear them?”
He looked down.
“I don’t know.”
That answer felt honest.
I touched one.
“Maybe because you’re going to meet a man who knew him.”
“Maybe.”
“You can take them off.”
“I know.”
He did not.
On the yacht, Matteo noticed immediately.
“Vincent’s.”
Christopher looked at his wrist.
“Yes.”
“He wore those the night he agreed to Salvatore’s terms.”
Christopher’s jaw tightened.
Matteo had planned even that tiny psychological blow.
I reached under the table and touched Christopher’s hand.
Not romantic.
Not exactly.
Grounding.
His fingers closed briefly around mine.
Matteo saw.
Of course he did.
“You two think affection makes you harder to manipulate.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
“What then?”
“It gives us somebody who can tell when the other person is being stupid.”
Christopher coughed into his glass.
Matteo frowned.
For one second, power left the table.
Humor did that.
I understood why Nona used it so often.
Fear wanted everyone solemn.
Laughter refused the rules.
Dominic’s betrayal did something unexpected to Christopher.
He became quieter.
Not colder.
Quieter.
At breakfast the next morning, he dismissed two advisers who argued that calling police showed weakness.
One of them said, “Your father would never have done this.”
Christopher replied, “My father is dead.”
The room froze.
He continued.
“I am done taking advice from graves.”
I looked down at my coffee so nobody saw me smile.
Later I asked whether he meant it.
“I think so.”
“That sounds uncertain.”
“It is.”
He leaned against the kitchen counter.
“I spent my entire life being told survival meant becoming the man before me.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m wondering whether survival means disappointing him.”
I thought of Nona refusing Salvatore.
“Sometimes disappointing your family is the first honest thing you do.”
Christopher looked at me.
“You make rebellion sound healthy.”
“It can be.”
“You say that because Lucia stole a ledger.”
“She also crashed her brother’s car into a fountain.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“Long story.”
May you like
For once, the dangerous history between our families gave us something harmless.
A reason to laugh.
