Chapter 2 - The Man in the Wedding Photograph
Carlo Moretti had been part of Vincent’s life for as long as Vincent could remember.
After Vincent’s father died, Carlo became his closest adviser. He negotiated with rival families, calmed ambitious captains, and stood beside Vincent at funerals, weddings, and trials.
He had also delivered the news of Luca’s supposed death.
Vincent remembered the exact expression on his uncle’s face that night: controlled sorrow, lowered eyes, one hand placed heavily on Vincent’s shoulder.
Now Carlo was smiling in Luca’s wedding photograph.
“Where was this taken?” Vincent asked.
Dominic enlarged the image.
“A small chapel in Oak Park. Eight months ago.”
“And Carlo attended?”
“According to the church record, he signed as a witness.”
Vincent stared at the photograph until the screen blurred beneath his anger.
Carlo had known.
While Vincent stood before Luca’s empty grave every year, Carlo knew his brother was alive. He knew Luca had married. He likely knew Isabelle was pregnant.
“Do not tell anyone what we found,” Vincent said.
Dominic nodded.
“What about Carlo?”
“He is upstairs?”
“In the library.”
“Keep him there.”
Vincent returned to Isabelle’s room.
Dr. Harrison had finished the examination and covered her with a blanket. A clear intravenous line ran into her arm. Her face remained pale, but her breathing had steadied.
“She needs rest,” Harrison said.
“She needs answers.”
“So do I,” Isabelle replied.
Vincent held Dominic’s phone where she could see the photograph.
The moment she saw Carlo, confusion crossed her face.
“You know him,” Vincent said.
“His name is Charles.”
“Charles what?”
“Luke said he was an old family friend.”
Vincent almost laughed, but nothing about the moment was amusing.
“Charles is my uncle Carlo.”
Isabelle studied the photograph.
“He helped us arrange the ceremony. Luke said he trusted him.”
“Did they meet often?”
“I saw him three times. He came to the clinic once, then to our apartment, and then the wedding.”
“What did they discuss?”
“They always spoke privately.”
Vincent pulled a chair beside the bed.
“Think carefully. Did Luca change after Carlo appeared?”
Isabelle looked toward the monitor, where a printout of the ultrasound image rested beside the machine.
“He became more anxious.”
“How soon afterward did he die?”
“Three weeks.”
Vincent leaned back.
The pattern was too clean.
Carlo discovered Luca.
Carlo attended the wedding.
Luca became frightened.
Luca died.
Now Isabelle and the unborn child had nearly been caught inside an assassination attempt directed through a Moretti communication channel.
“Why would your uncle kill his own nephew?” Isabelle asked.
“Power.”
“You already control the family.”
“Yes.”
“Then what could Luke threaten?”
Vincent’s expression darkened.
“Legitimacy.”
Isabelle frowned.
Vincent looked toward the locked door before speaking.
“My grandfather created the organization. He wrote rules for succession into a private family charter. The oldest surviving son normally inherits control, but there is one exception. If the current leader dies without a child, a younger brother—or his male heir—may claim the family’s businesses and assets.”
Isabelle’s hand moved protectively over her stomach.
“Your uncle knew my baby could inherit.”
“If the child is Luca’s son, yes.”
“I do not want your empire.”
“The empire may not care what you want.”
Her eyes flashed.
“My baby will never become part of this.”
Vincent respected the force in her voice, even while knowing force alone would not protect her.
“I spent my life attempting to keep Luca out,” he said.
“You clearly failed.”
The accusation landed cleanly.
Vincent did not defend himself.
Harrison quietly gathered his equipment and left them alone.
Isabelle turned the wedding ring between her fingers.
“Luke told me he had an older brother.”
Vincent looked up.
“He said his brother protected him when they were children. He said the man became hard because everyone around him punished kindness.”
Vincent’s face remained still.
“What else?”
“He said he loved him, but could not return home.”
“Why?”
“He believed returning would force his brother to choose between family and power.”
Vincent looked away.
Luca had been right.
Five years earlier, their father’s captains would never have allowed the younger son simply to leave. Vincent could have protected Luca only by surrendering the leadership he had just inherited. At thirty-seven, surrounded by enemies and responsibilities, Vincent had convinced himself Luca’s escape was temporary.
Then the burned car had been found.
“Did he leave anything?” Vincent asked. “Documents? A key? A message?”
“Only a sealed envelope.”
Vincent’s attention sharpened.
“Where is it?”
“I do not know.”
“You said he left it.”
“He gave it to me before he died. He told me to open it if anyone named Moretti ever came looking.”
“And you did not open it tonight?”
“I hid it somewhere no one would search.”
“Where?”
Isabelle’s gaze hardened.
“I am not telling you.”
Vincent stood.
“My brother may have named his killer.”
“Or he may have warned me about you.”
A muscle moved in Vincent’s jaw.
“You believe I killed him?”
“I woke up this morning believing my husband was an ordinary man who died in an accident. Now I am locked inside a criminal’s private hospital while armed guards stand outside my door.”
“I saved your life.”
“And you keep saying that as though it means I surrendered it to you.”
Vincent stepped closer, then stopped himself.
Fear would make her less cooperative. More importantly, Luca had chosen her. That meant she deserved something Vincent rarely offered anyone.
The truth.
“My wife was pregnant when she died,” he said.
Isabelle’s anger faltered.
“An explosive was placed beneath our car. Elena entered before I did. I reached her, but I could not save her or our daughter.”
His voice remained level, but his right hand slowly closed into a fist.
