“This is psychotic,” Isabella says, but there’s a hint of sad understanding in her voice. “Vincenzo must have been destroyed when she left him.”
I pull out the diary entry again, reading it aloud. “‘Blood has been spilled. There can be no reconciliation.’ Someone died the day Maria chose Salvatore. I think it was Vincenzo’s brother.”
Isabella’s eyes widen. “How do you know?”
“This.” I show her an obituary from 1953. “Giuseppe Moretti died May 15th in a ‘tragic accident.’ But the coroner’s report—which someone filed incorrectly in the De Luca archives—shows he was shot. Execution style.”
“Salvatore killed Vincenzo’s brother?”
“Or had him killed,” I say grimly. “The diary entry mentions blood being spilled the same day Maria chose Salvatore. It’s not a coincidence.”
Isabella runs her hands through her hair. “So Vincenzo lost the woman he lovedandhis brother on the same day. No wonder the Morettis can’t let this go.”
I nod, feeling an unexpected pang of sympathy for a man I never knew. “Nico’s continuing what his grandfather started—making sure the De Lucas feel the same loss the Morettis did.”
We sit in heavy silence, the weight of three generations of grief pressing down on us.
“There’s more,” I finally say, pulling myself back to the present. “I found something that doesn’t fit the pattern.”
I spread out financial records across the floor. “These attacks are expensive. The weapons, the manpower, the coordination—we’re talking millions of dollars in operational costs.”
Isabella frowns. “The Morettis have resources, but not unlimited ones. Not for a war of attrition like this.”
“Exactly.” I point to a series of shell company transactions. “Someone’s been funneling money to offshore accounts that trace back to... I’m not sure yet. The paper trail gets murky. But there are payments coming from sources outside both our families.”
“A third party?” Isabella leans forward, her analytical mind engaging. “Who would benefit from our families destroying each other?”
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes. A text from Silvo:Landing in 2 hours. Miss you.
My heart does a little flip despite the serious conversation.Miss you too. Found something important. Hurry home.
“He’s landing soon,” I tell Isabella, gathering the financial documents. “We should get all this organized for him.”
“Wait.” Isabella grabs my wrist, her expression troubled. “Before Silvo gets back, promise me you won’t tell him about the messages from Maximo.”
My stomach tightens at her tone. “Isabella, he should know.”
There’s an odd flash in her eyes, making me wonder if she’s told me the whole story. Silvo will want to know about this fixation. Emotional investments cloud judgment. We could use that.”
Isabella shakes her head. “I don’t want to be bait, Carmela.”
“I’m not suggesting that.” I squeeze her hand. “But we need to tell Silvo about this. He should know the Morettis are targeting both of us specifically.”
She nods reluctantly. “After you show him everything else you’ve found.”
I return to the financial documents, my earlier discovery nagging at me. “Help me with these shell companies. There’s something here I’m missing.”
For the next hour, we trace money trails through dummy corporations and offshore accounts. Isabella’s knowledge of thefamily’s legitimate businesses helps identify which transactions are normal and which are suspicious.
“There,” Isabella points to a series of wire transfers. “These don’t match any known Moretti business activity. The amounts are too irregular, and the timing...”
“Corresponds with the attacks,” I finish, excitement building. “Someone’s paying for these operations, and it’s not coming from Moretti accounts.”
“Could it be the Russians?” Isabella suggests. “Funding the attacks to weaken both families?”
“Maybe.” I make notes on my pad. “Or someone else entirely. A third player we haven’t identified yet.”
The sound of a car door slamming outside makes us both jump. I check the security feed—it’s just Fed returning from an errand.
