Chapter 33
Chapter thirty-three
The tight coil of dread strangles my lungs as Mario drives us back to the compound.
Bruno’s comments during our chat make me feel like a failure.
Every time someone in this family asks me for an update on the case, I can’t give them an answer.
We’re grasping at straws and nothing seems to add up.
Once Mario drops me off at home, I cross the street to Nonna and Mama’s house. Mama is out shopping right now and Nonna is home alone.
My footsteps echo on the porch as I press the doorbell.
No answer.
My heart starts to pound and the cold chill of ‘what ifs’ slither down my spine. Forcing myself to stay calm, I walk around the side of the house into the backyard, and breathe a sigh of relief as I find her tending to her roses.
“Nonna.” I call.
She looks up and smiles. “Ey, Cipi.” She comes over to me and gives me a hug.
“Nonna, you didn’t see me on the camera. I knocked. Where is your phone?”
Nonna waves her hand dismissively. “You know I don’t like that little box thing. Technology is too much for me.” She eyes me up and down. “You look pale. Are you sick?”
“No, Nonna. I’m fine.” I take a step back and take in her long black cardigan that clothes her thin frame. Her white hair is pulled into a bun beneath a large straw hat.
“You’ve lost too much weight since you got shot. Come inside. I have some soup on the stove.” Interlocking her arm with mine, we walk into the house.
The warmth of the kitchen wraps around me like a hug as we step inside.
The smells of delicious food fill my nostrils.
Nonna walks over to the large pot on the stove.
She touches the cross on the wall above it and closes her eyes for a moment.
Then she opens the cabinets and pulls out the same bowls she’s had since my childhood.
They’re blue with a lemon pattern on them.
Taking a ladle from the drawer, she puts the broth into it and places it on the small table near the window.
“Chicken noodle soup. Your favorite, now sit down and eat.” Nonna walks back to the stove and stirs the pot.
I wrap my hands around the bowl and feel the heat seep through my skin. Glancing around the room, I notice that Nonna has strung a line over the kitchen sink and is drying her herbs on it. The fridge still sports the same pictures of us as children. I catch sight of my parent’s wedding photo.
Nonna takes a cloth and wipes the counter. Her eyes narrow as she stares at me. “What’s wrong? Is the soup too hot?”
“No, it’s fine, Nonna.” I pick up the spoon. “With everything going on I’ve been thinking about Dad a lot.” I turn to her. “I have some questions about the night Dad died.”
Nonna wipes her hands on the towel. “Of course. But what brought this on?”
I take a deep breath. “Because of everything going on. I got shot, Bruno got shot. Salvatore was almost assassinated. It’s making me think that Dad didn’t die of a heart attack.”
Nonna makes the sign of the cross and slides into the chair across from me. “Your father always said the past would return. Sins of families don’t always stay buried.”
“Sins like assassinating a whole family for love.”
She nods.
“What happened that night Nonna?”
She leans her elbow on the table, placing her hand against her wrinkled cheek. “Well it all started when I was in the kitchen making soup that night. Your mother had gone out to have dinner with her sister.”
“Dad wasn’t a huge fan of chicken soup, right?” I take a sip of the soup.
“He liked chicken soup but his favorite was my pasta fagioli.” Nonna smiles.
“That night while I was cooking. Salvatore and Bruno came over and went into your father’s study.
Two guards were posted outside the door.
I think they were there for about an hour and a half.
Then Salvatore and Bruno came out. I offered them some soup, but they said they had business to attend to.
So I put the soup in to-go mugs and they left.
Then I ladled the soup in a bowl and brought it into the study to give to your father.
” She folds her hands. “I remember the fireplace was lit and he was sitting at his desk writing something. It looked like a letter. He looked up and told me to leave the soup on his desk. He seemed troubled. I asked him if everything was okay. He said yes, he was tired and didn’t want to be disturbed because he had things to do.
