Chapter 10 - THE HOUSE ABOVE PALERMO
Z
Claire had imagined Sicily as sunlight and blue water.
She had not imagined armed men at the airport.
Vincent’s plane landed outside Palermo shortly after noon.
Two SUVs waited beyond customs.
Daniel rode in the lead vehicle.
Claire sat beside Vincent in the second.
Beyond the tinted glass, Sicily appeared bright, old and almost unreal.
Stone walls.
Citrus trees.
Laundry moving between balconies.
Mountains rising beyond the city.
Claire should have been fascinated.
Instead, she kept thinking about her mother.
“You’re quiet,” Vincent said.
Claire looked at him.
“You say that like it’s new.”
“It is now.”
She almost smiled.
He reached across and took her hand.
“You can still change your mind.”
“No.”
“I expected that.”
“Then why ask?”
“Because having a choice matters even when I know what you’ll choose.”
Claire looked at their joined hands.
That sentence still had the power to hurt in a good way.
The Bellandi clinic stood in an old palazzo near the center of Palermo.
Dr. Matteo Bellandi was sixty-two, elegant, silver-haired and visibly nervous.
He met them in a private office.
“Mrs. Caruso.”
Claire stood.
“Dr. Bellandi.”
He looked at her face for too long.
“You look like her.”
Claire’s throat tightened.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
He gestured toward the chairs.
Vincent remained standing.
Matteo noticed.
“You are correct to be suspicious.”
Vincent’s expression did not change.
“That helps.”
Matteo sat.
“My father met Margaret Callahan in 2001.”
“How?”
“She came to Sicily once.”
Claire stared.
“No. She didn’t.”
Matteo’s eyes softened.
“You were a child.”
“My father said she went to Boston for treatment.”
“She came here.”
Vincent’s attention sharpened.
“Why?”
Matteo opened a drawer.
Inside was an old passport.
Margaret Callahan.
Claire touched the photograph.
“She came because she suspected her husband was using medical treatment to harm her,” Matteo said.
Claire swallowed.
“My mother believed Patrick was poisoning her.”
“Yes.”
“Was he?”
Matteo hesitated.
Vincent’s voice hardened.
“Answer her.”
Matteo looked at Claire.
“My father tested samples Margaret brought with her.”
“And?”
“They contained low levels of arsenic.”
The room disappeared.
Claire heard Vincent say her name.
She stared at Matteo.
“Arsenic.”
“Yes.”
“Enough to kill her?”
“Over time.”
Claire stood.
Vincent rose immediately.
She walked toward the window.
Palermo moved outside as though nothing had changed.
Cars.
People.
Sunlight.
A woman carried flowers across the street.
Claire’s mother had been murdered.
Not possibly.
Not maybe.
Murdered.
“Why didn’t your father go to the police?”
Matteo looked ashamed.
“He wanted to.”
“Then why didn’t he?”
“Margaret refused.”
Claire turned.
“What?”
“She said Patrick had people inside local law enforcement and business. She feared that if he learned she knew the truth, her daughters would be endangered.”
“My sisters.”
“All three of you.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Matteo continued.
“Margaret planned to disappear with you.”
Claire looked back sharply.
“All of us?”
“Yes.”
“She never did.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because someone betrayed her.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“Who?”
Matteo opened another folder.
Inside were copies of hotel records, messages and bank transfers.
“One of the people helping Margaret was a Caruso.”
Vincent went still.
Claire felt it.
“Who?”
Matteo slid a photograph across the desk.
A younger man stood beside Margaret outside the clinic.
Claire recognized him immediately.
“Salvatore.”
Vincent stared.
His uncle.
Again.
“He knew my mother?”
“Yes.”
Matteo leaned forward.
“Salvatore Caruso was not yet deeply connected to Marino at that time. He was involved in port businesses and had contact with Patrick. Margaret approached him because she believed the Caruso family opposed Marino.”
“She was right,” Vincent said.
“She trusted him.”
“And he betrayed her.”
Matteo nodded.
Vincent’s face became stone.
