Chapter 3 - The Man I Called Uncle
Memory is cruel because it waits until you understand enough to be hurt by it.
Uncle David teaching me how to ride a bicycle.
Uncle David bringing groceries when Mom was sick.
Uncle David standing at our kitchen window at night, never sitting with his back to the door.
Uncle David disappearing for weeks without explanation.
Uncle David telling me once, when I was eight:
“If a man ever asks what your mother’s real name is, you scream and run.”
I had thought he was paranoid.
Now I stared at a photograph identifying him as Salvatore Conti.
Luca Bellandi’s enemy.
“Tell me everything you remember.”
We were in Luca’s study.
The room looked the way I imagined powerful men wanted their private spaces to look—dark wood, old books, heavy curtains and a desk wide enough to sign away countries.
I stood instead of sitting.
Luca sat with Nico asleep against his chest.
The sight should not have fit him.
It did.
“I told you. His name was David.”
“His real name was Salvatore.”
“To you.”
“To the entire criminal world.”
“That sentence isn’t helping.”
Marco almost smiled.
Luca did not.
“How old were you when he disappeared?”
“Ten.”
“You said funeral.”
“My mother told me he died overseas.”
“Did you see a body?”
I glared.
“No.”
Luca nodded.
“I’m sensing a disturbing pattern.”
“Don’t.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“What did Salvatore do?”
Marco answered.
“He ran the Conti organization.”
“Organization.”
“You know what he means,” Luca said.
“Fine. Mafia.”
The word sounded ridiculous in a normal sentence.
“He and my father controlled different parts of the city,” Luca continued. “For years there was peace.”
“Until?”
“My father was murdered.”
“And you blamed Salvatore.”
“We didn’t blame him. We had evidence.”
“What kind?”
“A witness.”
“Who?”
Luca’s eyes hardened.
“Celia.”
My mother.
I stared at him.
“That makes no sense.”
“Your mother witnessed the meeting that led to my father’s death.”
“And then she ran?”
“Shortly afterward.”
“Why didn’t she testify?”
“This world does not use courtrooms for that kind of testimony.”
There was no pride in his voice.
Just fact.
I hated how much that scared me.
“Was my mother involved?”
“No.”
Vittorio stood in the doorway.
I hadn’t heard him enter.
Luca’s face became ice.
“You should be resting.”
“I’ve rested long enough.”
Vittorio looked at me.
“Celia hated everything about my life.”
“She was your daughter.”
“Yes.”
“And Alessia stayed.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Alessia believed she could change us.”
Pain moved across his face.
“She was wrong.”
I looked away.
“Why did my mother disappear?”
Vittorio hesitated.
“Because she fell in love with the wrong man.”
My pulse changed.
“My father?”
He nodded.
Finally.
A door I had spent my entire life staring at was opening.
“Who was he?”
Vittorio looked toward Luca.
Then back to me.
“Daniel Hart.”
The surname made me dizzy.
“So Hart was real?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to him?”
Vittorio’s silence stretched.
I knew.
“No.”
“Mara—”
“No.”
“He was killed.”
“By who?”
Vittorio’s eyes dropped.
I stepped closer.
“By who?”
He whispered, “My order.”
I slapped him.
The sound cracked through the room.
Marco moved.
Luca lifted one finger.
Nobody touched me.
Vittorio didn’t even turn his face back right away.
When he did, his cheek was red.
“You killed my father?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I believed he was working for Salvatore.”
“Was he?”
“No.”
The room disappeared around me.
My mother had raised me alone because this man had murdered the person she loved.
I slapped him again.
This time my eyes filled with tears.
“You don’t get to stand there.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get to say you’re sorry.”
“I know.”
“You destroyed her life.”
“Yes.”
Every answer made me angrier because he refused to defend himself.
“She was twenty-three,” Vittorio said. “Daniel was an accountant. Ordinary. Kind. Completely outside our world. When Celia became pregnant, she wanted to leave.”
“So you killed him to keep her?”
“I thought he was passing information.”
“You thought.”
“I was wrong.”
“You murdered him because you were wrong?”
His voice broke.
“Yes.”
I turned away before I did something worse.
Nico stirred.
My anger made him whimper.
I immediately lowered my voice.
That made Luca’s expression shift.
Even furious, I had reacted to his son.
I hated that he noticed.
Vittorio continued.
“After Daniel’s death, Celia disappeared. Salvatore helped her.”
“Your enemy helped her.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I never understood.”
“Maybe because he wasn’t the monster you thought he was.”
Luca answered.
“He murdered fourteen people in one year.”
Okay.
Still a monster.
Just perhaps a complicated one.
“I want to leave.”
Luca stood.
“You cannot.”
I spun around.
