Chapter 4 - THE ASHES OF THE PAST
The echo of Salvatore Moretti’s voice hung in the damp, claustrophobic air of the secret tunnel like a death sentence.
Luca stood frozen in the pitch black, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The man waiting at the bottom of the stairs, holding a loaded weapon, was his blood. His mentor. The man who had taught him how to shoot, how to lead, and how to survive the ruthless underworld of the Italian syndicates.
And now, his father was threatening to burn him alive over a wooden rosary.
“Mr. Moretti,” Elena whispered, her voice trembling so badly it was barely audible. She pressed her back against the cold stone wall, clutching her apron. “What do we do?”
Luca’s jaw tightened. The betrayal stung worse than the smoke in his lungs. For fourteen years, he had worshipped his father, believing Salvatore was a grieving widower doing everything in his power to protect his son. But the bloody sweater, the locked door, the hidden microfilm—it all pointed to a terrifying, inescapable truth.
Salvatore was involved.
“Stay behind me,” Luca whispered to Elena and Rosa. He drew his pistol, checking the chamber in the dark by feel. One round in the chamber, fourteen in the magazine.
Luca clicked his flashlight back on, aiming the beam straight down the stone staircase.
At the bottom of the steps stood Salvatore Moretti.
The Don of the Moretti family was in his late sixties, but he still possessed the imposing, terrifying presence of a silverback gorilla. He was dressed in an impeccable charcoal pinstripe suit, completely unbothered by the smoke seeping into the tunnel. In his right hand, he held a massive, polished silver revolver.
“Dad,” Luca called down, his voice remarkably steady despite the hurricane of emotions tearing through him. “Put the gun down.”
Salvatore didn’t raise his weapon, but he didn’t lower it, either. He looked up at his son, his dark eyes filled with a complicated mixture of sorrow and lethal resolve.
“You shouldn’t have opened the door, Luca,” Salvatore sighed, his voice echoing off the stone. “I locked that room to bury the past. You just dug up a grave that is going to swallow this entire family whole.”
“Did you kill her?” Luca demanded, the question tearing out of his throat like barbed wire. He aimed his gun directly at his father’s chest. His hands were shaking. He had killed dozens of men for the syndicate, but aiming a gun at his own father made him feel like a helpless seven-year-old boy again. “Tell me the truth right now. Did you murder my mother?”
Salvatore’s face contorted in sudden, genuine agony. “No! God, no, Luca. I loved Maria more than life itself. I would have burned this entire city to the ground to save her.”
“Then why are you trying to burn me?!” Luca roared, gesturing to the smoke filling the tunnel behind them. “Your men locked us in that room and set the fire!”
Salvatore frowned, a deep crease forming between his silver brows. “My men? Luca, I just arrived at the estate. I saw the flames from the driveway. I came down to this passage because I knew it was the only way you could have survived. I didn’t set the fire.”
Luca froze. If Salvatore didn’t start the fire, who did?
Suddenly, Rosa let out a weak, rattling gasp behind Luca.
“Luca…” the old woman choked out, collapsing against the stone wall. The smoke inhalation was too much for her frail lungs.
“We have to get her out of here!” Elena cried, kneeling beside the old nanny.
Salvatore finally lowered his revolver. He stepped back from the heavy steel door at the bottom of the stairs. “Bring her down. Quickly.”
Luca hesitated for a fraction of a second, his trust entirely broken, but he couldn’t let the woman who raised him die in the dark. He holstered his weapon, scooped Rosa into his arms, and hurried down the steep, uneven stone steps. Elena followed closely behind.
They burst out of the tunnel and into the massive, subterranean wine cellar of the mansion. The air here was cool and breathable. Luca laid Rosa gently on an antique leather sofa in the center of the room. Elena immediately began checking the old woman’s pulse, loosening her collar to help her breathe.
Luca turned around to face his father.
But Salvatore wasn’t looking at Luca. He was staring at Elena.
The Don’s face had drained of all color. His eyes were wide, fixated on the young waitress in the soot-stained uniform.
“It’s impossible,” Salvatore whispered, his voice trembling. He took a slow step toward Elena. “You… you look exactly like her.”
Elena stood up, instinctively hiding behind Luca’s towering frame. “Like who?”
“Like your mother,” Salvatore breathed. He looked at Luca, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “She is Thomas Bellini’s daughter, isn’t she?”
“She is,” Luca said defensively, stepping between his father and the girl. “And she brought proof that Thomas didn’t pull the trigger. She brought the rosary, Dad. She brought the microfilm.”
Salvatore closed his eyes, a heavy, devastating sigh escaping his lips. He walked over to a nearby wine barrel, leaning heavily against it as if the weight of the last fourteen years had suddenly crashed down upon his shoulders.
“I know Thomas didn’t pull the trigger, Luca,” Salvatore said quietly. “I’ve always known.”
Luca felt a cold spike of adrenaline hit his chest. “What? Then why did you let the whole world believe Thomas was the traitor? Why did you let him take the fall?”
Salvatore looked up, his eyes burning with a dark, painful truth.
“Because Thomas didn’t kill your mother, Luca,” Salvatore confessed, his voice breaking. “He was protecting her. Thomas Bellini wasn’t just my consigliere. And he wasn’t just your mother’s driver.”
Salvatore pointed a shaking finger at Elena.
“Thomas Bellini and your mother were having an affair,” Salvatore revealed, the words echoing like gunshots in the quiet cellar. “They were in love. And they were planning to take you, and run away together, the very night she was murdered.”
Elena gasped, covering her mouth with her hands.
Luca staggered backward, bumping into a wine rack. The world tilted on its axis. His mother—the loyal, perfect mafia wife—was planning to abandon his father for the driver?
“You’re lying,” Luca spat, anger flushing his face.
“Am I?” Salvatore challenged gently. He reached into his tailored suit pocket and pulled out a small, velvet-wrapped bundle. He tossed it onto a nearby tasting table. “Open it.”
Luca stepped forward, his hands trembling as he unwrapped the velvet.
Inside was a collection of handwritten letters, tied together with a faded red ribbon. The handwriting was unmistakably Maria’s. Luca recognized the elegant loops of his mother’s cursive instantly.
He pulled the top letter from the stack and read the first line.
My dearest Thomas, the tickets are secured. Salvatore suspects nothing. Tonight, we take Luca and leave this cursed life behind forever. I love you more than words can say.
Luca dropped the letter as if it had burned his fingers.
“You knew,” Luca whispered, staring at his father in horror. “You found out she was leaving you for another man. And taking me with her.”
Salvatore didn’t answer.
“You did kill her,” Luca realized, his voice rising to a roar. He drew his pistol again, aiming it directly at his father’s head. “You found out about the affair, and you murdered her in cold blood out of jealousy!”
“No!” a new voice shouted from the shadows of the cellar.
Everyone froze.
From behind a row of massive oak wine casks, a man stepped out into the dim light.
He was holding an assault rifle, aimed directly at Luca. He was dressed in a dark tactical suit, his face obscured by the shadows, but his posture was terrifyingly familiar.
It was Marco. Luca’s most trusted bodyguard. The man who had supposedly been neutralized outside the bedroom door.
Marco stepped fully into the light. A cruel, triumphant smile twisted his face.
May you like
“Your father didn’t pull the trigger, boss,” Marco sneered, his finger resting heavily on the trigger of his rifle. “But he’s going to die for her tonight, anyway.”
Before Luca could react, Marco swung his rifle toward Salvatore and fired a three-round burst.
