Chapter 5 - THE DRIVER WHO SHOULD HAVE INHERITED EVERYTHING
Marco Bellandi disappeared before sunrise.
His apartment was empty.
His phone disconnected.
His bank accounts untouched.
Tiberio’s security team found only one thing.
A photograph taped beneath Marco’s kitchen table.
Vittorio Valkcari holding a newborn.
On the back:
My first son.
Tiberio said nothing for almost an hour.
Brena finally found him in the penthouse gym, standing motionless beside a heavy bag.
“You knew Marco’s mother?”
“Yes.”
“Who was she?”
“Lucia Bellandi. She worked for the family.”
“Did your father have an affair with her?”
“Apparently.”
Brena leaned against the doorway.
“And Marco knew?”
“He had to.”
“Twelve years beside you.”
Tiberio looked away.
“Twelve years.”
The betrayal was different this time.
Not romantic.
Not financial.
More intimate.
A man Tiberio trusted with routes, weapons, schedules, and family movements had potentially been watching a life he believed should have belonged to him.
“Why wouldn’t he reveal it?” Brena asked.
“Because inheritance in my family is not a ceremonial title.”
“You mean power.”
“I mean survival.”
Then Brena remembered something.
“The driver at the gala.”
“What?”
“When we arrived, Marco stayed with the car.”
“Yes.”
“He would have known our exact route. He would have known which hotel entrance we used.”
Tiberio’s eyes sharpened.
“And the stranger with the envelope.”
“Could have been placed there.”
Within minutes, Tiberio’s team began reconstructing Marco’s movements.
They found the first anomaly quickly.
Marco had visited a private rehabilitation facility in Connecticut every month for eighteen months.
Patient name:
Anthony Vale.
Fake.
Photograph unavailable.
Tiberio drove there himself.
Brena insisted on coming.
The facility director initially refused access.
Then Tiberio said three quiet sentences.
The man changed his mind.
Room 214 was empty.
Bed made.
Closet cleared.
But a nurse remembered the patient.
Young.
Dark-haired.
Severe burns on his left shoulder.
Recovered from an old car accident.
Brena looked at Tiberio.
Alio.
The nurse confirmed the photograph.
“Yes. That’s him.”
Tiberio sat down.
His dead brother had been alive less than two hours away for a year and a half.
Marco had known.
“Who paid his bills?” Brena asked.
The director hesitated.
“A trust.”
“Name?”
“Bellandi Family Foundation.”
Tiberio’s expression turned lethal.
Marco had hidden Alio.
But why?
The answer waited inside an abandoned farmhouse near New Milford.
Security traced one of Marco’s vehicles there.
They arrived after dark.
Lights burned inside.
Tiberio entered first.
Brena heard no shouting.
No gunfire.
Only silence.
Then Tiberio’s voice.
“Alio.”
Brena stepped inside.
The young man standing near the kitchen was thinner than his photographs.
Scarred along the neck.
Alive.
Tiberio stared at his brother as though seeing a ghost might have been easier.
Alio’s eyes filled.
“Tib.”
The nickname broke something.
Tiberio crossed the room and pulled him into his arms.
For the first time Brena saw her husband lose control completely.
Not rage.
Grief.
His shoulders shook once.
Alio closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
Tiberio pulled back.
“You let me bury you.”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad’s people tried to kill me.”
“Dad was already dead.”
“No.”
Alio shook his head.
“His organization wasn’t.”
Then Marco stepped from the hallway.
Tiberio’s hand moved toward his weapon.
Alio stopped him.
“He saved me.”
Marco looked at Tiberio.
“I should have told you.”
“You should have told me everything.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
Marco’s expression tightened.
“Because someone in your inner circle ordered the car fire.”
Tiberio went still.
“Who?”
Alio answered.
May you like
“Your uncle Salvatore.”
And Uncle Salvatore was the man currently running Valkcari operations while Tiberio was away.
