Chapter 3 - Giulia’s Real Reason for Entering My House
Giulia wanted to take Mia and leave that night.
I told her I thought that was dangerous.
She heard an order.
“I'm not asking permission.”
“I didn't say you were.”
“You don't have the right to keep us here.”
“I agree.”
That answer stopped her.
I was learning quickly that Giulia Rossi—or Bellini—did not respond well to control.
She had probably spent enough of her life surviving other people’s decisions.
“If you leave,” I continued, “Luca can arrange police protection.”
She stared.
“Police?”
“Yes.”
“Not your men?”
“You don't trust my men.”
“I don't know your men.”
“Fair.”
She looked almost disappointed that I was not behaving like the monster she had prepared to fight.
“Why are you helping me?”
“Someone entered my home looking for something connected to my dead wife.”
“That doesn't answer the question.”
“Mia found the cassette.”
“She is four.”
“I know.”
“She isn't part of this.”
“I know.”
“Then keep her out.”
“I intend to.”
Giulia’s shoulders dropped slightly.
Mia eventually fell asleep in the staff guest room with two security officers stationed outside at a distance that would not frighten her.
Giulia returned to my study.
Valentina remained.
None of us trusted anyone enough to leave.
“Start from the beginning,” I told Giulia.
She did.
Her mother, Teresa Bellini, began working for Chiara two years after our wedding. Teresa had immigrated from Sicily as a teenager, married young, raised Giulia mostly alone after her husband disappeared from their lives, and eventually found work in wealthy households.
Chiara liked her because Teresa did not flatter.
I remembered that now.
Chiara hated flattery.
According to Giulia, the friendship gradually moved beyond employer and maid.
“They talked at night,” Giulia said. “Your wife was lonely.”
The words irritated me.
“Chiara wasn't lonely.”
Giulia looked directly at me.
“You were gone four nights a week.”
That shut me up.
She continued.
“Mom said Chiara loved you. But she hated what your family was becoming.”
“Meaning?”
“Violence. Money. Secrets.”
Valentina looked at me.
Neither of us defended anything.
“Chiara started going through financial papers because she believed someone was stealing from Dante,” Giulia said.
“Vittorio.”
“Yes.”
“Did Teresa help?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She carried copies out with laundry and stored them with a friend.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Convenient.”
Giulia’s eyes hardened.
“My mother died with dementia. I got fragments, not a classified briefing.”
Fair.
“What did she say about the night Chiara died?”
Giulia breathed slowly.
“Chiara came to her apartment.”
“What?”
Valentina and I spoke together.
“When?”
“About three hours before the crash.”
I felt sick.
“Why?”
“She was scared.”
“Of me?”
“No.”
“Of Vittorio?”
“Yes.”
“And Valentina.”
My sister looked down.
Giulia continued.
“Chiara had discovered Valentina gave Vittorio the accountant meeting location.”
Valentina whispered:
“I told you why.”
“I know now. My mother didn't.”
“What happened at the apartment?”
“Chiara left a bag.”
“What bag?”
“Documents and two tapes.”
My pulse changed.
“Two.”
“Yes.”
“The cassette Mia found?”
“I think so.”
“What happened to the other?”
“Mom hid them separately.”
“Where?”
“She wouldn't tell me.”
Valentina leaned forward.
“Then how did one get under the piano?”
“Mom returned to the estate after the funeral.”
I remembered staff coming and going.
Everything blurred in those days.
“She put one tape inside the piano. She said Chiara wanted Dante to hear it only if something happened to her.”
“Why wait after the funeral?”
“She was afraid someone would search Chiara’s belongings.”
“Someone did,” Valentina whispered.
I looked at her.
“Who?”
“Vittorio.”
My stomach tightened.
“He claimed he was protecting private family papers from investigators.”
Of course.
“What about the second tape?”
Giulia shook her head.
“Mom said it contained something worse.”
“Worse than accusing my sister and uncle?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I don't know.”
I hated those words.
Giulia removed the brass key from her neck.
“My mother gave me this three days before she died.”
The key had a tiny engraved number.
317.
“Locker?”
“Probably.”
“Where?”
“She said ‘where Chiara first played for strangers.’”
Valentina’s face changed.
“The conservatory.”
“What conservatory?”
“The Lakeshore Music Conservatory,” she said. “Chiara performed there when she was seventeen.”
The building had closed years ago, but part of it had been converted into private rehearsal studios and archival storage.
We went the next morning.
Not secretly.
With Detective Mara Collins, an investigator I trusted because she had once arrested one of my own men despite knowing exactly who he worked for.
She disliked me.
That made her useful.
Locker 317 was in the old musicians’ basement.
The key fit.
Inside sat a red scarf.
A sealed envelope.
And a photograph.
No cassette.
Giulia exhaled sharply.
“Someone took it.”
Collins photographed everything before we touched anything.
The envelope was addressed:
DANTE — ONLY AFTER THE FIRST TAPE
Chiara’s handwriting again.
My hands shook opening it.
The letter was short.
Dante, if you found the first recording, you know I suspected Valentina. I need you to understand that suspicion is not proof. I was angry when I recorded it. Teresa believes Valentina may have been frightened into helping Vittorio. If that is true, protect her from your anger long enough to hear her.
Valentina began crying.
I could not look at her.
The letter continued.
The second tape is more important. It contains a conversation I recorded with Vittorio. If anything happens to me, it proves he knew what I found.
My pulse accelerated.
Teresa will hide it where no Moretti would think to look.
That line had failed.
Someone had thought to look.
I turned the photograph over.
It showed Chiara standing outside the conservatory beside Teresa.
Behind them, slightly blurred, was a man getting into a car.
Luca DeSantis.
My security chief.
Eight years younger.
My most trusted man.
I stared.
Giulia whispered:
“Was he supposed to be there?”
“No.”
Detective Collins looked at me.
“Don't call him.”
I already wanted to.
“Why?”
“If he was involved, you warn him.”
I hated good advice.
Back at the estate, Luca was gone.
His phone had been switched off forty minutes after we opened locker 317.
That told us something.
Not enough.
His security office had been cleared of one laptop.
Only one.
Everything else remained.
Collins obtained access to the house systems.
One camera captured Luca leaving through the east gate.
Alone.
He drove toward downtown.
Then disappeared from traffic tracking.
Valentina sat beside me in silence.
Finally:
“You trust him more than anyone.”
“Trusted.”
“Dante.”
I turned.
“If he helped Vittorio—”
“You don't know that.”
“Neither did Chiara about you.”
The sentence hurt both of us.
Good.
Maybe pain made us more cautious.
Giulia entered with Mia asleep against her shoulder.
“We're leaving.”
“To where?”
“Hotel.”
“You'll have police outside.”
“I know.”
Mia stirred.
Her little hand opened.
Something fell to the floor.
A piece of folded paper.
Giulia frowned.
“What is that?”
She picked it up.
“Where did you get this?”
Mia blinked sleepily.
“Mr. Luca.”
Every adult stopped.
“When?” I asked gently.
“This morning.”
“What did he say?”
“He said give Mommy if he goes bye-bye.”
Giulia unfolded it.
Three words.
ASK ABOUT MARCO.
She looked at me.
“Who's Marco?”
I did not know.
Valentina did.
Her face became white.
“Marco Moretti.”
“Who?”
She swallowed.
“Vittorio’s son.”
I stared.
“Vittorio never had a son.”
“Yes, Dante.”
My sister looked at me with tears in her eyes.
“He did.”
May you like
A pause.
“And Chiara found out what happened to him.”
