Chapter 3 - THE PHOTOGRAPH THAT SHOULD NOT EXIST
“Dominic must never learn who his mother is.”
Luca read the sentence twice.
Then a third time.
I stood beside Frank's wheelchair, holding my hands together because they wouldn't stop shaking.
Across the table, Vanessa looked as though someone had emptied a bucket of ice water over her.
Arthur Bellini reached for the photograph.
Luca pulled it away.
“Don't touch it.”
Arthur froze.
“Luca, I can explain.”
“Then start with the baby.”
Arthur looked toward Vanessa.
She shook her head almost imperceptibly.
Luca saw it.
“Both of you know something.”
Neither answered.
Frank touched my sleeve.
Tell him the photograph was taken at the restaurant.
I examined the picture again.
Behind Eleanor stood a row of dark wooden booths.
A brass lamp hung above a familiar doorway.
I recognized that doorway.
I'd seen it in photographs displayed in Frank's sitting room.
The original Moretti family restaurant.
Luca's grandfather had opened it more than fifty years earlier.
Long before the waterfront businesses, the expensive suits, and the mansion with twenty-eight guests.
Before Luca Moretti became a man people feared.
His family had served spaghetti and coffee in a little brick building near the river.
“Your grandfather says this photograph was taken there,” I told him.
Luca nodded.
“I recognize the booths.”
He studied the woman holding the baby.
“Who is she?”
Arthur cleared his throat.
“Her name was Teresa.”
“Teresa what?”
Arthur looked down.
“Teresa Bellini.”
Vanessa covered her mouth.
Luca slowly raised his eyes.
“Your sister?”
Arthur nodded.
I felt Frank's fingers tighten around mine.
Luca looked toward the photograph again.
“Why was your sister holding my brother?”
Arthur remained silent.
Finally, Vanessa spoke.
“Because Dominic isn't Eleanor's biological son.”
Nobody moved.
Even Gabriel, standing near the doorway, looked shocked.
Luca stared at his fiancée.
“How long have you known?”
“Since my mother told me when I was eighteen.”
“And you never thought to mention it?”
“It wasn't my secret.”
Luca gave a humorless laugh.
“Apparently nothing in this family is.”
I looked toward Frank.
His eyes were wet.
He had watched Luca and Dominic grow up.
He'd loved them both.
Whatever the truth was, I knew he hadn't kept it hidden to hurt them.
I signed slowly.
Why didn't you tell Luca?
Frank's answer was painful.
Michael asked me not to.
“Why?”
Frank looked toward the photograph.
Protect the boys.
I translated.
Luca closed his eyes briefly.
Then he turned toward Arthur.
“Was my father Dominic's father?”
Arthur nodded.
“Yes.”
“And Teresa?”
“His mother.”
Luca leaned back.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he asked the question that changed the room.
“Did my mother know?”
Frank nodded.
From the beginning.
When I translated, Luca pressed his palm against his forehead.
“My mother raised Dominic.”
Frank signed.
She loved him.
His hands grew steadier.
She chose him.
Something softened in Luca's face.
He looked toward the photograph.
Then he said quietly, “She never treated him differently.”
“No,” I answered. “Your grandfather says she never did.”
For a moment, it seemed the mystery might finally have an explanation.
A family secret.
An affair.
A child protected from painful circumstances.
But then Frank signed another sentence.
Teresa wasn't Michael's lover.
I stopped.
“Are you certain?”
Frank nodded.
She was his wife.
I looked at Luca.
“Sir... your grandfather says Teresa and your father were married.”
Luca went perfectly still.
“My parents were married for fifteen years.”
Frank continued.
Before Eleanor.
I translated.
Arthur rubbed both hands across his face.
“Michael and Teresa married young. It lasted less than a year. The marriage was annulled.”
“Why?” Luca demanded.
Arthur hesitated.
“Because Teresa discovered Michael was being pressured into criminal business arrangements with men she feared.”
Luca leaned forward.
“What men?”
Arthur looked toward Frank.
“Your grandfather knows.”
Frank's expression hardened.
