Chapter 6 - THE BROTHER WHO HELPED HER RUN
Vittorio De Luca did not stand when Elena entered Bellavita.
That told her almost everything she needed to know about him.
He sat at Table Twelve in a charcoal suit with one hand beside the black ledger and the other resting near Carlo Vale’s phone.
Seventy-one.
Silver hair.
Heavy eyebrows.
The family resemblance to Matteo was obvious.
The lack of fear was even more obvious.
Matteo entered behind Elena.
Gabriel behind him.
Luca Ferraro and two detectives remained near the door.
Vittorio looked at Elena first.
“Isabella’s girl.”
Elena stopped six feet away.
“Everyone keeps calling me that.”
“You dislike it?”
“No.”
She looked at Matteo.
“I dislike when people use another name before I choose it.”
Vittorio smiled.
“Definitely Isabella’s.”
Matteo did not sit.
“Where is Carlo?”
Vittorio looked at the phone.
“I don’t know.”
“You have his phone.”
“He left it.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“Why?”
“He said he was done cleaning up other people’s mistakes.”
Gabriel laughed without humor.
“That sounds like Carlo.”
Vittorio looked at him.
“You look healthy for a dead man.”
Elena turned.
“What?”
Gabriel’s face hardened.
Vittorio enjoyed the reaction too much.
“Ask him.”
Matteo stared at his brother.
“Dead?”
Gabriel said nothing.
Vittorio continued.
“Salvatore told half of Chicago Gabriel died in Sicily after he helped Isabella disappear.”
Elena looked at Gabriel.
“You let people believe you were dead?”
“For seven years.”
“Why?”
“Because Salvatore gave me a choice.”
Matteo’s jaw tightened.
“What choice?”
Gabriel looked at Elena.
“Isabella and the baby leave Chicago alive.”
A pause.
“Or I stay and Salvatore brings them back.”
Elena felt cold.
“So you disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Montreal first.”
“With Mom?”
“For six months.”
Matteo looked at him.
“You were with her.”
“Yes.”
“While I was looking for her.”
“Yes.”
The word hit.
Matteo took one step.
Gabriel did not move.
“You watched me look for her.”
“I watched you follow every person Salvatore wanted you to follow.”
“What does that mean?”
“He controlled the search.”
Matteo froze.
Gabriel continued.
“The addresses you received were old.”
“The witnesses?”
“Paid.”
“The private investigator?”
“Worked for Vittorio.”
Everyone looked at the old man.
Vittorio did not deny.
Matteo’s face changed.
“You.”
Vittorio leaned back.
“Your father asked me to keep you away from Isabella.”
“And you did.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you were twenty-five and stupid enough to start a war over a woman.”
Elena’s anger rose.
“My mother.”
Vittorio looked at her.
“Your mother.”
Matteo’s voice became cold.
“She was pregnant.”
“We did not know whose child.”
“That makes it better?”
“No.”
Vittorio’s answer came too easily.
He had practiced regret without surrendering anything.
Elena looked at Gabriel.
“How did you pay for six months in Montreal?”
Silence.
Then Vittorio opened the ledger.
One entry.
G.D.L.
$250,000.
DISCRETION / RELOCATION.
Matteo stared.
“You took money.”
Gabriel nodded.
“Yes.”
“To hide Isabella from me.”
“Yes.”
Elena felt betrayal before she understood context.
Maybe because money made motive look simple.
Gabriel continued.
“I used thirty thousand to move us.”
“And the rest?”
“Placed in an account under Isabella’s name.”
Vittorio laughed.
“Convenient story.”
Gabriel looked at him.
“Bank records still exist.”
Luca Ferraro had them within twenty minutes.
A trust in Montreal.
Beneficiary:
ISABELLA ROSSI.
Initial deposit:
$220,000.
Source:
Gabriel De Luca.
Withdrawals over years for rent, school, medical care.
Elena stared.
Her childhood.
The apartment in Cicero.
The private school for two years she never understood how Isabella afforded.
Cancer treatments insurance did not fully cover.
Some of it came from money Gabriel accepted to disappear.
Dirty in origin.
Used to keep them alive.
Elena did not know how to feel.
Good.
Complex truth should not produce immediate emotion on command.
Matteo looked at his brother.
“Why didn’t you tell me after Salvatore died?”
Gabriel’s face tightened.
“Because Isabella asked me not to.”
“Why?”
“She did not trust you.”
The sentence hurt more than the money.
Matteo looked at Elena.
Not for rescue.
Good.
Vittorio tapped the black ledger.
“Can we discuss the part where everyone thinks I poisoned dinner?”
“Yes,” Elena said.
He looked amused.
She continued.
“Marco said you brought the lemon oil.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted the Rossi recipe served.”
Matteo’s face hardened.
“You set up the special order.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Vittorio looked at Elena.
“The Bellavita founding trust expires in four weeks.”
There it was again.
Deadline.
“The Rossi claim either appears or dies into litigation so expensive no ordinary heir could fight it.”
Elena laughed.
“Ordinary heir.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
She looked at him.
“You mean poor.”
Vittorio did not answer.
That was answer enough.
He continued.
“I knew Isabella taught the recipe to her daughter.”
