Chapter 6 - The Lie That Could Destroy LucaBy nine the next morning, Luca DeSantis was on every television in New York.
MAFIA HEIR LINKED TO WITNESS MURDER.
LEAKED AUDIO MAY IMPLICATE DESANTIS BOSS.
FEDERAL AUTHORITIES REVIEWING RECORDING.
The audio was convincing.
I'd listened to Luca's voice for six months.
I knew the quiet authority.
The pauses.
The way his tone dropped when he was angry.
The recording had all of it.
"Make sure he never reaches court," the voice said.
Then another man's voice asked, "You want him dead?"
Luca's voice answered.
"Do whatever is necessary."
It sounded real.
But Luca insisted he'd never had that conversation.
Marco believed him.
Isabella believed him.
I did too.
The problem was belief wasn't evidence.
We returned to Manhattan through a secured entrance.
Attorneys arrived.
Accountants.
Family representatives.
Men who had happily kissed Luca's ring metaphorically—and sometimes literally—suddenly avoided looking him in the eye.
That was how power worked.
Everyone loved you when standing beside you was safe.
By noon, half the room was wondering whether Matteo would be the better bet.
I sat in Luca's study listening to the recording again.
And again.
And again.
Something bothered me.
Not Luca's voice.
The background.
There was a bell.
Three notes.
Then traffic.
I played it again.
Marco entered.
"You're going to memorize it."
"Listen."
"To what?"
I held up one finger.
The bell sounded.
Marco frowned.
"So?"
"I heard that yesterday."
"Where?"
"St. Agnes."
He stared at me.
"The church?"
"The bell sounds every fifteen minutes."
"So?"
"So Luca hasn't been inside St. Agnes during the day in years."
Marco pulled a chair closer.
We listened again.
Then he heard it.
A subway announcement.
Faint.
But clear enough.
"Downtown..."
I looked at him.
"The recording wasn't made in a private meeting."
"It was assembled from conversations."
"Exactly."
We searched through Luca's archived security recordings.
Hours of audio.
Meetings.
Calls.
Interviews.
Marco found the first sentence.
Three years earlier.
Luca telling a driver to make sure an elderly witness in a civil lawsuit reached court safely.
"Make sure he reaches court."
Someone had cut the beginning.
Then another piece from a separate conversation.
"Do whatever is necessary."
The murder question had been inserted between them.
It was a fabrication.
Good enough to start an investigation.
Not good enough to survive one.
If we could prove it.
Luca entered.
His tie was gone.
His sleeves were rolled up.
He looked like he'd aged five years in twelve hours.
"We found something," I said.
Twenty minutes later, his attorneys had the files.
For the first time that day, Luca looked relieved.
Only slightly.
Then his phone buzzed.
He read the message.
"What?"
He handed it to me.
Unknown number.
A photograph of my mother.
She was leaving a grocery store in Connecticut.
I hadn't seen her in three months.
Under the picture:
CALL ME OR SHE LEARNS WHAT HER HUSBAND REALLY DID.
My hands shook.
Luca reached for the phone.
"No."
I pulled it away.
"Elena."
"No."
"If it's Matteo—"
"It is."
"Then he wants you scared."
"It's working."
Luca's face changed.
I immediately regretted saying it.
But it was true.
I hadn't told my mother anything.
She had spent eighteen years believing her husband died in a workplace accident.
How could I call and tell her he'd been secretly helping a mafia boss expose murder and corruption?
How could I tell her his death might have been connected to Antonio DeSantis?
The phone rang.
I answered.
Matteo.
"Hello, Elena."
"If you go near my mother—"
"You sound like Luca."
"Maybe I've been around him too long."
Matteo chuckled.
"Come see me."
"No."
"Then I'll go see Patricia."
My blood froze.
He knew her name.
Luca held out his hand.
I ignored it.
"What do you want?"
"You."
"No."
"A conversation."
"You kidnapped me yesterday."
"Technically, Dante did."
"I don't care about technicalities."
"You should. They keep people out of prison."
I almost laughed.
"Not this time."
Silence.
Then Matteo's voice changed.
"Your father wasn't innocent."
