Luca
I wake up to a light snow falling.
It’s not enough to impact movement through the city, which is a good thing because I have plans.
It’s Saturday.
The weekend.
Kids don’t have school, so it’s the perfect day to put my plan in motion.
I slide out of bed and head for the shower, letting the scalding water clear my thoughts.
Seven years is too long to waste on misunderstandings and lies.
I've given Elena space, respected her boundaries, but that kiss yesterday changed everything.
Or more accurately, shifted everything back into place.
Time and space haven’t changed the fact that Elena is mine, has always been mine, will always be mine.
The wall between us cracked, and I intend to tear it down completely.
To get back what I lost.
I know it won’t be easy.
I need for her to know for sure that I had nothing to do with what happened to her father and remind her of what we had and could have again.
My phone vibrates against the marble counter as I'm toweling off. Joe Longo's name flashes on the screen.
"Tell me you have something," I answer, not bothering with pleasantries.
"Got my hands on Umberto Vitale’s case file. Had to grease a few palms—”
“I’ll cover it. What did you learn?” I wrap a towel around me, head into my bedroom, and sit on the bed to focus on the call.
“Pretty standard. Feds had been watching the family. A call came in about contraband coming into the docks. Feds show up. Umberto is caught red-handed.” Joe's gravelly voice doesn’t tell me anything new.
“Who called?” This is what I need to know.
The Vitale family says it was me, but it wasn’t.
Did whoever call say it was me?
Did the Feds suspect it was me?
Did Aldo just make it up, and if so, why?
“No mention of the caller’s name.”
“None? Not even a nickname?”
“Just says, ‘Call at 8:44 regarding shipment of weapons.’ No names. It doesn’t sound like it was an informant. It reads like an anonymous tip.”
What the fuck?
I’ve always known something was wrong about the case. If I’d betrayed Umberto to the FBI, I’d be listed in the record.
I’d have been called to give a statement and testify.
Granted, my father had me out of the country immediately after he learned Aldo was accusing me, but still. Nabbing Umberto was a big deal.
The Feds would have wanted the guy who handed him over to swear on a Bible in court and give witness testimony.
“Does my name appear anywhere?”
“From this report, it looks like they expected an associate from the Monti family to be there, but he’s unnamed.”
That gives me pause.
The associate would have been me.
No doubt about that, but why not name me?
Aldo would have known that associate was me too. Is that why he blamed me?
The truth of the matter was that I was running late that day I was supposed to meet Umberto.
I remember not looking forward to the reaming he was going to give me for being late.
When I pulled up, the Feds were there and I quickly moved away, found a safe place to watch and figure out how to help Umberto.
I’d called my father, who told me not to do anything, that he’d send men down.
I won’t deny that I felt relief at being late, even as I felt guilty that Umberto was taking the rap.
I remember wondering how I’d explain it to Elena and knowing I’d have to put off arranging a marriage match with her until her father was free.
Within thirty hours, I was on a plane to Italy, blamed for Umberto’s arrest by Aldo and Elena.
“Truth is, the file's thin. Too thin for a case that put away a captain,” Joe says.
“Do you think it’s been culled?”
“Could be. Or maybe fabricated.”
That stops me. “You think the Feds set him up?”
“More likely, someone in the family or a rival family feeding info to the Feds. Those fuckers just need to tick the legal boxes, which they’ve done in this case.”
The Vitale family accused me of being the one to hand the Feds a case.
It wasn’t me, so who was it?
Who knew we’d be at the docks that day? Did they hope to catch us both in their snare and by being late, I escaped prison?
An unsettling thought comes to me.
What if this person hoped I’d be arrested and when I wasn’t, set me up to take the fall for Umberto’s arrest?
Aldo led that charge, but if that was the case, then he was behind Umberto’s arrest.
Would he have done that?
He was definitely capable of it, but Aldo’s business was strong with his brother, and he’d have known that.
So maybe the Feds were messing with La Corona even back then. Perhaps they manipulated someone else in the family to pit the Vitales against the Montis.
"Joe, the agent who handled Umberto's case. What was his name?" I ask.
Papers rustle on the other end. "Special Agent Thomas Malone."
