Chapter 22 22

Chapter 22 22

All through the meal Moretti had carried on all the talk. He shared stories about Giovanni’s mother. How elegant she was. How she loved art and music. How she’d spend hours at the library reading. How she collected beautiful things. She had always told Giovanni that she wanted him to be with someone who understood what beauty was, Moretti said. He raised his wine to Isabella.

"Someone with an artistic soul. She’d be happy to see he had married someone working with art. Who understands restoration and preservation."

Isabella didn't fail to notice when Giovanni's jaw tightened at this. How tightly he was holding his fork. Moretti continued, seemingly oblivious. "Your mother was rather particular, Giovanni. Remember how she would drag you around to galleries? You had exquisite taste even as a little boy. She would be so proud of the man that you are today."

The words seemed kind. Nostalgic. But there was something beneath them that Isabella couldn’t place. Something that made her uneasy. As soon as dinner was over, Moretti brought Isabella completely out.

“I hear you saw a terrible thing the other day,” he said. His expression shifted to concern. "A shooting outside your gallery?"

Isabella glanced at Giovanni. She didn’t know how much to report. What was safe to reveal.

"Yes," she said carefully. "It was traumatic."

“These streets are not safe,” Moretti added. He shook his head sadly. "Random violence. It is terrible. Giovanni, you might think about providing better security for your wife. It was unworthy of a lady to see such sights.”

"Already done," Giovanni said. His voice was curt. Short.

"Good, good." Moretti patted Isabella's hand. It was enough to make her want to be still but she resisted the urge. "Take care, my dear. There are monsters in this world. Guys who’d be glad to hurt the innocent to square old grudges. The tone sent prickles across Isabella’s skin in the way he said it. There was something about the way his voice sounded. Something knowing.”

"Old scores?" Isabella repeated. She tried to sound casual. Curious but not too interested.

"What do you mean?"

“Psh, that’s just how the world is,” Moretti waved off. "Men make enemies. Those enemies seek revenge. Innocent people are caught in the crossfire. It is a tragedy." He looked directly at her.
"Your father, for instance. A robbery, they said. But you do have to wonder what else was going on. If say, someone from his past finally came to haunt him.”

Isabella sensed a start in Giovanni who sat next to her. The air in the room changed. Became heavier. “My father was shot dead in a random robbery,” Isabella answered. The lie came easily now. She had rehearsed it thousands of times. "Wrong place, wrong time."

"Of course, of course," said Moretti. But his smile told her he didn’t believe her. "Still, one must be careful. You just never know who's going to be coming for answers about the past.”

Giovanni went straight to his office after Moretti had gone. Isabella followed without being invited. She no longer cared whether he wanted her there or not.

"Who was that really?" she asked. Giovanni was mixing himself a stiff drink. Whiskey. She had become accustomed to knowing the scent. The liquid is dark amber in the crystal glass.

"An old family friend."

“He was far too eager for Antonio’s death,” Isabella said. She shut the door behind her. "And in my father."

“He is worried about you," Giovanni replied. But there was an edge to his tone. Something that let Isabella know he wasn’t telling everything.

“That isn’t what I’m saying,” Isabella said. She studied him. Saw how he stood. The tension in his shoulders. "You do not trust him."

It was not a question. Giovanni’s hand clenched his glass. “My family and Moretti have been friends for years. He helped me after my folks went the way of all flesh. Gave me resources. Connections. Aided in the construction of what I have today. I wouldn’t have had anything without him.”

“That is not a response,” pushed Isabella. She moved closer. "Do you trust him or not?"

Giovanni turned to face her. "And for years he's been telling me that Dante De Santis was responsible for my family's slaying. That De Santis is who your dad's crew worked for. That De Santis had given the order and paid them to do it.”

"Was he?" Isabella asked. "Was it this De Santis who hired them?" Giovanni's silence was answer enough. He did not know for certain. And that ambiguity was eating him. Isabella could tell by the way he held the glass. In the stiff tension of his body.

“Antonio was afraid of somebody,” Isabella murmured. "When he came to the gallery. He kept looking around. Kept looking over his shoulder to see if he was being followed. He would periodically look over at the windows as if he were expecting somebody to come crashing through them. Giovanni, he was not just simply terrified of you. He was scared of some one."

Giovanni put down his glass slowly. With deliberate precision. "What makes you think that?"

“Because when he talked about old enemies and whether they were stirring once more, his expression was that of a man who already knew himself to be dead,” Isabella said. She remembered Antonio's face. The fear in his eyes. The sweat on his palms. "Like he had accepted it. As if he knew he had no way out. That’s not how you look when you’re just scared they might catch on. That’s what it looks like when you know the monster is at the door.”