My chest tightened.
"What?"
"Thomas Marlowe helped Antonio hide money."
"You're lying."
"Possibly."
He sounded amused.
"Would you like to find out?"
"Where?"
Luca shook his head violently.
I held up my hand.
Matteo gave me an address.
A public restaurant in Midtown.
"One hour. Alone."
He disconnected.
Luca stared at me.
"Absolutely not."
"I know."
"You aren't going."
"I said I know."
He blinked.
I pointed toward the phone.
"Matteo doesn't know that."
Marco smiled.
For the first time in days, the brothers agreed on something.
We used Matteo's own arrogance against him.
I entered the restaurant alone.
Or appeared to.
Luca's people were nearby.
Federal agents weren't involved; Luca's attorneys didn't trust how deeply Matteo's contacts reached.
Marco sat in a delivery van across the street listening through a small transmitter.
Luca hated every second.
Matteo waited in a corner booth.
He smiled when I approached.
"Brave girl."
"No. Just tired."
I sat.
He poured coffee.
I didn't touch it.
"Smart."
"What did my father do?"
Matteo leaned back.
"He kept numbers."
"I know."
"He also kept secrets."
"What secrets?"
"He discovered your father was planning to testify."
I stopped.
"Against you?"
"Against the entire family."
I stared at him.
"Antonio agreed."
That surprised me.
Matteo smiled.
"Your precious Luca's father was going to cooperate with federal prosecutors."
"Why?"
"Because he believed legitimacy required confession."
I thought of Antonio's transition plan.
Maybe it was true.
Maybe part of it was.
Matteo continued.
"Your father helped him organize evidence."
"So you killed them."
His eyes sharpened.
"I didn't say that."
"You paid the men."
"I paid for many things."
I leaned forward.
"Tell me what happened that night."
He smiled.
"No."
"Because you're scared."
The smile faded.
I had learned that from Luca.
Silence could be a weapon if you knew when to use it.
Matteo finally said, "Thomas Marlowe should've stayed with numbers."
"What happened?"
"He got into Antonio's car."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
"Your father didn't die at a construction site."
I knew that now.
But hearing Matteo say it made it real.
"He was with Antonio?"
Matteo stirred his coffee.
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Ask Isabella."
"You tell me."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I want something first."
"What?"
He slid a document across the table.
An affidavit.
I read the first line.
I, Elena Marlowe, attest that Luca DeSantis threatened me...
I looked up.
Matteo smiled.
"You want me to accuse Luca."
"Of assault. Coercion. Threats."
I laughed.
"You put fingerprints around my throat through your people, and now you want me to say Luca did it?"
"Marco did it."
"Your plan benefited from it."
"Sign."
"No."
"Your mother—"
"No."
His eyes hardened.
I pushed the paper back.
"If you touch my mother, Luca will come after you."
"You think I'm frightened of Luca?"
"No."
I leaned closer.
"I think you're terrified of what happens when he stops loving you enough to hesitate."
Something in Matteo's face cracked.
Tiny.
But there.
Then he looked past me.
His expression changed.
I turned.
Luca stood near the restaurant entrance.
He hadn't been supposed to come inside.
Marco was behind him.
Matteo laughed.
"There they are."
Luca walked toward us.
"You threatened her mother."
Matteo stood.
"You should be worried about your own."
Isabella stepped from the opposite entrance.
Matteo froze.
She looked at him.
"Hello, Matteo."
For the first time since this began, real fear appeared on his face.
Isabella placed a small recorder on the table.
"I've spent fourteen years waiting to hear you admit Thomas was in Antonio's car."
Matteo's face drained.
"You recorded this?"
"Every word."
He reached for the device.
Marco caught his wrist.
Matteo stared at his nephew.
Marco's expression was cold.
"Sit down, Uncle."
Matteo did.
And that was when a man near the bar stood.
He raised a gun toward Luca.
I saw it first.
"Luca!"
Marco turned.
The gun fired.
Marco stepped between them.
May you like
He hit the floor.
And Luca's brother—the man Luca had sworn he might never forgive—collapsed after taking the bullet meant for him.