I left and returned to the kitchen. I cleaned up, then went to bed.
Hours later I woke to your mother screaming.
I ran downstairs to find your father sitting in the chair by the fire, dead.
” Her voice cracks and she grabs a clean cloth to dab her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Nonna.”
“The paramedics came and took him to the hospital. They did an autopsy and said he has a massive heart attack.” She pauses as she catches my disgusted look. “You think it wasn’t a heart attack?”
“Let’s just say, I have a reason to believe that he was poisoned and someone fabricated the story about the heart attack.
” I reach over and pat her hand. “I think Dad’s death and what’s happening now is connected.
Do you remember anything else about what happened that day?
When you went in there to see him did you notice anything out of the ordinary. Did he say anything?”
“Madonna mia…let me think…I brought him the soup. I think there was a glass of wine on the desk next to him. Oh and a basket of muffins.”
“Muffins?”
“Yes, blueberry muffins, your father’s favorite.”
“Did you make them, Nonna?”
“No. I think a client brought them in earlier. He offered me one and I refused it. You know I don’t trust other people’s cooking. But if I remember correctly one of the muffins was half-eaten. What makes you think it was poison?”
“Let’s just say there was more than one report, Nonna and I’m inclined to believe the report that didn’t make it into the files. I think Dad unknowingly ingested cyanide. It stated his body showed no signs of being injected with anything.”
“My soup didn’t have cyanide! I would never kill my own son.”
“Nonna. Calm down. I didn’t say that. Do you know if Dad ate anything else that day? Did he eat out maybe?”
“I don’t know, Tesoro, he was out most of the day.”
I tap my cheek with my finger. “Cyanide is a fast acting poison and it takes about thirty minutes for a victim to die once symptoms appear.”
“You know this how?” Nonna raises her eyebrows.
“Research, Nonna, research.” I flash her a fake smile. “I would never use something like that. I’ve watched a lot of crime documentaries. Dad must have eaten something else within that thirty minute timeframe. Maybe he ordered food.”
Nonna sniffs and folds her arms. “He would never. My cooking is the best. Your mother comes in second after me.”
“Of course, Nonna.” I pause. “What can you tell me about the Marconi Family?”
Nonna’s mouth thins into a line. “The best way to sum up the Marconi Family is a young love gone horribly wrong.”
I lean forward. “You knew about Francesca, didn’t you?”
“Of course, I knew.” Nonna sigh. “A mother always knows. You could see it all over your father’s face. He tried to hide it but I knew my son.”
“Did Nonno know?”
“Are you crazy?” She gives me a look. “He would have disowned your father if he found out. I caught them together in the gardens one night during a party. I figure it was no harm. They were teenagers. I never told him. Your father did come to me one night and asked me how I felt about becoming a Nonna. I told him he was crazy. Then Francesca died. Poor thing.” She takes a shaky breath.
I move my chair closer to her. “It’s okay, Nonna. You don’t have to tell me anything else if you’re going to get upset.”
She shakes her head. “No. It’s about time I talked about it.
It was then I knew she was pregnant and had gotten killed for it.
After that my Vincenzo wasn’t the same person.
A part of him died too. He became very withdrawn and quiet.
I didn’t see the spark return to his eyes until years later when he met your mother.
But Francesca was always in the back of his mind.
When that hit on the Marconi Family happened, I knew he was getting revenge for what had transpired years ago.
He wiped them all out in one ambush. He made those excuses about how the Marconis had turned on the families and had sold out to the feds but I knew it was all a lie.
” She reaches into the drawer beside her and pulls out an old wooden rosary. She grips it tight between her fingers.
I get out of my chair and come around the side of the table and rest my hand on her shoulder.
Nonna dabs her eye with the towel. “I knew your father killed them all to avenge Francesca. But I never said anything. I didn’t want any harm to come to my Vincenzo. Thank God we have a civil relationship with the other families so they supported his decision and no turf wars broke out over it.”