“How?”
“Gabriel.”
Elena turned.
He shook his head.
“Years ago. Before Isabella died.”
Vittorio explained.
He had spent a decade trying to locate Elena without approaching her directly.
Not to harm her, he claimed.
To determine whether she knew about the shares.
“When did you find me?”
“Six months ago.”
“At Bellavita?”
“No.”
“Where?”
“Your mother’s obituary.”
Elena stared.
“Eleven years late?”
“I wasn’t looking every day.”
Cruel in its ordinariness.
Vittorio discovered Elena’s name through a probate search tied to Isabella’s old estate.
Then learned she worked at Bellavita.
A waitress inside the company her grandfather helped create.
Irony rich enough to tempt a man like him.
“So you brought the oil.”
“Yes.”
“Was it poisoned?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I opened the bottle myself.”
“That proves nothing.”
“No.”
Vittorio nodded.
“Which is why you should test the second bottle.”
Everyone froze.
“What second bottle?” Matteo asked.
Vittorio pointed toward the bar.
“Wine cellar. Box marked Rossi.”
Police retrieved it.
Same old label.
Sealed.
Lab test later showed no aconitine.
Pure preserved lemon oil.
Vittorio continued.
“I brought two.”
“Why two?”
“One for the kitchen. One for proof if Isabella’s recipe triggered the trust discussion.”
Elena almost laughed.
“Your proof was cooking oil.”
“Isabella had specific habits.”
“So do serial killers.”
Gabriel coughed to hide a laugh.
Vittorio ignored him.
“Carlo was here after me.”
“Did he know where you placed the bottle?”
“Yes.”
“Did he know about the trust deadline?”
“He drafted the notice.”
“Did he know Isabella’s daughter worked here?”
“Yes.”
Elena’s stomach tightened.
Carlo had access.
Motive.
Her apartment.
The notebook.
The missing spoon.
The mausoleum.
Vittorio opened Carlo’s phone.
One unsent draft message.
To Elena.
YOUR MOTHER STOLE WHAT BELONGED TO THE DE LUCAS. WALK AWAY AND YOU KEEP YOUR LIFE.
Elena stared.
“Why unsent?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why do you have his passcode?”
“He used my birthday.”
“That seems insecure.”
“He was sentimental.”
Gabriel laughed.
“No. He was lazy.”
Vittorio almost smiled.
Then Matteo pointed at the ledger.
“Why bring that here?”
“Because Carlo stole the original from the mausoleum and then brought it to me.”
“When?”
“Six this morning.”
“What did he want?”
“Authorization to destroy it.”
Silence.
“And?”
“I refused.”
Matteo stared.
Vittorio looked tired now.
For the first time.
“I stole enough once.”
“Once?”
Vittorio looked at Elena.
“Salvatore and I helped erase Marco Rossi’s shares.”
There.
No euphemism.
“We told ourselves Marco’s death destabilized the company.”
“You stole forty percent.”
“Yes.”
“Did you pay my mother?”
“No.”
“Did you threaten her?”
“Yes.”
Matteo’s hands curled.
Elena noticed.
Vittorio continued.
“Salvatore later regretted it.”
“And you?”
“Later.”
“Convenient.”
“Yes.”
No argument.
Elena looked at the ledger.
“Then give it to police.”
Vittorio’s expression changed.
“It belongs to the family.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“It belongs to the fraud.”
The detective stepped forward.
Vittorio stared at Matteo.
Matteo said nothing.
Good.
Elena had made the point.
The detective took the ledger into evidence.
Vittorio watched twenty-five years of family leverage leave in a clear plastic bag.
He looked older.
Then Carlo’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
Everyone froze.
Vittorio answered on speaker.
Carlo Vale’s voice.
“You should have burned it.”
Vittorio’s face hardened.
“Where are you?”
“Too late.”
Matteo stepped closer.
Carlo heard him.
“Matteo.”
“Why frame Elena?”
Silence.
Then Carlo laughed softly.
“You still think this is about the waitress?”
Elena’s face heated.
Even now.
Waitress as reduction.
Carlo continued.
“It’s about the only thing Salvatore feared more than prison.”
“What?”
“Losing Bellavita.”
Matteo looked at the evidence bag.
Carlo said:
“And if Rossi’s heir is recognized before the trust expires, Matteo does not just lose forty percent.”
A pause.
“He loses control.”
Vittorio went still.
That was new.
Matteo noticed.
“What does that mean?”
Carlo laughed again.
“Ask your uncle what clause he forgot to mention.”
The call ended.
Everyone turned toward Vittorio.
He looked at the empty table.
Then at Elena.
“The Rossi shares carry a founder veto.”
Matteo’s face changed.
“Over what?”
“Sale. merger. debt.”
“And?”
Vittorio closed his eyes.
“Family management.”
Silence.
Elena stared.
“If my claim is valid…”
Vittorio nodded.
“You can remove a De Luca from control of Bellavita.”
Not inherit money.
Not merely receive shares.
Control.
May you like
That was why someone wanted her framed before anyone believed the recipe.
And why Carlo Vale was willing to poison a plate to make Isabella Rossi’s daughter look dangerous before she ever learned she had a vote.
