Chapter 6 - THE GRANDFATHER I THOUGHT I KNEW
For twelve hours, I hated a dead man.
Then we found the rest of the tape.
It had snapped inside the recorder.
Marco repaired it.
My mother’s voice returned.
“Dad, put the gun down.”
Henry answered:
“I’m not pointing it at you.”
Another voice.
Frank Cavallo.
Of course.
“You should listen to your daughter, Henry.”
Then shouting.
A gunshot.
My mother screaming.
My grandfather:
“Caroline, run!”
The tape ended again.
I sat on the floor of Room 317.
Grandpa had not poisoned her.
He had tried to save her.
“Why did you let me believe he might have killed her?” I asked Grandma.
“I didn’t know what was on the tape.”
“You knew Frank was there.”
“No.”
She looked devastated.
“Henry came home covered in blood.”
“Whose?”
“Frank’s.”
My pulse jumped.
“Did Grandpa shoot him?”
“Yes.”
“But Frank lived.”
“He did.”
“Then Mom?”
“Caroline drove away.”
“Poisoned.”
“Yes.”
“She crashed.”
“Yes.”
I cried quietly.
Vincent sat on the floor beside me.
Not touching.
Just there.
After a while, I asked:
“What happened to Grandpa?”
“He spent twenty years waiting for Frank to come back.”
Grandma’s voice softened.
“He never did.”
“Why?”
Vincent answered.
“Because Anthony Moretti intervened.”
Grandma nodded.
Anthony had forced a truce.
Frank stayed away from Bennett land.
In exchange, Anthony never released the ledger publicly.
A temporary peace.
Until Anthony died.
Then Gabriel.
Then Caroline.
Then Henry.
One by one, everyone who knew the original bargain disappeared.
Now only Grandma remembered.
And Victor Cavallo wanted the tunnel.
Vincent stood.
“We need the chapel copy.”
I stared.
“New York?”
“Yes.”
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“I run an inn.”
“You are currently involved in a multigenerational organized-crime conspiracy.”
“That is extremely inconvenient.”
Tess whispered:
“I can run the inn.”
Grandma looked at her.
“You once set microwave popcorn on fire.”
“That was one time.”
Vincent held out his hand.
“Come with me.”
I stared at it.
“Why?”
“Because your mother wanted you to know the truth.”
“And because you need the ledger.”
“Yes.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“I try.”
I took his hand.
That was mistake number two.
Mistake number one involved peach wine.
The private jet was ridiculous.
I spent most of the flight pretending I wasn’t impressed.
Vincent watched me.
“You can admit you like it.”
“I like free pretzels.”
“We have a chef.”
“Pretzels are fine.”
He laughed.
Somewhere over Pennsylvania, the viral proposal passed ten million views.
My phone exploded with interview requests.
One headline read:
MAFIA KING’S MYSTERY COUNTRY FIANCÉE.
I showed him.
“This is your fault.”
“You climbed onto my shoulders.”
“You allowed it.”
“You threatened to sing if I didn’t.”
I had no memory of that.
“Did I?”
“Loudly.”
I covered my face.
Then he said quietly:
“I didn’t bring the ring because of the video.”
I looked up.
“What?”
He opened the box again.
The diamond.
Old-fashioned.
Beautiful.
“This belonged to my grandmother.”
“Why bring it?”
“Because my grandfather left instructions.”
My stomach tightened.
“What instructions?”
Vincent pulled out a letter.
Written by Anthony Moretti.
Dated thirty years earlier.
If Gabriel Bennett’s daughter ever comes to you willingly, give her this ring.
I stopped breathing.
Vincent continued reading:
It is not an engagement ring.
It is a key.
He turned the diamond.
A tiny metal mechanism appeared beneath the setting.
The ring opened something.
May you like
Then Anthony’s letter ended:
And when she uses it, she will finally learn why Gabriel had to die.
Related Stories