"And where is he now?"
"Dead. Car accident three months after the trial concluded. Single vehicle went off a bridge."
Car accidents happen, but this feels a little too convenient. “There's an FBI agent who's been sniffing around La Corona for a few years. Name's Blackwood. Victor Blackwood. Any mention of him?"
More rustling. "No Blackwood in these files. Want me to dig deeper?"
"Yeah. And Joe? Check if there's any connection between Malone and Aldo Vitale."
“Don Vitale? You think he’d talk to the Feds? Set up his own brother?”
“I don’t know. Someone set up Umberto.” And it wasn’t me.
“Alright.”
"One more thing. I need you to look into Umberto's death in prison. Find out who visited him, who was on guard duty, which inmates had access."
"Prison records can be trickier—"
"I don't care what strings you have to pull. Double your usual fee." I stand and pace to release some of the energy building.
I feel like I’m moving down a path to finding answers. Someone framed me, then made sure Umberto couldn't talk.
I need to discover who that is if I’m to rid this shadow of suspicion around me. If I’m to have Elena back in my life.
“Oh and, keep this quiet, Joe. If someone went to this much trouble to bring down Umberto Vitale, they won't hesitate to protect themselves.”
“Warning received.”
When we hang up, that anticipatory energy morphs into anger as I think about the seven years I’ve lost.
Apparently, because someone needed a scapegoat.
I breathe through the rage, forcing myself to focus. Anger clouds judgment, and I need clarity now more than ever.
I dress quickly, my mind mapping out the next move.
Elena will have to wait.
Instead, I grab my keys and drive over to my father’s home.
Some mornings he's sharp as ever, the cunning strategist who built our empire.
Other days, he stares through me like I’m a stranger. Fingers crossed I meet the former when I arrive.
I find him in the breakfast nook, having toast and coffee as he watches a bird hovering around the bird feeder.
“Luca.” He nods toward the bird. “They don’t all fly south.”
“Who wants to leave New York?”
“Indeed.” His eyes turn to me, and I’m happy to see they recognize me. "It's early for a Saturday visit."
"I need to ask you something." I sit across from him, resting my forearms on the table. "About Umberto Vitale's arrest."
His expression shifts subtly. "Ancient history."
“That’s easy for you to say. The stench of accusation still hangs over me.”
“Sometimes, it's better to let sleeping dogs lie.” He sips his coffee.
My jaw tightens. “You know I didn’t do this, right, Dad?” For a moment, I wonder if his effort to get me away from the Vitales wasn’t to protect me because I was innocent, but to hide me because he thought I was guilty.
“I know, but Aldo is dead. La Corona is strong. Bringing this all up again can cause unnecessary problems.”
I sit back, annoyed that he can’t see how much it bothers me for La Corona men to look at me sideways, like I’d betrayed one of their own. “You don’t think Aldo’s got loyalists who’d be happy to kill me if the opportunity arose?”
“Dominic wouldn’t—”
“Dammit, Dad, I’m not going to continue to go through life with this accusation over me,” I snap.
He flinches but quickly recovers. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to.”
“I can’t run this business… can’t have a seat at the La Corona table if everyone thinks I’m a snitch. My name isn’t even in the fucking FBI file. Just a ‘Monti associate,’ and they’re not even listed as an informant. Why did Aldo blame me?”
Dad's gaze sharpens, a flash of the calculating man he once was. “Because it was easy.”
My jaw drops. “What the fuck?”
“You were late… as if you knew what was going to happen. It looked suspicious,” he says with a shrug. “I would have likely thought the same.”
“You know I didn’t betray Umberto, right?”
My father looks at me pointedly. “If you’d betrayed Umberto… well… let’s just say that I know you didn’t.”
Holy fuck, is he saying he’d have killed me if I’d done what Aldo accused me of?
“I know you didn’t because I know you. And” —he holds up his index finger— “Aldo wouldn’t have let me send you away.”
“You’re saying Aldo didn’t really think I did it either?” Then why the fuck did I lose Elena? Lose seven years of my life?
My father leans forward. “Son, Aldo wanted you dead. You and Umberto. Me as well, but we outmaneuvered him.”
