Chapter 6 - His Mother Had Known
Julian read the letter seven times.
Camille counted.
On the eighth, she took it from him.
“You’re going to tear it.”
He released the paper.
“My mother died in a car accident.”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“And Isabella?”
“Twenty.”
“What does the letter say before that line?”
Camille read carefully.
Elena Moretti had written that she discovered unexplained payments from companies managed by Renato. She suspected he had been using Moretti transportation contracts for criminal operations.
She had planned to tell her husband.
She never had the chance.
Three days later, her car crossed the median during heavy rain.
The official investigation blamed mechanical failure.
Julian stared at the floor.
“I approved the report.”
“You trusted the investigators.”
“I wanted it finished.”
“You were grieving.”
“I was weak.”
Camille shook her head.
“Those aren’t the same thing.”
He looked at her.
The sentence was familiar.
Her own words from the clinic.
Camille continued.
“Someone failing to discover a crime isn’t the same as causing it.”
“That distinction won’t bring her back.”
“No.”
“Then what good is it?”
“It might keep you from destroying yourself for something Renato did.”
Silence.
Violet climbed onto the bed.
Julian touched her fur.
For once, the cat did not hiss.
Dante arranged for the letter to be tested.
Authentic.
Ink age consistent.
Fingerprints impossible to determine clearly.
But the timing fit.
Then another discovery surfaced.
The garage mechanic who inspected Elena Moretti’s car had vanished eleven years ago.
A man named Thomas Bell.
No death certificate.
No known address.
No tax records after the accident.
Until four months earlier.
A pharmacy claim appeared under the same Social Security number in Wisconsin.
Julian wanted to leave immediately.
This time Camille agreed.
The trail led to a tiny town near Lake Michigan.
Thomas Bell lived alone above an auto-repair shop.
He was sixty-seven.
Gray-haired.
Thin.
And when Julian gave his name, Thomas tried to close the door.
Dante stopped it.
“We only want to talk.”
Thomas laughed bitterly.
“Morettis never only want to talk.”
Camille stepped forward.
“I’m not a Moretti.”
Thomas looked at her.
“What are you?”
“Veterinarian.”
He stared.
“That somehow makes this stranger.”
Eventually he let them inside.
The apartment smelled of motor oil and coffee.
Thomas listened while Julian described the letter.
Then he began shaking.
“I knew she would leave something.”
Julian leaned forward.
“My mother?”
Thomas nodded.
“What happened to her car?”
Thomas stared into his cup.
“The brake line was damaged.”
Julian stopped breathing.
“Accidentally?”
“No.”
“Who paid you?”
“Nobody paid me.”
“Who threatened you?”
Thomas looked toward the window.
“Renato.”
There it was.
The name again.
Thomas explained that after Elena died, Renato ordered him to sign a report describing mechanical failure caused by corrosion.
Thomas refused.
Two nights later someone broke into his home.
His wife was threatened.
He signed.
Then disappeared.
“Why didn’t you tell my father?”
“I tried.”
Thomas looked at Julian with pity.
“Your father died six weeks later.”
Camille’s skin went cold.
Julian stood.
“My father had a heart attack.”
Thomas said nothing.
“Say it.”
“I don’t know what happened to your father.”
“Say what you know.”
“Your mother told him about Renato the night before she died.”
Julian staggered backward as if physically struck.
Camille caught his arm.
For once he did not pull away.
His entire understanding of his family had collapsed in a Wisconsin apartment above an auto shop.
Renato had not started recently.
This had lasted years.
Maybe decades.
Thomas produced one final piece of evidence.
A photograph.
Taken accidentally by a garage security camera.
Renato standing beside Elena’s car the night before her crash.
Julian held it carefully.
Proof.
Not complete proof.
But enough to reopen everything.
On the drive back to Chicago, he said almost nothing.
Camille sat beside him.
Violet slept in the seat between them.
Near midnight, Julian finally spoke.
“I should have known.”
“No.”
“I lived with him.”
“You were his target too.”
“He raised me after Dad died.”
“That was probably intentional.”
Julian stared through the windshield.
“He taught me to distrust everybody except family.”
Camille understood.
“Convenient.”
“Yes.”
The convoy entered Chicago.
Dante’s phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
“Turn around.”
Julian looked at him.
“What?”
“Estate security breach.”
“Isabella?”
“Safe.”
“What happened?”
Dante listened.
Then looked toward Violet.
“The carriage house is burning.”
Camille’s heart stopped.
Her temporary home.
Her belongings.
Her veterinary files.
Everything she brought.
Someone had entered one of the most secure properties in Chicago and set it on fire.
Julian’s voice became ice.
“Anyone hurt?”
“No.”
“Cameras?”
“Disabled.”
“Inside help?”
“Has to be.”
They reached the estate twenty minutes later.
Firefighters had contained the flames.
Camille stared at the blackened windows.
Julian stood beside her.
“I’m sorry.”
She looked at him.
“For what?”
“You were pulled into this because of me.”
“No.”
“Camille—”
“Because of Violet.”
He looked at the cat in her arms.
Camille smiled faintly.
“She has terrible judgment.”
Julian laughed.
One short broken sound.
Then he looked at the burning building again.
Someone had penetrated his security.
Someone close.
Someone trusted.
And when Dante handed him the access log, Julian recognized the code used to enter the estate.
It belonged to the only person he had never questioned.
His godfather.
Father Michael Moretti.
May you like
A priest.
Renato’s older brother.