He signed sharply.
Arthur was one.
Arthur looked away.
Luca stood.
“You told me my father died because of an electrical accident.”
“That was the official conclusion.”
“Was it the truth?”
Arthur said nothing.
Luca turned to Gabriel.
“Find Dominic.”
Gabriel checked his phone.
“His car left the demolition site twenty minutes ago.”
“Where's he going?”
“We don't know yet.”
Luca's jaw tightened.
He turned back to Arthur.
“Does Dominic know who Teresa was?”
Arthur nodded.
“Yes.”
“When did he find out?”
“About six years ago.”
Luca's face changed.
“Six years?”
Vanessa finally looked up.
“He was devastated, Luca.”
“And nobody told me?”
“He asked us not to.”
Luca stared at her.
“You knew my brother was struggling with something that could destroy his understanding of our family, and you kept it from me?”
Vanessa's eyes filled.
“Dominic was afraid you'd look at him differently.”
“I've spent my entire life looking after him.”
“That's exactly why he was afraid.”
Her answer landed harder than I expected.
Because there was truth in it.
Dominic had always lived beneath Luca's shadow.
Luca was the older brother.
The heir.
The man who made decisions.
Dominic was charming, impulsive, often irresponsible.
People admired Luca.
They excused Dominic.
Perhaps Dominic had mistaken love for pity.
Frank began signing again.
Teresa came back.
I crouched.
“When?”
Before the fire.
He showed me with his fingers.
Three days.
I translated.
Luca frowned.
“Why?”
Frank looked toward Arthur.
She discovered the accounts.
Arthur's expression tightened.
I remembered the brass key.
The hidden records.
The demolition scheduled for Monday.
Luca understood at the same moment.
“Teresa was investigating the warehouse.”
Frank nodded.
She found names.
“Whose names?”
Frank closed his eyes.
For a terrible moment, I thought he was becoming too exhausted to continue.
Then he signed.
Men who stole from workers.
I translated.
Luca looked confused.
“Our family owned shipping warehouses. What workers?”
Frank answered slowly.
Dockworkers. Pension money. Insurance.
Arthur finally spoke.
“Michael was involved in some questionable financial arrangements. He tried to correct them.”
Frank shook his head fiercely.
Michael exposed them.
I translated.
Luca turned toward Arthur.
“Which is it?”
Arthur pressed his lips together.
“Michael was trying to protect the family.”
“From whom?”
Arthur's eyes flickered toward Vanessa.
She looked away.
Luca stepped closer.
“Arthur, if you know something about my father's death, this is your opportunity to tell me.”
Arthur's voice broke.
“I did not want Michael to die.”
It wasn't a confession.
But it was the first time he'd acknowledged that Michael's death might have been more than an accident.
Frank suddenly reached inside his jacket again.
This time he removed a tiny silver locket.
Its surface was scratched.
The hinge was broken.
Inside were two miniature photographs.
One of Dominic as a newborn.
The other of Teresa Bellini.
On the back was an engraving.
For my son. I will come back.
Luca stared at it.
“Why do you have this?”
Frank signed.
Teresa gave it to me.
“When?”
Night of fire.
I translated.
Arthur gripped the edge of the table.
Luca looked sharply at him.
“Arthur?”
Arthur shook his head.
“No.”
Frank signed again.
She came to save Michael.
I felt my throat tighten.
“Your grandfather says Teresa went to the warehouse that night because she believed your father was in danger.”
Luca stared at Frank.
“Did she survive?”
Frank's hands stopped moving.
He looked down at the locket.
Then slowly nodded.
Arthur pushed back his chair.
“Frank, please.”
Luca turned.
“Where is Teresa now?”
Arthur didn't answer.
Frank looked toward me.
His eyes filled with tears.
Then he signed an address.
I recognized the street.
It was less than twenty minutes from the Moretti mansion.
And when I translated it, Vanessa made a strangled sound.
May you like
Because Frank wasn't describing a grave.
He was describing the private rehabilitation center where my mother had been receiving treatment for the past seven months.
