Chapter 37 37

Chapter 37 37


Isabella still knew deep down that something was amiss. It laid in the pit of her stomach like a stone, hard and cold. Giovanni had been even more distant than usual since that comment on the sidewalk outside his office three days ago. At meals he rarely so much as glanced at her. When he crossed paths with them in the hallways, he would turn and walk in the other direction.
Chiara had also been mysteriously missing out. Isabella was always there, following Giovanni around or looking Isabella over with those cold olive eyes. But for the past three days, Chiara had gone missing. She was like a ghost in the mansion, present and not present.

And Moretti visited more frequently. Isabella caught sight of his car pulling up almost daily now. He constantly shut himself up with Giovanni for hours to have private talk. Every time he left, Giovanni seemed edgier, sharper, more like the fearsome Don who ruled with an iron fist.

Isabella was in the library one afternoon. She was here a lot now, preferring the silence and must of old paper. It was reminiscent of her gallery, of the life she had before everything fell apart.

She was bored and looking for something to read, when she noticed a forgotten pile of papers on the desk. There wasn’t anything hidden, or put away, it was sitting there like somebody just somehow forgot. The tab said "Antonio Genovese - Financial Records" in neat handwriting.
It was ogling she shouldn’t do, Isabella knew. She knew it was none of her business. But curiosity overrode caution, and before she could dissuade herself, she opened the folder.

It contained records detailing business conducted 14 years ago. She read through them rapidly, her art-historian eyes schooled to detect details and patterns. Antonio Genovese and Gabriele Moretti were business partners in several businesses, had property investments together and were passionate about backing new rap talent. That was not surprising. Giovanni had said they were near.

But other documents were there, too. They revealed huge debts that Moretti had built up in the year before Antonio died. Hundreds of thousands of dollars that he owed some very bad men. The papers that proved he was on the verge of losing everything he had.

And then Antonio died. The subsequent set of documents depicted Moretti taking control of their joint businesses. Within a few months, he’d obtained all his extradition debts. He was a millionaire in less than a year. The entire time Giovanni was in foster care and then juvenile detention, isolated and shattered.

Isabella’s hands trembled as she read. This was motive. It's good, solid motive—one Moretti has to kill Antonio. To wish everyone in Giovanni's family were dead so that no one will oppose him once he moves on their enterprises.

She was still reading and thinking quickly when the library door opened. Si las came in and went white as he saw the folder in her hands.

"Where did you find that?" His voice was sharp, urgent.

"On the desk. Someone left it." Isabella gazed up at him with her glacier blue innocent eyes. "Silas, these papers indicate Moretti would have a reason to want Giovanni's father dead. This is evidence."

”Evidence that will get you killed if Moretti finds out you have seen it. Silas strode across the room and snapped the folder shut, his movements stiff. "Mrs Genovese, Isabella, you must be very careful. Moretti is dangerous. More dangerous than you realize."

“Then we inform Giovanni,” Isabella said at once. "Show him this evidence. Show him that Moretti has been lying.”

"Giovanni will not believe it." Silas shook his head, eyes sad and grey. “Moretti has been his mentor, guardian and father figure for 14 years. That bond is not something financial incentive can trump. We need more. What we got to have is evidence that Moretti did hire the crew. We need—"

"My father's painting," Isabella interrupted. Her mind was clipping along now, parts locking into place. "You told us we needed to check it. That it was possible my father covered something up.”

"Yes, but—"

"Then let us do it. Now. Before Moretti knows we’re onto him.”

Silas stared at her for a long time. His face was grave, holding the weight of something heavy. “You know what you’re laying out there for the taking? If the picture does not contain anything, you will have only estranged Giovanni more. "And if we're right, if we get evidence against Moretti, he's going to come at you with everything."

Isabella thought of her father. She thought of her godfather, shot to death on the street. She had flashbacks of Giovanni, hellbent on vengeance against someone who could be innocent, while the true enemy was right next to him with a big smile.

"I understand," she said. Her voice was even though fear coiled itself in her chest. "But I'll be damned if Giovanni is going to throw his life away by hating the wrong man. Can’t have him trust a man who took everything from his family. Even if he hates me for it, even if he never forgives me, I have to try.”
Silas inclined his head slowly, a kind of reluctant respect in his expression. "Alright. We’ll hit the galleries tomorrow during your regular workdays. I will get some of my trusted men to guard you. "Yes, well, men who aren't in Moretti's pocket."

"Will he not notice?" Isabella asked.

"Probably," Silas admitted. “That’s why we have to move fast. Get the painting, go over it with a fine-tooth comb, uncover whatever your father hid and then get out, before Moretti catches you and interferes.”

