Chapter 4 - The Torino Ring
Vincent read Luca’s initials three times before closing the folder.
Elena watched him from the hospital bed.
Tony stood beside the window.
No one spoke.
The room seemed suddenly too small for the truth sitting between them.
“Who is Luca?” Elena finally asked.
Vincent looked at the closed folder.
“My nephew.”
“Close to you?”
Vincent almost laughed at the inadequacy of the phrase.
“I raised him.”
Elena’s expression changed.
“Where were his parents?”
“His mother died when he was nine.”
“And his father?”
Vincent stared toward the floor.
“My brother Carlo died when Luca was eleven.”
Elena waited.
Vincent did not elaborate.
She sensed it anyway.
“How?”
“Violently.”
“Because of you?”
Tony glanced toward Vincent.
Vincent answered.
“In part.”
Elena was quiet for a moment.
Then she looked at the initials again.
“Could Luca have rejected Daniel’s meeting for a legitimate reason?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe he did?”
Vincent did not answer.
That was answer enough.
Tony moved away from the window.
“I can bring him in.”
“No.”
Vincent’s response was immediate.
“Vincent—”
“No one touches Luca.”
Tony frowned.
“We have a document connecting him to Daniel.”
“We have initials.”
“We also have a witness describing a man wearing a Torino ring.”
“Elena looked from Tony to Vincent.
“What ring?”
Vincent explained.
When he finished, Elena’s face tightened.
“How many living people have one?”
“Two.”
She understood immediately.
“You and Luca.”
“Yes.”
Elena leaned back against the pillows.
“Then why are you protecting him?”
Vincent looked at her.
“Because thirty years of history has taught me that the first answer is often the one someone wants you to believe.”
Tony folded his arms.
“That sounds wise.”
Vincent glanced at him.
“You disagree?”
“I think you would call it cowardice if this were anyone else’s nephew.”
Vincent’s gaze hardened.
Tony did not move.
They had known each other too long for fear to be useful between them.
Elena looked at Tony.
“You think Luca did it.”
“I think Luca has secrets.”
“Everyone in this room has secrets,” Vincent said.
Elena looked directly at him.
“Some apparently get people killed.”
Vincent accepted the blow.
A nurse entered a few minutes later and announced Elena needed rest.
Vincent and Tony stepped into the hall.
Sophie sat twenty feet away with a coloring book open across her knees.
She had drawn flowers.
Dozens of them.
Red.
Yellow.
Blue.
Purple.
Every flower reached toward an enormous sun.
Vincent stopped beside her.
“What are you making?”
“My store.”
Vincent glanced down.
“It looks larger.”
“I added a second floor.”
“Ambitious.”
Sophie smiled.
Then her expression became serious.
“Mama says the window is broken.”
“It is.”
“Can it be fixed?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
Vincent looked at her.
“Why?”
“I have fourteen dollars.”
Tony turned away to hide a smile.
Sophie reached into the pocket of Vincent’s coat, which she was still wearing despite the sleeves being nearly twice the length of her arms.
She produced a tiny pink wallet.
“I was saving for roller skates.”
Vincent crouched.
“Keep your fourteen dollars.”
“But the store—”
“I know a man.”
“Who?”
Vincent looked toward Tony.
Tony raised an eyebrow.
Vincent turned back to Sophie.
“A very good window man.”
“Is he expensive?”
“Terribly.”
Sophie frowned.
“But he owes me a favor.”
That seemed to satisfy her.
She returned to her drawing.
Tony and Vincent continued down the hall.
“You’re rebuilding the shop.”
“Yes.”
“Elena is going to hate that.”
“Probably.”
Tony smiled faintly.
“That almost makes it worth doing.”
Vincent stopped near the elevators.
“Find Luca.”
“I thought you said not to touch him.”
“I said find him.”
Tony nodded.
“Quietly.”
“Very.”
“And pull every file from 1983 involving Daniel.”
Tony hesitated.
“There’s something I haven’t told you.”
Vincent’s expression darkened.
“That sentence is becoming common today.”
Tony reached into his coat.
He handed Vincent another document.
It was an internal security report dated April 1983.
Daniel Martinez had reported unauthorized access to a sealed archive room at Bellucci Imports.
The archive contained old shipping records.
Some dated back to the 1950s.
Vincent read further.
“What was Daniel doing in that room?”
“He was assigned to digitize old accounts.”
Vincent looked up.