“Why?”
“We believe Patrick paid him.”
Claire felt sick.
“For how much?”
“Two million dollars.”
Claire laughed once.
Her mother’s life had had a number too.
Of course it had.
Vincent looked at her.
Claire shook her head.
“I’m fine.”
He said nothing.
She looked at Matteo.
“You said my mother left something else.”
“Yes.”
Matteo walked toward a locked cabinet.
He removed a metal box.
Inside were medical results, bank records and a small cassette tape.
Claire stared.
“What’s that?”
“Your mother recorded conversations.”
“With Patrick?”
“Some.”
Vincent looked toward Daniel.
“Can we play it?”
Daniel examined the cassette.
“With equipment.”
Matteo opened another drawer.
“My father kept everything.”
Minutes later, the tape began.
Static.
Then Margaret’s voice.
Claire stopped breathing.
She had forgotten the exact sound.
Soft.
Educated.
Steady.
Patrick’s voice followed.
You should have stayed out of my business.
Margaret answered.
It became my business when you started using our daughters’ names on accounts.
Claire looked at Vincent.
Daniel’s expression sharpened.
Patrick said something quieter.
Margaret replied.
If anything happens to me, there will be copies.
Patrick laughed.
You think anyone will believe a sick woman?
Claire’s stomach twisted.
Her mother had heard the same tactic Claire had lived under.
Discredit first.
Control second.
The tape continued.
Margaret said:
Claire notices things.
Patrick answered:
Claire notices books and pastries. She’s harmless.
Claire shut her eyes.
Vincent’s hand found hers.
Margaret’s voice sharpened.
You underestimate her because she’s gentle.
Patrick laughed.
I underestimate her because she’s weak.
The tape clicked.
Then Margaret said the words that made Claire cry.
One day she will understand the difference.
The recording ended.
Nobody spoke.
Claire wiped her face.
Vincent did not tell her not to cry.
Matteo looked down.
“My father believed Margaret meant you.”
“I know.”
A knock sounded at the office door.
Matteo froze.
Daniel immediately reached inside his jacket.
The door opened.
An elderly man entered.
Seventy, perhaps older.
White hair.
Black suit.
A serpent ring on his right hand.
Vincent moved in front of Claire.
The old man raised both hands.
“If I wanted you dead, Vincenzo, this would be a poor introduction.”
Vincent’s voice turned cold.
“Who are you?”
The man looked at Claire.
“My name is Alessandro Vescari.”
Silence.
Vincent’s hand stayed near his weapon.
“The Vescari family is dead.”
Alessandro smiled.
“Families are difficult to kill.”
Claire looked at the ring.
“You sent the letter.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His expression changed.
“Because your mother saved my daughter’s life.”
Claire stared.
“What?”
Alessandro slowly sat.
“Margaret Callahan did not come to Sicily only to save herself.”
He looked at Vincent.
“She discovered Patrick and Salvatore were financing Marino through routes that once belonged to my family.”
Then back to Claire.
“She warned us.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“What do you want?”
Alessandro smiled without warmth.
“What everyone in Sicily eventually wants.”
“Which is?”
“The truth.”
Daniel snorted.
Alessandro ignored him.
“Patrick Callahan believed Margaret died before she could expose him.”
Claire whispered, “She did.”
“No.”
The old man’s expression hardened.
“She died before she could expose all of them.”
Claire felt cold.
“All?”
Alessandro nodded.
“Patrick and Salvatore were not the beginning.”
Vincent stepped forward.
“Then who was?”
Alessandro looked at him.
“Your father.”
The room went silent.
Vincent’s face did not move.
Claire stared at Alessandro.
“No.”
The old man folded his hands.
“Your father knew Margaret was being poisoned.”
Vincent’s voice became deadly.
“Choose your next words carefully.”
Alessandro did not flinch.
“He knew.”
Claire looked at Vincent.
For the first time since she had met him, she saw something close to fear in his eyes.
Not fear of danger.
Fear of truth.
May you like
Alessandro continued.
“And he did nothing.”