They firmed up specifics over the next few minutes. Which men Silas would bring. What time they would leave. How they’d go about examining the painting without causing it any harm. Isabella’s heart had beat until they arrived, but her hands were still now. She had a cause, an agenda, something to fight for other than mere existence.

As they were talking about the best way to get the painting out of its frame, the door to the library opened once more.

Giovanni stood there. His half-mask in place over the top of his face, as always, she didn't need to see the rest of his visage to know he was angry. His jaw was rigid, his body taut with strength. She didn't like the way he was looking at her, and felt herself begin to get sick inside as she read his face.

"What painting?" he asked quietly.

The inquiry was innocent enough, but Isabella heard what lay beyond. He had been listening. That he had overheard some part of their talk.

Her heart sank. This was it. That moment when she had to figure out if she was going to tell him everything or shield him from a truth he wasn’t prepared to hear. But not to him now, not when she could see the flicker of betrayal in his amber eyes already, she knew that protecting him was no longer an option.

“The painting my father gave me when he died,” she said. Her voice was as cool and calm as she could make it. " I think Silas bushes that he may have tunnelled evidence into it. Information about who hired the crew that killed your family.”

Giovanni's expression hardened. And the anger that had been smoldering turned cold and deadly. “And you’ve been investigating this behind my back? planning to go behind my back?”

"I was going to tell you." Isabella moved closer to him, halting when he tensed. "Once we had proof. Once we knew for certain."

"Knew what for certain?" Giovanni demanded. He was speaking loudly now, the discipline that was usuall his voice breaking down.

Isabella looked at Silas. The older man’s face was solemn, but he nodded a little. License for saying what had to be said.

She drew a breath and uttered the words that would either save Giovanni or snap whatever tenuous link they had left.

That Moretti is bullshitting you. That he had money-priced reason to desire your father’s demise. That he's been playing you for fourteen years, all in the name of your revenge as he rubs out his enemies with your gifts. That maybe Dante De Santis is not guilty.”

Silence filled the library. It was so thorough that Isabella could hear the sound of her own heart drumming in ears. Giovanni looked at her, and she saw surprise, disbelief and anger battling for his expression. His fists were glued to his sides.

"Get out," he said quietly.

"Giovanni—"

"I said get out!" He was screaming now, totally out of control. "Both of you! You come into my home, question those who remain loyal to me, snoop behind my back and inform me the man who risked his life for mine is now my enemy. Leave, before I do that which I will not be proud of!”

Isabella retreated toward the door, but she couldn’t go without speaking it. Could not depart without one more try.

He's deceiving you, Giovanni. Moretti is lying. And surely if you would only consider the evidence, just be willing to think—”

“The only liar around here is you,” Giovanni replied coldly. Every word was a blade in her. "Lorenzo Vinci's daughter, using me to put me against the people who have always had my back. I should have known. Should have seen it coming. But I was dumb enough to believe you were better. That you actually cared."

The accusation itself hurt more than anything he had ever done to her before. More irksome than being confined to her room. Worse than being threatened. For this cut at the one true thing between them.

"I do care," Isabella whispered. “That’s why I’m doing this.”

“No.” He gave her his back, wasted utterly. His back was rigid, unyielding. "You're doing this because you are your father's daughter. The man is a master manipulator — darling, this is in your blood.”

There was no more to say. Isabella stormed out of the library, her sight becoming blurred with tears she would not allow to flow. Silas trailed her, looking downcast but not surprised. Both knew they had just crossed a line from which there could be no going back.

However, what Giovanni didn't see, and what he never realized, was that Chiara had been standing just outside the library door. She had been walking by and heard raised voices. Her curiosity led her to stop and listen.

She heard everything. Isabella accusing Moretti. Silas supporting those accusations. Discussion of a painting and evidence that it has ever existed. Money and 14 years of lies.

Now she was standing in the empty hallway, her heart pounding. A decision had to be made, and it had to be made right now.

It was what Moretti heard she could tell him. Warn him that Isabella had Silas investigating him. Trust his plan completely and acknowledge that she had decided to betray instead of be loyal.

Or she could go to Giovanni. Give him what Moretti told her three nights ago. Explain to him about the debts and manipulation. Pick loyalty instead of that resentment that will carve her to pieces.

Chiara pulled out her phone. Her hands were shaking. Moretti’s number was still there on the screen from the last time they had spoken. Her thumb hesitated over the call button.
One choice or the other. Betrayal or loyalty. Revenge or redemption. The life she knew or the plunge into terrifying unknown.

She pressed call.