“In 1983?”
Tony shrugged.
“Microfilm project.”
Vincent continued reading.
Daniel had discovered missing boxes.
One box was labeled TORINO-RIZZO DISPUTE, 1957.
Vincent’s stomach turned.
Maria.
The year everything changed.
“Who had access?”
“According to the report, Salvatore Bellini.”
“Anyone else?”
Tony hesitated.
“Carlo.”
Vincent slowly raised his eyes.
“My brother had been dead twenty-one years.”
“I know.”
“Why was his authorization still active?”
“It shouldn’t have been.”
Vincent looked back at the report.
There was one additional name.
Luca Torino.
Vincent closed his eyes briefly.
In 1983, Luca had been thirty-two and already handling legal matters for several family companies.
It was plausible.
Too plausible.
“Where is Luca now?” Vincent asked.
Tony checked his watch.
“His driver says he went home around midnight.”
“Verify.”
“I will.”
Vincent stepped into the elevator.
“I’m going to Bellucci.”
Tony joined him.
“At nine in the morning?”
“I own the building.”
“You own forty percent.”
Vincent looked at him.
“Do you want to explain the distinction to security?”
Tony pressed the lobby button.
“No.”
Bellucci Imports occupied six floors of a stone building beside the Chicago River.
Its lobby displayed photographs of ships, cranes, and smiling executives.
Salvatore Bellini appeared in half of them.
Vincent had known Salvatore since they were young men.
They had eaten together.
Buried friends together.
Celebrated births.
Mourned deaths.
Salvatore had held Vincent upright at Maria’s funeral when Vincent had nearly collapsed beside the grave.
The thought now made Vincent feel sick.
They entered the archives without calling ahead.
A nervous records manager named Henry Bell met them downstairs.
“Mr. Torino.”
“Open the 1950s storage.”
Henry blinked.
“That material is restricted.”
Vincent looked at him.
Henry reached for his keys.
The archive room smelled of paper and dust.
Rows of boxes disappeared into darkness.
Tony switched on the overhead lights.
They found the section Daniel had reported.
Boxes labeled 1956.
One shelf was empty.
Vincent touched the dust.
A rectangle of cleaner wood marked where a box had once been.
“TORINO-RIZZO?” Tony asked.
Vincent nodded.
Henry stood near the door.
“When was this removed?”
Henry adjusted his glasses.
“I don’t know.”
“You manage the archive.”
“I started in 1985.”
“Who was here before you?”
“A man named Foster.”
“Where is he?”
“Florida, I think.”
Tony wrote it down.
Vincent inspected the shelves.
Something white lay behind one of the boxes.
He reached for it.
An envelope.
Old.
Yellowed.
His name was written across the front.
VINCENT.
His heart stopped.
He knew the handwriting.
Maria.
Tony saw it too.
“Jesus.”
Vincent held the envelope as though it might disappear.
The seal had been broken.
Someone had opened it.
He unfolded the paper.
The first line nearly dropped him to his knees.
Vincent, if anything happens to me, do not believe Carlo.
Vincent stared at the words.
Carlo.
His brother.
The man whose orphaned son Vincent had raised.
He kept reading.
Maria wrote that she had discovered Carlo meeting secretly with men connected to Salvatore Bellini.
She had heard them discussing Vincent’s routes.
Payments.
Territory.
She believed Carlo was stealing from the family.
Worse, she believed he was planning something with their enemies.
Maria intended to tell Vincent that night.
She never made it home.
Vincent’s vision blurred.
Tony read over his shoulder.
“Why didn’t you get this?”
Vincent looked at the opened envelope.
“Someone found it first.”
He read the final lines.
There was another secret.
Maria had been planning to tell Vincent something else that night.
She had gone to the doctor two days earlier.
She was pregnant.
Vincent sat down on a wooden crate.
Tony went completely silent.
For thirty years, Vincent had mourned Maria as the only family he had truly lost that night.
Now he discovered there had been another life.
A child.
His child.
Gone before he had even known it existed.
Vincent covered his mouth with one hand.
Tony turned away.
Neither man spoke for several minutes.
Then footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Henry appeared.
“Mr. Torino?”
Vincent looked up.
“There’s someone upstairs asking for you.”
“Who?”
Henry swallowed.
“Mr. Bellini.”
Vincent folded Maria’s letter and placed it inside his coat.
Salvatore had arrived.
Vincent stood.
“Good.”