“Afterward, Luca told me the family would consume everything I loved. He left two months later.”
Isabelle watched him carefully.
“Tonight, when you fell, I saw Elena.”
For a moment, Vincent was no longer a mafia boss inside an underground clinic. He was a husband kneeling beside a ruined car, begging a dying woman not to close her eyes.
“I will not allow your child to become another punishment intended for me.”
Isabelle’s expression softened, but only slightly.
“My baby is not your chance to fix the past.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Before Vincent could answer, the door opened.
Carlo entered.
He wore a dark navy suit and carried himself with the relaxed authority of a man accustomed to entering any room without permission. At sixty-three, he remained handsome, silver-haired, and composed.
His gaze moved from Vincent to Isabelle.
For one dangerous second, recognition entered his face.
Then it vanished.
“I heard a civilian was injured,” Carlo said. “I came to offer assistance.”
Isabelle gripped the blanket.
“Charles.”
Carlo looked toward her as though searching his memory.
“I am sorry. Have we met?”
Her disbelief became anger.
“You stood beside my husband at our wedding.”
Vincent closed the door behind Carlo.
The older man did not turn around.
Instead, he sighed.
“Vincent, I can explain.”
“That would be wise.”
Carlo looked toward Isabelle.
“She should not be involved in this conversation.”
“She is Luca’s widow.”
The name settled heavily between them.
Carlo’s polished expression finally cracked.
“You found out.”
“The ultrasound found out.”
Carlo glanced toward the image near the machine.
“How much does she know?”
“Enough to understand you lied to both of us.”
Carlo walked toward the far end of the room.
“I protected Luca.”
“By declaring him dead?”
“By giving him a life outside this family.”
“You let me bury him.”
“It was necessary.”
Vincent’s voice dropped.
“Was murdering him necessary too?”
Isabelle stopped breathing.
Carlo turned.
“I did not kill Luca.”
“Then who did?”
“I do not know.”
Vincent crossed the room so quickly that Carlo had no time to react. He seized his uncle by the lapels and drove him against the wood-paneled wall.
The medical instruments shook inside their cabinets.
“Five years,” Vincent said. “You looked into my face for five years and watched me grieve.”
Carlo did not struggle.
“If I had told you he was alive, your enemies would have learned it within days.”
“You believed I could not protect my own brother?”
“I believed Luca needed protection from the position you occupied.”
Vincent’s grip tightened.
“Boss,” Dominic warned from the doorway.
Isabelle shifted painfully on the bed.
“Stop.”
Vincent looked toward her.
“You will not get the truth if he cannot speak,” she said.
Slowly, Vincent released Carlo.
The older man straightened his jacket.
“Luca came to me after he left,” Carlo explained. “He wanted a new identity. I arranged employment and documents. I kept his location from everyone.”
“Not everyone,” Vincent said.
Carlo’s gaze moved toward Isabelle’s stomach.
“Three months ago, I learned someone had accessed an old financial account connected to Luca’s identity. I warned him. He refused to run because Isabelle’s mother was dying.”
Isabelle’s eyes filled.
“He stayed for us.”
“Yes.”
“And after she died?”
“He planned to take Isabelle out of Illinois. Then he was killed.”
“You attended the wedding three weeks earlier,” Vincent said. “Why?”
“Because Luca asked me.”
“What did he tell you?”
Carlo hesitated.
Vincent took one step toward him.
“He believed your wife’s death and his disappearance were connected.”
The room became still.
Vincent’s voice was barely audible.
“Elena?”
“Luca never believed the car bomb was ordered by the Falcones. He discovered payments from a Moretti-controlled company to the man who built the device.”
“Which company?”
“I do not know. Luca refused to tell me until he had complete proof.”
Vincent’s anger shifted direction.
If someone inside his family had killed Elena, then the betrayal began long before Luca’s murder.
“Why would he hide the proof from you?” Isabelle asked Carlo.
The older man looked at her.
“Because he no longer trusted me.”
“Why?”
“Someone found him soon after I attended the wedding.”
Isabelle understood first.
“You led them to him.”
“Not intentionally.”
“But you did.”
Carlo lowered his eyes.
“I was followed.”
Vincent studied his uncle’s face.
Carlo might be guilty of secrecy and arrogance, but his regret appeared real.
“Who knew you were searching for him?” Vincent asked.
“My driver. Two guards. Your financial adviser.”
“Sebastian Vale?”
Carlo nodded.
Sebastian had managed the Moretti family’s legal businesses for fourteen years. He controlled accounts, shell companies, property records, and political donations. He also understood the succession charter better than anyone.
Vincent walked toward the door.
“Bring Vale to the library.”
Dominic did not move.
“He left the estate twenty minutes ago.”
“Why was he permitted to leave?”
“He received a call that his daughter had been hospitalized.”
Vincent looked toward Carlo.
“Does Vale have a daughter?”
“No.”
An alarm sounded through the medical wing.
The lights dimmed once.
Then the main power failed.
Emergency illumination turned the room red.
Dominic drew his weapon.
“Someone has breached the lower security system.”
Vincent reached for Isabelle.
“Move her.”
The medical door locked automatically before Dominic could open it.
A second later, smoke began drifting from the ventilation grate above Isabelle’s bed.
Carlo covered his mouth.
“That is not smoke,” he said.
Vincent smelled the faint chemical sweetness in the air and understood.
Gas.
May you like
Someone was not attempting to enter the room.
They were trying to ensure that no one inside survived.