She moved closer to Giovanni. Nearby enough to see, through the mask, the amber flecks in his eyes. "What if Moretti isn't what he says he is? Was Antonio trying to warn me about him? What if the old enemies he referred to, the ones standing once more, what if that’s Moretti?”

"Careful," Giovanni said quietly. His voice was low. Dangerous. "Moretti is a powerful man. That is very dangerous to accuse him of anything if you don’t have the proof.”

“More dangerous than marrying a woman in order to punish her dead father?” Isabella asked. There was the bitterness again in her voice. “More dangerous than making someone live a life that was never theirs? How was that worse than burning down everything I’ve ever loved?”

Giovanni's eyes bore into hers. For a long time neither of them said anything. After a moment, Giovanni murmured softly and regretfully to himself: "Yes. Much more dangerous. Because if you’re right, and it’s Moretti that’s been driving me for fourteen years, then we’ve already died.” The words hung in space between them. Heavy. Final. Isabella shuddered with horror.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

“Moretti was my instrument in the construction of my empire,” Giovanni said. He looked away from her, out the window. “He put me in touch the right people. Gave me my first connections. Helped me establish my territory. All of my resources, everybody that I was able to reach out to, he helped me get.

"So he has something over you," Isabella said with dawning comprehension. “He knows where all of your strength comes from. Who your allies are. Your weaknesses."

“If he wished me dead,” Giovanni went on, “in a few days he could take apart all I have created. Turn my allies against me. Cut off my resources. Leave me vulnerable." He looked back at her. “And if he’s fed me a false trail for fourteen years about who took my family, instead of pointing me at the true enemy, and kept the real murderers all around me safe, then I have wasted fourteen years of my life chasing shade.”

Isabella tried to process this.

"Why would he do that? What would he gain?"

"Power," Giovanni said simply. “If your father’s crew was working for somebody, and that somebody wanted my family killed, and Mr Moretti helped cover it up, then he has been protecting the person who ordered the hit. And I only hope he got something in return. Territory. Influence. Money. Something worth betraying a family friend for.”

“But you told me he helped you after your parents died,” Isabella said.

“If he was involved in killing them, why would he do that?”

“To control me," Giovanni said. He appeared to be arriving at the realization even as he was speaking. “Just to be certain that I went after the proper targets and left the enemy alone. To remind me that De Santis, and those crew members had died for nothing, while the person who’d actually given the order remained safe.”

Isabella felt sick. “And so Antonio was trying to tell me. About Moretti. About the real enemy."

"Maybe," Giovanni said. “Or perhaps I am paranoid, and I see conspiracies where there are none. Perhaps Moretti really is everything he claims to be. A friend to the end, they’re trying to help me hold accountable those who have wronged my family.” But he didn’t sound confident. Isabella could hear the skepticism in his tone.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

There was a pause and then Giovanni said nothing for a long time. “I’m going to keep him in view,” he said, at last. “And you’ll help me.”

"Why would I help you?" Isabella demanded. "You killed my father. You destroyed my life."

"Because if Moretti is involved in this, he is a threat to both of us," Giovanni said. ” Because whoever killed Antonio will come for you next if they think you have information. You know, as it were: The enemy of my enemy is my friend, even though I hate his guts.” He moved closer to her.

“But more than anything because despite everything between us, we are now bound. Your survival depends on mine. And mine may be dependent on yours.”

Isabella stared at him. She wanted to refuse. Wanted to tell him to take a hike. Wanted to storm off and leave him with his conspiracies. But she knew he was right. Someone had killed Antonio. Something had been stirring in the dark. And if Giovanni went, she would go with him. She was vulnerable without him. No safety. No life.

"What do you need me to do?" she asked quietly.

“Be my eyes, be my ears,” Giovanni said. "Moretti seems to like you. Trust you more than he trusts me, perhaps. Invite him out if he passes through again just talk to him. Take note of his response. Look for inconsistencies. For improbable things. And tell me everything." Isabella nodded slowly.

She was speaking to the devil. Becoming an ally with the man who had ruined her life. But what choice did she have? "Fine," she said. “But when this is all over, when we get to the bottom of who killed your family and why, you let me go. You give me my freedom. That is the cost of my assistance.”

Giovanni's eyes rested on her for a long while. Then he extended his hand. "Deal."

Isabella stared at his gloved hand. At the offer of a partnership instead of bondage. She knew she was not supposed to trust him. If she knew he’d likely betray her the minute it was convenient. But she took his hand anyway. For right now, he was the only friend she had. And in Giovanni’s world, that would have to suffice.