Chapter 9 - The Son No One Knew
Tony Russo sat alone in Vincent’s office for nearly an hour before either man spoke.
The Golden Palm remained closed.
Luca stayed downstairs with Donovan.
Vincent stood near the window.
Morning traffic moved along the street outside as if nothing had happened.
People walked to work.
Cabs honked.
Delivery trucks stopped.
The city continued.
Vincent felt as though his had stopped in 1957 and somehow begun again beneath his feet thirty years later.
“Nico was six months old when Anna and I adopted him.”
Tony finally spoke.
Vincent did not turn.
“Anna could not have children.”
Vincent stared through the glass.
“She died believing Nico was yours.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know?”
“No.”
Tony’s answer came immediately.
“I swear to God.”
Vincent finally turned.
“Who arranged the adoption?”
“A lawyer.”
“Name?”
Tony thought.
“Samuel Price.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
Price had worked for Salvatore Bellini.
Of course.
Everything led back to Salvatore.
Tony rubbed his face.
“We were told Nico’s mother died in childbirth.”
“Maria died months earlier.”
“I know.”
“You never checked.”
“It was 1958.”
Tony’s voice rose.
“We wanted a child.”
“Anna was desperate.”
“I was thirty years old and stupid enough to believe lawyers.”
Vincent said nothing.
Tony looked toward him.
“You think I stole your son.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t know what I think.”
Tony stood.
“I changed his diapers.”
“I sat with him through fevers.”
“I taught him to ride a bicycle.”
“I broke my hand punching a wall when he joined those idiots on Cicero Avenue.”
His voice cracked.
“I am his father.”
Vincent looked at him.
“Yes.”
Tony stopped.
Vincent continued.
“You are.”
Tony’s eyes filled.
Vincent looked down at the birth record.
“And I am something else.”
Neither man knew what.
Biology did not erase thirty years.
It did not create memories that never happened.
Vincent had missed Nico’s first word.
His first day of school.
His first fight.
His first heartbreak.
Tony had been there.
Vincent felt no jealousy toward that.
Only grief.
Then another thought entered.
“Does Nico know?”
Tony shook his head.
“I never told him he was adopted.”
“Then how did Bellini recruit him?”
Tony looked toward the door.
“Maybe Bellini told him.”
Vincent’s stomach tightened.
If Salvatore had known Nico’s identity for thirty years, then every step of the boy’s life might have been shaped intentionally.
A weapon prepared slowly.
Patiently.
For Vincent.
Luca entered without knocking.
“We found something in Daniel’s files.”
Vincent looked up.
Luca placed a photograph on the desk.
Nico sat across from Salvatore Bellini at a restaurant.
The date was two years earlier.
Tony closed his eyes.
“How long?”
“Maybe longer.”
Luca placed another document down.
A trust account.
Bellini had been sending Nico money since he turned eighteen.
Tony stared.
“He told me he was making money from construction.”
“He was,” Luca said.
“Bellini owned the construction company.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
Salvatore had reached into Tony’s home and taken his son.
Vincent’s biological son.
Without either father understanding what was happening.
The telephone rang.
No one moved.
It rang again.
Vincent answered.
“Torino.”
A familiar voice replied.
“Hello, Father.”
Vincent stopped breathing.
Tony heard it.
His face changed.
Vincent gripped the receiver.
“Nico.”
“So you found the room.”
“Yes.”
A laugh.
“Daniel always was too clever.”
“Where are you?”
“You really think I’m going to tell you?”
“No.”
Vincent’s voice softened.
“But I think you want to talk.”
Silence.
“You know.”
“Yes.”
“About Maria?”
“Yes.”
“And me?”
Vincent looked at Tony.
“Yes.”
Nico laughed again.
There was no humor in it.
“Thirty years.”
“I know.”
“You were five miles away my entire childhood.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“I know.”
“You came to my birthday parties.”
Vincent remembered.
A little dark-haired boy running through Tony’s backyard.
Vincent had brought expensive gifts because he never knew what children liked.
Nico had once climbed onto his lap at age four.
Vincent had stiffened until Tony laughed.
That memory now cut like glass.
“You looked at me.”
Nico’s voice trembled.
“And you never knew.”
“No.”
“Bellini knew.”
Vincent’s eyes opened.
“When did he tell you?”
“When I was twenty-one.”
Tony covered his face.
Vincent continued.
“What else did he tell you?”
“That you abandoned Maria.”
“That you cared more about power than your wife.”
“That she tried to leave you.”
“Some of that may be true.”
Nico stopped.
Vincent’s willingness to accept blame confused him.
“But I did not know you existed.”
“Convenient.”
“Ask Tony.”
Nico’s voice sharpened.
“Don’t bring him into this.”
“He raised you.”
“He lied to me.”
“He did not know.”
“You believe him?”
“Yes.”
Tony looked at Vincent.
Nico remained silent.
Then Vincent asked the only question that mattered.
“Did you deliver Daniel Martinez to Bellini?”
Silence.
“Nico.”
