Chapter 5 - His Mother's Rule
Elena Caruso had one rule.
Family survived.
Everyone else was negotiable.
She admitted ordering Salvatore Greco's death over breakfast.
I nearly dropped my coffee.
Dante did not touch his.
His mother sat across from us as if discussing weather.
“He betrayed you.”
“So you killed him.”
“He tried to kill my son.”
Dante's jaw tightened.
“That decision belonged to me.”
“You were busy being transformed by a waitress.”
Her eyes moved toward me.
I straightened.
“With respect—”
“You are not required to respect me.”
“That makes this easier.”
Dante closed his eyes briefly.
Elena looked almost entertained.
I continued.
“You told me people around Dante die because of his world.”
“Yes.”
“And then you murder one of his men when he's trying to change that world.”
“He was dangerous.”
“So are you.”
Silence.
Dante looked at me.
Elena did too.
I thought about running.
Instead, Elena smiled faintly.
“I understand him now.”
“What?”
“Why you.”
That was not reassuring.
Dante leaned forward.
“No more decisions in my name.”
Elena's expression hardened.
“I kept you alive after your father died.”
“You also taught me that survival justified everything.”
“It does.”
“No.”
His voice cracked like a door slamming.
“Not anymore.”
Mother and son stared at each other.
Then Elena rose.
“Matteo Bellini will not share your enlightenment.”
“Let me deal with him.”
“He wants Clare.”
My stomach tightened.
Dante's head snapped toward her.
“What?”
Elena placed a phone on the table.
A photograph filled the screen.
Me leaving the penthouse lobby the previous afternoon.
Taken from across the street.
Underneath was a message.
THE WAITRESS FOR THE WATERFRONT.
“What waterfront?” I whispered.
Dante looked furious.
Elena answered.
“Pier nineteen.”
“What does he want?”
Dante stood.
“Property.”
Elena shook her head.
“Power.”
The Caruso waterfront warehouses controlled access to one of Manhattan's most profitable private freight networks.
Dante had refused to sell them.
Matteo now wanted the deed in exchange for leaving me alone.
“Give it to him,” I said.
Both Carusos looked at me.
“What?”
“Give him the property.”
Dante shook his head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he won't stop.”
“You don't know that.”
“I know men like Matteo.”
Elena added softly, “Unfortunately, so do I.”
For once, we agreed.
That afternoon, I received another message.
Not from Matteo.
From Tommy.
Please call me. It's important.
I phoned.
“Clare.”
His voice shook.
“What happened?”
“Those men came back.”
“What men?”
“The ones who bought the diner.”
My stomach tightened.
“They're asking about your mother's things.”
I froze.
“What things?”
“The box you kept in the office.”
When Mom died, I had stored one cardboard box at the diner after losing my apartment.
Photographs.
Letters.
Insurance documents.
Her hospital paperwork.
“Why would they want that?”
“I don't know.”
I told Dante.
Within twenty minutes, we were heading toward the diner.
He insisted on six security cars.
I complained.
He brought eight.
The diner was closed.
Inside, everything looked wrong.
Tables overturned.
Office drawers emptied.
My mother's box lay open on the floor.
I dropped to my knees.
Photographs scattered everywhere.
Dante crouched beside me.
“What were they looking for?”
“I don't know.”
Then I saw an envelope.
Old.
Creased.
From Mom.
I had never opened it because the front said:
For Clare when she is ready to know about her father.
I had forgotten it existed.
Dante saw my expression.
“What?”
I held up the envelope.
“I think I know.”
My fingers shook opening it.
Inside was one page.
Clare,
If you are reading this, I probably waited too long. Your father did not abandon us. I told you that because I was afraid. His name is Michael Bellini.
The room tilted.
Bellini.
I read the sentence again.
No.
No.
Dante took the letter.
His face drained of color.
“Michael was Matteo's older brother.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Michael Bellini died twenty-four years ago.”
My birth year.
Dante looked at the date.
Then at me.
“You're Matteo Bellini's niece.”
My knees weakened.
Everything changed at once.
Why Matteo had targeted the diner.
Why his men searched Mom's belongings.
Why the waterfront demand involved me.
“What happened to Michael?”
Dante didn't answer immediately.
I knew.
“Your family.”
“My father,” he said quietly.
I stepped back.
“No.”
“Clare.”
“Your father killed mine?”
“I don't know.”
“Don't lie.”
“I don't know.”
Then a voice came from the diner's entrance.
“You should.”
We turned.
Matteo Bellini stood there.
No gun visible.
No guards.
Just an elegant man in his forties staring directly at me.
His eyes looked disturbingly familiar.
“My brother did not abandon your mother,” he said.
“He was murdered.”
Dante stepped between us.
Matteo smiled coldly.
“Ask your boyfriend who pulled the trigger.”
I looked at Dante.
He didn't move.
Matteo's smile widened.
“That's right.”
He looked at me.
“The Caruso family didn't merely destroy your father's life.”
A pause.
May you like
“They ended it.”
And suddenly the man I had kissed was standing between me and the family that might have killed my father.