“Try stopping me.”
“I will.”
“Luca.”
“It is not safe.”
“You don’t get to lock me in your house because your family has been destroying mine for twenty-six years.”
“You were shot at tonight.”
“They missed.”
“An excellent argument. I’m sure the second shooter will admire your optimism.”
I hated him.
I also hated that he was right.
“Then put security outside my apartment.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because your apartment was entered forty minutes ago.”
My breath caught.
“What?”
Marco handed me a phone.
Security footage from my building showed two men entering my apartment.
They left carrying a box.
“What was in it?” Luca asked.
“Nothing valuable.”
“Think.”
“My mother’s things.”
His eyes sharpened.
“What things?”
“Letters. Old photographs. Documents.”
“Anything from before you were born?”
“Yes.”
Marco swore under his breath.
Luca looked at him.
“Find them.”
“Already trying.”
The baby began to fuss.
Luca shifted him.
Nico’s fussing became crying.
Within seconds, the crying escalated.
Luca walked with him.
Nothing.
A bottle appeared.
Nico pushed it away.
Bianca tried.
He screamed harder.
Every adult in the room looked at me.
“No.”
Nico screamed.
I crossed my arms.
“No.”
He screamed louder.
“This is emotional manipulation by an eight-month-old.”
Luca almost smiled.
“Very advanced for his age.”
I took Nico.
Instant silence.
The room stared.
“This cannot become a thing.”
Nico put his head beneath my chin.
It became a thing.
Later, after the estate quieted, Bianca found me sitting beside Nico’s crib.
“He hasn’t slept this peacefully since Alessia died.”
I looked at him.
“He barely knew her.”
“Babies remember feelings before they remember faces.”
That sentence hurt.
Bianca sat beside me.
“You know Luca barely slept for the first four months?”
“I’m sure grief—”
“Not grief. Fear. He sat beside Nico’s crib with a gun because he believed whoever killed Alessia would come back.”
I looked through the open bedroom door.
Luca stood at the end of the hallway speaking quietly with Marco.
His head turned.
Our eyes met.
I looked away first.
“He loves that baby,” Bianca said.
“I never said he didn’t.”
“You think he’s a monster.”
“I think all of this is insane.”
“Both can be true.”
Fair enough.
She handed me Alessia’s journal.
“We found something.”
A passage had been underlined.
Salvatore knows Celia survived. He says Luca cannot know yet. There is someone inside our family who reports everything. Until we know who, telling Luca could kill Mara.
I read it twice.
“Alessia spoke to Salvatore?”
“Apparently.”
“But Luca thought Salvatore was dead.”
“So did everyone.”
The next line had been written later, shakier.
The traitor knows about Nico.
My chest tightened.
Then:
If anything happens to me, look at the baptism photograph. Count the hands.
Bianca and I looked at each other.
“What baptism photograph?”
She stood.
“Downstairs.”
We found Luca, Marco and Vittorio in the library.
The baptism picture hung above a cabinet.
Nico was three weeks old.
Alessia held him.
Luca stood beside her.
Bianca.
Vittorio.
Marco.
Five other people.
“Count the hands,” I whispered.
Everyone looked confused.
I stepped closer.
Most hands were where you would expect.
Holding glasses.
At sides.
On shoulders.
Then I saw it.
One man in the back had his hand resting on Alessia’s chair.
His cuff had lifted.
A tattoo showed beneath it.
Not a dragon.
A tiny black crown.
Luca went still.
“Who is that?”
Marco’s face changed.
“Gabriel.”
“Who’s Gabriel?”
Luca answered.
“My godfather.”
Vittorio sat down heavily.
“No.”
Marco zoomed in on the photograph with his phone.
The crown tattoo became clearer.
Vittorio whispered, “Conti.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Salvatore’s men used crowns before the war.”
Luca’s expression transformed.
Not anger.
Something colder.
Betrayal.
“Gabriel has been with my family for thirty-eight years.”
Marco already had his phone out.
“I’ll locate him.”
It rang before he could dial.
Unknown number.
Luca answered on speaker.
No one spoke.
Then came a woman’s voice.
Older.
Terrified.
A voice I had heard in dreams for seven years.
“Mara?”
My knees nearly gave out.
“Mom?”
Luca grabbed my arm.
I didn’t notice.
“Mom?”
Celia began crying.
“Oh, baby. I’m sorry.”
I covered my mouth.
“Where are you?”
“There isn’t much time.”
“Mom, where are you?”
“Listen to me.”
Her voice shook.
“Get away from the Bellandis.”
I looked at Luca.
He stared back.
“Mom—”
“The man who killed Alessia is inside that house.”
The call went dead.
May you like
And somewhere below us—
a door slammed.
