My stomach twists. "What changed?"
"He got a visitor. After that, Umberto was different. Quiet. Like a man who'd seen his own grave." Carl tears open a sugar packet, dumps it in his coffee. "He told me his own brother was going to kill him."
I feel like I’ve been sucker punched even though this theory isn’t new to me. But knowing Umberto believed it makes it seem less of a theory and more fact. "Aldo? He was certain?"
"As certain as a dead man can be." Carl's face hardens. "Said his brother thought he was getting too powerful.”
I struggle to keep my expression neutral as my mind races.
"The night before it happened, Umberto gave me this." Carl reaches into his pocket, slides an ancient folded piece of paper across the table. "Said if anything happened to him, I should hold onto it. Maybe someone would come asking someday." He shrugs. “You’re the first one to come asking.”
My fingers hover over the paper. "What is it?"
“Don’t know. Figure considering his friends and family, it would be best not to.”
I study him, not quite buying his story. “You’re afraid of men like me and yet you kept it?”
He looks out the window as if he’s trying to decide whether he wants to say what’s on his mind. “I figured it could be worthsomething. You know.” He rubs his thumb and fingers together in the universal sign of money.
“Okay. I’ll pay.”
Our meals arrive, and I take the break in conversation to unfold the paper and it nearly comes apart at the seams.
On it is a list of names.
Aldo is at the top.
Then a list of captains, most of whom are dead.
There are two left that I recognize. One is Freddo DiMato and the other is Gio Sarto.
Freddo seems like he’s got one foot in the grave already as he suffers from COPD and needs oxygen 24/7.
Gio, though, still works closely with Dom.
"Umberto knew he wasn't getting out alive," Carl continues around a bite of a French fry. "He seemed to accept that.”
The guilt crashes through me. I should have done more to help Umberto.
I couldn’t, but my father surely would have helped him, especially since he thought Aldo was behind everything as well.
"Did Umberto ever mention my father? Antonio Monti?"
Carl squirts ketchup on his burger. "Yeah, actually. Private visit, off the books. Guards were paid well to forget it happened."
“When?"
"About two weeks before Umberto died. Whatever they talked about, it changed things. That's when Umberto became certain it was Aldo behind everything. That’s when he gave me that paper.” He bites into his burger.
My mind whirls as I consider the news that my father conducted his own investigation.
He knew it was Aldo who set up Umberto and framed me, yet he never said a word.
Not even when I was forced to leave everything behind, including Elena.
Why keep silent? To maintain peace within La Corona? Or was there something more?
A new thought forms, unsettling in its implications.
