The Truth About Vittorio’s Death
Chapter 07 - The Truth About Vittorio’s Death
Elena Moretti did not deny being in the room.
That was the first shock.
The second was worse.
She had held the syringe.
Luca stood in his mother’s hotel suite.
I stayed because Elena asked.
Vanessa sat across the room.
Carlo Bellini remained unconscious in a hospital.
Martin Hale was under guard.
Everyone left alive seemed tired of lying.
Elena spoke slowly.
Vittorio had advanced heart disease.
He knew.
Luca had never known.
Vittorio refused surgery.
Refused hospital admission.
Refused weakness.
Typical.
The night he died, he developed crushing chest pain.
Elena called the physician.
Vittorio refused an ambulance.
Martin arrived.
Why?
Because Vittorio summoned him.
He planned to sign documents confessing parts of the Bellini transfers.
He wanted Luca protected from the criminal businesses.
During the argument, Vittorio collapsed.
The syringe contained morphine.
Prescribed for emergency pain.
Elena gave it.
Correct dose.
Legal.
The heart attack killed him.
Not poison.
Not Martin.
Not Carlo.
“Then why all the mystery?” Luca asked.
Elena’s face broke.
“Because Martin switched the vial afterward.”
Silence.
He replaced the legitimate morphine vial with one containing a dangerous heart medication.
Then he photographed it.
Evidence.
Not to kill Vittorio.
To blackmail Elena.
If she exposed Martin’s money laundering, he would make it look as though she killed her husband.
That was why Elena left.
That was why she suspected everyone.
That was why the physician disappeared.
Martin paid him.
The original death had been natural.
The cover-up around it became criminal.
Luca sat down.
For nine years, he had believed his father might have been murdered.
Then learned everyone had used the possibility.
His mother.
Martin.
Carlo.
Vanessa.
Each for different reasons.
“What did my father actually die from?” he asked.
“Being stubborn.”
Elena laughed through tears.
“A Moretti tradition.”
Luca almost smiled.
Then did not.
I understood.
Sometimes the absence of murder is not relief.
It means years of grief were shaped by lies that never needed to exist.
Vanessa looked at Elena.
“Did my father know?”
“Yes.”
“He let me believe Martin killed Vittorio.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To keep you loyal.”
Vanessa closed her eyes.
There it was again.
Adults turning children into pieces.
She was guilty.
Still.
But guilt had architecture.
We were finally seeing the building.
Martin requested a deal.
Federal attorney Miriam Shaw entered the story the next day.
Calm.
Direct.
Unimpressed by mafia mythology.
She reviewed Thomas’s records.
Elena’s testimony.
Martin’s forged vial.
Carlo’s transfer accounts.
Vanessa’s communications.
Then she looked at Luca.
“You understand this investigation includes you.”
“Yes.”
I looked at him.
No surprise.
He knew.
Miriam continued.
“Your port companies have paid bribes.”
“Yes.”
“Your security crews have assaulted people.”
“Yes.”
“Your charities moved dirty money.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know?”
Luca paused.
“Some.”
Correct answer.
Not safe answer.
Miriam wrote something.
“Are you willing to cooperate fully?”
Luca looked at his mother.
Then Vanessa.
Then me.
I hated that he looked at me last.
Not because I wanted importance.
Because I did not want to become a reason.
I said:
“Don’t do it for me.”
He nodded.
Then looked at Miriam.
“Yes.”
Good.
That evening, he found me in the hotel lobby.
“I may go to prison.”
“I know.”
“You should leave.”
I laughed.
“There it is.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“You deciding.”
His face changed.
“I meant—”
“I know what you meant.”
I stepped closer.
“You can tell me the danger. You can tell me the truth. You do not get to decide what I do with it.”
He looked at me.
“Your father wrote the same thing in a different way.”
“My biological father or my real father?”
Luca blinked.
Then understood.
Edward.
The man who raised me.
“Your real father.”
I smiled.
“Good answer.”
Something softened between us.
Not romance yet.
Not exactly.
Trust.
More dangerous.
At midnight, Miriam called.
Martin had agreed to testify.
In exchange, he wanted protection.
Carlo’s people were looking for him.
Vanessa’s people too.
“Vanessa has people?” I asked.
Luca laughed once.
“Everyone has people.”
I hated rich families.
Martin’s first statement included one new accusation.
Thomas Vale had not died from Carlo’s blow.
He had still been breathing.
An ambulance could have saved him.
Someone stopped Vittorio from calling.
I knew before Miriam said the name.
Martin Hale.
The lawyer had not killed Thomas directly.
May you like
He had made sure nobody saved him.
And that distinction would become the ugliest one in the entire case.
