Chapter 5 - The Betrayal That Began Thirteen Years Ago
Alessandro stared at the photograph for almost a minute.
Then he sat down.
I had seen him furious.
I had seen him wounded.
I had seen him grieving.
But I had never seen him look quite so lost.
"My father was killed three months after that photograph was taken," he said.
I felt the room grow cold.
Vittorio Vitale's assassination had changed the course of Alessandro's life.
A gunman had attacked his convoy outside Rome.
Two guards died.
Vittorio never reached the hospital.
The police investigation ended without a conviction.
For thirteen years, Alessandro believed a rival organization had ordered the killing.
Now, for the first time, that assumption seemed uncertain.
"Do you think Carlo was involved?" I asked.
"I don't know."
He looked at Giulia.
"Where did you find this?"
"In a sealed archive box belonging to Enrico Bellini."
We spent the next two days reviewing the surviving records.
I learned that my father had discovered evidence of fraudulent transfers involving properties used to conceal illegal shipments.
Vittorio had apparently begun investigating the same network.
The documents suggested Carlo Moretti had secretly profited from transactions that undermined the Vitale family.
But there was a more disturbing detail.
Several transfers continued after Vittorio's death.
Someone inside Alessandro's organization had authorized them.
"Who had that authority?" I asked.
Alessandro hesitated.
"My uncle, Renato."
Renato Vitale had been Alessandro's most trusted adviser for years.
He had helped him take control after Vittorio died.
He attended every family celebration.
He had even been expected to stand beside Alessandro at our wedding.
I remembered how warmly Renato always greeted me.
How often he called me the daughter he never had.
Suddenly, those memories felt different.
Alessandro contacted a financial investigator who had previously worked with his legitimate businesses.
He also agreed to have Giulia preserve copies of the records for the authorities.
I was surprised.
"You would expose your own family?"
"If they killed my father, they're not protecting my family."
That night, we sat together in the kitchen.
For the first time since Venice, our conversation wasn't entirely about betrayal.
We talked about my father.
About Vittorio.
About the years we had lost to silence.
Then Alessandro looked at me.
"I need to tell you something else."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"When I first met you at the hospital, I knew your surname sounded familiar. Later, I learned your father had worked with mine."
"You told me you didn't know."
"I didn't know that night. I learned afterward."
"And you never told me?"
"I thought it didn't matter."
I laughed bitterly.
"That seems to be your favorite excuse."
He accepted the criticism.
"I know."
I looked at him.
"Alex, I can't rebuild anything with you if every answer reveals another secret."
He lowered his head.
"Then I'll stop keeping them."
I wanted to believe him.
But trust doesn't return because someone promises to be trustworthy.
It returns through evidence.
And Alessandro had thirteen years of habits to overcome.
The following morning, Renato Vitale disappeared.
His office had been emptied.
His phone was disconnected.
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And one of Alessandro's accountants reported that millions had been transferred from a company account to an offshore destination.
The old betrayal had become a present danger.
