Chapter 8 - The House of First PromisesDominic smiled.
That frightened Adeline more than denial would have.
He simply stared at the line.
ACTION DEFERRED BY E.M.
“I need access to my father’s private archives.”
Marco frowned.
“We searched them after his death.”
“You searched business records.”
“Yes.”
“Not his personal files.”
Marco understood.
“There’s the house in Evanston.”
Camilla shook her head.
“Dominic will expect you to go there.”
Enzo looked at her.
“Then he’ll expect correctly.”
“No,” Adeline said.
Everyone turned.
She was exhausted.
Terrified.
And increasingly tired of men with money deciding that walking directly into obvious traps counted as courage.
“If Dominic expects you there, we don’t go.”
Enzo raised an eyebrow.
“We?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m glad you included yourself.”
“I didn’t.”
Camilla almost smiled.
Adeline ignored her.
“Your father had lawyers.”
“Yes.”
“Accountants?”
“Yes.”
“Personal assistants?”
“Several.”
“Who handled documents he didn’t want at home?”
Enzo thought.
Then Marco said, “Elena Rossi.”
Enzo turned.
“She’s alive?”
“Retired.”
“Where?”
Marco searched.
“Naperville.”
Three hours later, they were sitting in Elena Rossi’s kitchen.
She was seventy-six.
Small.
Silver-haired.
Sharp-eyed.
She listened without interruption as Enzo explained Luca, Bellavita, Victor, and Dominic.
Then she looked at Adeline.
“You’re Ruth Croft’s daughter.”
Adeline stared.
“You know my mother?”
“No.”
“Then how—”
“I know your name.”
Enzo leaned forward.
“From my father?”
Elena nodded.
“Your father had many sins.”
Enzo’s mouth tightened.
“But murdering Luca was not one of them.”
Camilla inhaled sharply.
“You’re sure?”
Elena gave her a cold look.
“I typed his confession.”
Silence.
Enzo whispered, “Confession to what?”
“Helping hide Luca’s death.”
Enzo closed his eyes briefly.
Elena continued.
“Salvatore met Luca at the lake that night.”
“Camilla said—”
“I know Camilla was there.”
Camilla lowered her head.
“Salvatore intended to convince Luca to stay quiet until he could separate Marchetti assets from Victor’s network.”
“He wanted Luca silent.”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“Dominic arrived.”
Enzo looked up.
“Elena.”
“Your uncle had more to lose than anyone knew.”
She folded her hands.
“Luca had discovered Dominic wasn’t merely helping Victor move chemicals.”
“What was he doing?”
“Stealing from the family.”
Enzo frowned.
“How much?”
“Nearly eighty million dollars.”
Marco let out a low breath.
“Over how long?”
“Twelve years.”
“Before Luca died?”
“Yes.”
Elena nodded.
“Luca threatened to expose him.”
Adeline felt the answer coming.
“Dominic shot him.”
Elena closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
Camilla covered her mouth.
Enzo did not move.
“Where was my father?”
“Standing ten feet away.”
“And he did nothing?”
“He froze.”
Enzo’s voice became quieter.
“Then helped cover it up.”
“Yes.”
The word broke something.
Not visibly.
But Adeline saw it.
Enzo had spent twelve years trying to believe there was some version of his father worth defending.
There wasn’t.
“What happened to Luca’s body?”
“Dominic and Victor staged the boat collision.”
Enzo stared at the table.
“Why didn’t my father go to the police?”
“Cowardice.”
Elena did not soften it.
“He was afraid Dominic would expose every illegal transaction the family had ever made.”
“So he chose the company over his son.”
“Yes.”
Enzo stood and walked toward the window.
Nobody followed.
After a moment Adeline asked, “What does this have to do with me?”
Elena looked at her.
“Three years ago, Salvatore was already dead.”
“Yes.”
“The file says E.M. stopped action against me.”
Elena smiled faintly.
“Emilia Marchetti.”
Enzo turned.
“My grandmother?”
“Your grandmother was Emilia.”
Adeline remembered the photograph in Enzo’s study.
The elderly woman in the garden.
“She knew?”
“Everything.”
“When did she die?” Adeline asked.
“Two years ago.”
Elena sighed.
“Emilia discovered Dominic had restarted Victor’s chemical operation. She also discovered an employee at Bellavita had taken photographs.”
“Me.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t she go to police?”
“She planned to.”
“What happened?”
“She suffered a stroke.”
Enzo’s expression changed.
“She was healthy.”
“She was seventy-nine.”
“She played tennis three mornings a week.”
Elena stared at him.
“You think—”
“I don’t know what to think anymore.”
Adeline felt sick.
Elena opened a cabinet.
From behind stacks of cookbooks, she removed a sealed envelope.
“I have something your grandmother gave me.”
Enzo approached.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“She made me promise not to unless Dominic threatened you directly.”
“He tried to kill me.”
“Yes.”
Elena handed it over.
Inside was a handwritten letter.
Enzo read aloud.
Enzo,
If you are reading this, then my silence failed to protect you.
Your uncle Dominic believes the Marchetti name belongs to whoever is willing to do the ugliest thing to preserve it.
Your father believed shame could be buried.
Luca believed truth mattered more.
Luca was right.
There is one final set of records Dominic has never found.
The key is with someone who saw the beginning.
The location is inside the first promise your grandfather ever made me.
Do not protect the Marchetti name.
Make it worth protecting.
Grandmother
Enzo read the final line twice.
“The first promise?”
Marco frowned.
“Wedding vow?”
“No.”
Elena smiled.
“Your grandfather was broke when he met Emilia.”
Enzo looked at her.
“I know.”
“He promised her a house.”
“What house?”
“The first property he ever bought.”
Enzo froze.
Marco understood at the same time.
“Marchetti House.”
Adeline frowned.
“The mansion?”
“No,” Enzo said.
“The original one.”
A small brick home on the west side.
The place where Enzo’s grandparents had lived before the fortune.
Still owned by the family.
Almost forgotten.
The brass key.
Camilla removed it from her pocket.
“Maybe this.”
They drove back to Chicago under police escort.
The old Marchetti house stood between newer apartment buildings.
Nobody had lived there in years.
Enzo unlocked the front door.
Dust covered everything.
Inside the bedroom closet they found an old floor safe.
Camilla’s brass key fit.
Inside were ledgers.
Photographs.
Audio recordings.
Contracts.
And one small digital recorder.
Enzo pressed play.
His grandmother’s voice filled the room.
“Dominic, you poisoned four workers.”
A male voice replied.
“You don’t understand the business.”
“I understand enough.”
“You’ll destroy Enzo.”
“No. You will.”
Then another voice.
Victor Ashford.
“Old woman, you should have stayed out of this.”
The recording ended.
Marco exhaled.
“That’s enough to bury them.”
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
Everyone froze.
Marco reached for his weapon.
Another creak.
Then a voice called down.
“You should have burned the house when you had the chance, Enzo.”
May you like
Dominic Marchetti stepped onto the staircase.
And in his hand was a gun.