“How is that? I was sent away. Umberto was killed in prison. How did we outmaneuver him?”
“You’re alive, aren’t you? And if Umberto hadn’t died in prison, Aldo might still be alive as well, but…” He gives a small shrug and sips his coffee.
I feel like I’ve entered a netherworld. I wonder if maybe my father isn’t on his game today, after all. “Are you saying you killed Aldo?”
“I believe the official cause of death was a heart attack.” He gives me a smile. “So you see, Son, all is well. It’s best if you don’t bring up something that has no bearing to La Corona, to this family today.”
“It bears on the respect I get.”
He waves my statement away. “You were young. And of course, there is no proof.”
I’m so pissed I want to throttle someone. “So you’re saying Aldo set us up and when I wasn’t there, I became his scapegoat?”
“Well, there’s no proof of that either, but I’d be surprised if that wasn’t the truth. Aldo knew Umberto was challenging him. Gathering support. Knew at least the Monti family was behind him. Aldo couldn't risk a direct move against him, so he let the Feds do his dirty work."
“But you don’t know that for certain?”
My father wipes his mouth with his napkin. “Do I have evidence? No. Do I feel it in my bones that I’m right? Yes.”
“What if you’re all wrong?” I lean forward. “I’m the one paying the price, Dad.”
“Umberto paid the price, Son. You’re just whining.”
Mother fucker.
All these years, my father has allowed me to take the rap for Umberto’s demise.
And because of it, Elena believed I betrayed her father, betrayed her.
"Does Dominic know?"
My father blows out a breath. “I haven’t said anything to him, but he’s not stupid. He knew his father. I’d be surprised if he didn’t suspect it. It’s why you’re back and not at risk of his revenge.”
“Not his, maybe, but some of Aldo’s men still work for him. And Dad, I’ve seen how they look at me.”
“If you’re a coward and too afraid to lead, let me know.”
“And what?” I snap, feeling hurt and betrayed by my father.
“You’ll hand it over to Marco? What is it about La Corona that you’d rather have other people’s sons as your own?
You handed me to Umberto while taking in Marco.
” I rise but lean over the table. “I’m not a coward.
But I can’t run this business without the respect of the other families, with a target on my back.
I won’t be a pawn in your game anymore. I won’t take the fall for whatever the fuck you and Umberto were doing. ”
I turn to leave.
“You seem not to realize you're a playmaker now, Son. Not the pawn.”
He’s right. And it’s time to make my moves to win back the life my father, Umberto, and Aldo have stolen from me.
"I need to go."
"Luca." My father's voice stops me at the door. "Be careful how you use this information. The dead should sometimes stay buried."
Outside, the bitter cold air bites at my face, but I’m too focused on what my father has revealed to me.
That bastard Aldo Vitale.
He didn't just frame me, he destroyed his brother, orphaned his niece, and tore apart what Elena and I had.
I wish I could revive him so I could kill him myself.
Seven fucking years I've lived with this shadow over me. Seven years of Elena's cold stares whenever I returned home.
Seven years of whispers behind my back by La Corona.
It stops now. Starting with Elena.
I head my car in her direction, using the drive to cool my jets.
She’s another area of my life where I need to keep a level head. Plus, she’s a mother now.
Not only do I need to woo her, but her children as well.
Several blocks from her place, I spot a bakery.
Kids like cookies, right?
The familiar scents of fresh bread and sweet pastries hits me as I enter, and it’s oddly calming.
An older woman looks up from behind the counter.
“Welcome to Bellinis. How can I help you.”
I scan the display case, spotting Elena's favorite, cannoli with chocolate chips.
"A dozen cannoli," I decide. "And what are favorites among kids?”
"Ah, the little ones love my rainbow cookies."
“I’ll take a dozen of those as well.”
She boxes up the cannoli and cookies.
With my bribes in tow, I’m back in my car weaving my way through the city to Greenwich Village, where I know she lives in a residence owned by Dominic as part of his vast real estate holdings.
I take a breath, plaster on a smile, and knock on the door, ready to grab my future back from the men who stole it from me.