“Are you sure the whole family was killed? Did anyone escape?”
Nonna shrugs and clutches the rosary tighter. “I don’t know Tesoro. I don’t know.”
“I know someone must have survived that massacre and now they’re coming after us. But I don’t understand, why now? It’s been close to twenty years.”
“This is around the time it happened. Francesca’s death and Marconi Massacre, same month, just years in between." She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “You must be careful, not only with your surroundings, but your heart too.”
I pause and stare at her, unsure of what she means.
“Young love can either bring a second chance or danger,” Nonna continues. “Personally, I feel a second chance is in your favor.”
Realization sweeps over me. “You know about Dominic?”
“Honey, the fact you thought you could keep this from the family is funny. You know we find out everything. Of course I know. I'm old, not blind. Both your mother and I know. That’s why we haven’t been coming over to your house as much.
We saw you two together through our binoculars.
You need to learn to close those blind tighter and not leave the crack open. ”
“Nonna!”
“Plus Bruno and Salvatore told us. Lucia too, and Gigi, that girl could never keep her mouth shut.”
Traitors.
“My only question is why you didn’t tell us. I like Dominic.”
I hang my head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you all to make a big deal out of it. After all Dominic did betray us and went to work with the feds.”
Nonna shakes her head. “He didn’t betray us. All those years that Dominic worked for them, we were never investigated, no charges were ever pinned on us. He had to do what he had to do, just like you had to do what you had to do.”
I sigh. “I guess, but after all this is over he’s going to go back to his job, and I am too.”
“But his job isn’t working for the feds right?”
I shake my head.
“So what’s the problem? Your father always did like him. We all did.”
I sigh. “Because while he likes all of us, he hates everything we stand for.” I give her a kiss on the cheek. “I have to leave Nonna. I have a lot of things to do.”
“Dominic loves you, Tesoro. I can see it. I’m sure you feel the same way. Just be careful.”
I give her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you later, Nonna.”
“Oh, and make sure to bring him over for dinner one night. We would all love to see him.”
I shake my head. “Bye, Nonna.”
Opening the front door, I step out into the brisk autumn air.
Pulling my coat closer to me, I walk across the street to my house. My head bowed against the chilly wind.
As I come closer to my house, I catch sight of something on the stoop.
A small, velvet pouch.
My blood pressure spikes.
Fuck.
Taking my phone out of my pocket I check the security app. Why didn’t the cameras go off?
I look around.
I don’t see anyone.
How could this be possible?
Surely the guards at the gate should have seen someone.
I don’t even want to look inside.
I feel sick.
Crouching down, I pick it up and reach into the bag with trembling hands.
Withdrawing my hand, I find another one of the pieces from Dad’s chess set.
A pawn.
I groan.
That could be anyone.
My fingers feel wet.
The base feels slick.
Turning it over, crimson stains my fingers.
Blood.
The pawn drops to the ground.
Gross!
A shadow catches my eye.
Looking up. I freeze.
A single black feather is pinned to my front door.
Redness is smeared across the glossy barbs.
Stepping onto the porch, I move closer.
The feather is bonded to my door by blood.
Next to it is a piece of paper taped to the door.
Skimming the note, I see it’s another verse from The Raven.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!” —
Merely this and nothing more.
Before I can process the ominous verse, my phone rings, shattering the silence.
Fumbling, I answer it.
“Hello?”
“Cipi!” It’s Matteo. The tone of his voice is urgent.
“What’s wrong?”
“You need to get to the south warehouse. Now!”
“What happened?”
“Just get down here, Cipi. It’s bad, really bad.”
“Okay.” Hanging up, I already know someone is dead.
Anger rushes through me and I tear the feather off the door.
It is picked up by the wind and disappears into the bushes.
Heading inside, I wash my hands. Then I grab my keys and head to my car in the garage.
A sensation in my gut tells me the pawn has been murdered.