Tony looked at him.
“You’re going to confront him?”
“Not yet.”
They entered Salvatore’s office ten minutes later.
Salvatore Bellini was sixty-one.
Elegant.
Silver-haired.
Perfectly dressed.
He rose behind a mahogany desk with a concerned smile.
“Vincent.”
He opened his arms.
“I heard about the Martinez woman.”
Vincent watched him closely.
Salvatore continued.
“Terrible business.”
“Yes.”
“Street animals.”
“Yes.”
“I told you these young gangs would become a problem.”
Vincent sat.
Tony remained standing.
Salvatore looked between them.
“What brings you here?”
Vincent placed Daniel Martinez’s employment file on the desk.
Salvatore’s expression barely changed.
Barely.
“You remember him?” Vincent asked.
Salvatore looked at the photograph.
“Daniel?”
“So you do.”
“Of course.”
“He worked for you.”
“Briefly.”
“He died.”
“That’s what I heard.”
Vincent watched his eyes.
“You identified his body.”
Salvatore paused.
Then smiled sadly.
“Did I?”
“Elena remembers you did.”
“Perhaps I helped.”
“Was it Daniel?”
Salvatore looked at Vincent.
“What kind of question is that?”
“A simple one.”
Salvatore leaned back.
“It was years ago.”
“Was the body Daniel Martinez?”
“I was told it was.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
The smile faded.
Tony shifted slightly.
Salvatore noticed.
“Vincent, what exactly are you accusing me of?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you here?”
Vincent stood.
“To look at an old friend.”
Salvatore frowned.
Vincent walked around the desk.
“I wanted to see whether I still recognized him.”
He stopped in front of Salvatore.
For a moment, neither man moved.
Then Vincent smiled faintly.
“I do.”
He walked out.
Tony followed him toward the elevator.
“What did you see?” Tony asked.
Vincent pressed the button.
“Fear.”
The doors opened.
Before entering, Vincent looked back toward Salvatore’s office.
“And Salvatore Bellini has never been afraid of me.”
They returned to the hospital shortly after noon.
Sophie was asleep beside Elena.
Vincent stopped outside.
For a moment, the sight inside the room made the world quieter.
Elena noticed him.
She carefully slipped out from beneath Sophie’s arm and gestured for Vincent to enter.
He did.
“You found something,” she whispered.
Vincent nodded.
“So did I.”
He frowned.
Elena reached toward the bedside drawer.
“I remembered something Daniel gave me.”
“What?”
“A music box.”
Vincent waited.
“He told me never to throw it away.”
“Where is it?”
“At the flower shop.”
Vincent’s expression changed.
“What kind?”
“Wooden.”
“Anything unusual?”
“There’s a compartment underneath.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“Did you ever open it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t know it opened.”
Vincent frowned.
“How do you know now?”
Elena looked toward Sophie.
“Because Sophie told me.”
Vincent glanced at the sleeping girl.
“When?”
“This morning.”
Elena swallowed.
“She said her father showed her the secret compartment once.”
“That would be impossible.”
Sophie had been born months after Daniel supposedly died.
Elena’s face had gone pale.
“I know.”
Vincent stared at her.
Elena continued.
“Sophie says she remembers him.”
Vincent’s heartbeat slowed.
“She remembers a man coming to the apartment when she was little.”
“How little?”
“Two or three.”
“Did she know who he was?”
Elena looked toward Sophie.
“She said I was asleep.”
Vincent felt cold move through him.
“And the man told her not to wake me.”
“What else?”
“He gave her a flower.”
Vincent waited.
Elena’s eyes filled with tears.
“And told her, ‘Daddy loves you more than the whole sky.’”
That had been Daniel’s phrase.
Elena had told no one.
She looked at Vincent.
“If Sophie is telling the truth…”
Vincent finished the thought.
“Daniel was alive years after you buried him.”
Elena nodded.
Vincent turned toward the door.
They needed that music box.
Immediately.
But before he could leave, Sophie stirred.
Her eyes opened.
She looked at Vincent.
“Mr. Vincent?”
“Yes?”
She rubbed her eyes.
“The man who came to see me wasn’t alone.”
Vincent stopped.
“Who was with him?”
Sophie thought carefully.
“A man with a black ring.”
Vincent felt every muscle in his body tighten.
“Like mine?”
He held out his hand.
Sophie looked at the Torino crest.
May you like
Then nodded.
“Exactly like yours.”
