Chapter 7 - SALVATORE'S DEAD SON
Gabriel did not forgive the lie.
Not quickly.
“You told me I was your only son.”
Salvatore looked exhausted.
“You were the only one I could protect.”
“That isn't the same thing.”
No.
It wasn't.
Alessandro Rossi had disappeared at twenty-three.
Official story:
Boat accident off Sicily.
No body recovered.
Family declared him dead.
Truth:
He had helped Antonio and Elena expose Vittorio.
Salvatore hid him after the investigation because Vittorio wanted him killed.
“You hid your own son for thirty-one years?” I asked.
“For six.”
“What happened after six?”
“He disappeared from me too.”
Salvatore had not heard from Alessandro in twenty-five years.
Until Antonio's trust moved money.
Gabriel traced the withdrawal.
Boston.
Then Philadelphia.
Then Manhattan.
Whoever used the account was moving closer.
We found surveillance footage from the bank.
A man in his fifties.
Tall.
Dark hair going gray.
Gabriel stared.
The resemblance was unmistakable.
Same jaw.
Same eyes.
His brother.
Alive.
The next morning, Alessandro walked into Ilvento.
I was working.
Because apparently learning I had a hidden mafia-adjacent family did not cancel rent.
He sat in Gabriel's usual booth.
“Coffee.”
I recognized him instantly.
“Black?”
He smiled.
“Like my brother.”
I froze.
He lifted both hands.
“No danger.”
“I've heard that a lot lately.”
Fair.
Alessandro had come to see me before Gabriel or Salvatore because Antonio left instructions.
“If Tessa finds the notebook, tell her not to give it to any Rossi.”
“That includes you.”
“Yes.”
Interesting.
“Why?”
“Because the notebook isn't evidence against Vittorio.”
“What is it?”
“Evidence against Salvatore.”
My stomach dropped.
Alessandro told me the trafficking network had started earlier than anyone admitted.
Before Vittorio took control.
Salvatore helped build the shipping routes.
Maybe he didn't know initially what they were used for.
Maybe he did.
Antonio believed Salvatore later tried to stop it.
But stopping a crime does not erase helping create it.
“Gabriel doesn't know?”
“No.”
“Why tell me?”
“Because you're outside the family.”
I almost laughed.
“Apparently not far enough.”
Then Alessandro handed me another object.
A wooden spoon.
Old.
Burn marks along the handle.
“My father gave this to Antonio's mother when they were boys.”
I stared.
“What am I supposed to do with it?”
“Heat the handle.”
That night, I held it carefully above steam.
Letters slowly appeared in the wood.
A chemical inscription.
Numbers.
Coordinates.
Gabriel entered my apartment just as I copied them down.
“What is that?”
I looked at him.
A choice.
Trust him?
Or repeat everyone's favorite mistake?
I handed him the spoon.
“The truth your family keeps hiding.”
The coordinates led to a sealed storage unit beneath an old Rossi restaurant in Brooklyn.
May you like
Inside was not a ledger.
It was a human bone.