“He wasn’t supposed to die.”
Tony shut his eyes.
Vincent’s heart tightened.
“What happened?”
“Luca told me where Daniel was.”
“I called Bellini.”
“Why?”
“Because Bellini said Daniel knew who I was.”
Vincent stared at the wall.
“I wanted answers.”
“What happened?”
“Bellini’s men took him.”
“Then?”
Nico’s breathing changed.
“He escaped.”
“We found him later.”
“You?”
“No.”
“Bellini.”
“Did you see Daniel alive after that?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“February 1986.”
The month Daniel recorded the cassette.
“What did he say?”
Nico’s voice lowered.
“He told me Bellini was lying.”
Vincent waited.
“He said Maria tried to protect me.”
“That Bellini took me after she died.”
“Why?”
“To keep me as insurance.”
Vincent felt sick.
Salvatore had taken an unborn child, hidden him inside Tony’s home, and waited decades.
“Why did Bellini let Tony adopt you?”
“Because he knew you trusted Tony.”
Nico laughed bitterly.
“He put me right beside you.”
Tony whispered, “Dear God.”
Vincent tightened his grip on the phone.
“Nico, listen to me.”
“No.”
“You have spent years believing I am your enemy.”
“You are.”
“Maybe.”
Vincent looked at Maria’s letter.
“But Bellini murdered your mother.”
Silence.
“He murdered Daniel.”
Another pause.
“And he has been using your anger since you were twenty-one.”
Nico’s voice cracked.
“You don’t get to talk about my anger.”
“No.”
Vincent’s voice was steady.
“But I understand it.”
“How?”
“Because Salvatore used mine for thirty years.”
Nico said nothing.
Vincent continued.
“He killed Maria.”
“Then he pointed me at another family.”
“And I spent decades becoming exactly the man he needed me to become.”
Tony stared at him.
Nico’s breathing was audible.
Vincent lowered his voice.
“Do not make my mistake.”
For several seconds, there was only static.
Then Nico whispered, “Too late.”
The line went dead.
Vincent replaced the receiver.
Tony looked destroyed.
Vincent put one hand on his shoulder.
“We bring him home.”
Tony nodded.
Neither man said whose home.
At the estate, Elena listened while Vincent told her the truth.
She sat silently beside the fireplace.
Sophie played in another room.
When Vincent finished, Elena looked at him for a long time.
“You have a son.”
“Apparently.”
“You don’t sound happy.”
Vincent stared at the fire.
“I don’t know how.”
“That isn’t true.”
He looked at her.
“Sophie adores you.”
“That child has questionable judgment.”
Elena almost smiled.
Then she became serious.
“You can’t fix thirty years in one conversation.”
“I know.”
“You may never fix it.”
“I know.”
“But you can stop making it worse.”
Vincent studied her.
“How?”
“By not treating Nico like an enemy.”
“He threatened my restaurant.”
“He is hurt.”
“He helped Bellini take Daniel.”
“So did Luca.”
Vincent frowned.
“And Luca is downstairs eating your cook’s lasagna.”
He almost smiled.
Elena leaned forward.
“People are complicated, Vincent.”
“You, more than most, should understand that.”
He looked at her.
“Is this your way of telling me I’m complicated?”
“No.”
“It’s my way of telling you that you are exhausting.”
He smiled.
Actually smiled.
Elena stared.
Vincent noticed.
“What?”
“I didn’t think you did that.”
“Did what?”
“Smile.”
“It happens.”
“Rarely?”
“Apparently.”
The room softened.
For one moment, the entire nightmare seemed farther away.
Then Sophie ran in carrying a drawing.
“Look.”
She held it up.
Three people stood outside a flower shop.
Elena.
Sophie.
Vincent.
Vincent stared.
“Why am I there?”
“You’re fixing the window.”
Elena laughed.
Sophie pointed.
“And you live upstairs.”
Vincent looked at Elena.
Elena’s cheeks colored slightly.
“That seems presumptuous.”
Sophie shrugged.
“You have a big house.”
“That is true.”
“You’re lonely.”
Vincent went still.
Children were cruel in the way only honesty could be.
Sophie continued.
“We have flowers.”
“So you can live with us.”
Elena covered her face.
“Sophie.”
“What?”
Vincent crouched.
“I’ll consider the offer.”
Sophie smiled.
Then a guard appeared at the doorway.
“Mr. Torino.”
Vincent stood.
“What?”
“We caught someone outside the east wall.”
Vincent’s expression changed.
“Who?”
The guard hesitated.
“A courier.”
“For whom?”
“Elena.”
Elena stood.
The guard handed her a small package.
No return address.
Inside was a single white rose.
Elena’s hands began shaking.
Daniel used white roses for one thing in his code.
Danger inside the home.
Beneath the rose was a note.
Sophie leaned closer.
Vincent read it first.
GET THE CHILD OUT BEFORE MIDNIGHT.
Elena looked toward the windows.
Vincent checked the clock.
11:42 p.m.
May you like
Eighteen minutes.
Then every light in the estate went out.
