Luca
I come out of the Holland Tunnel into New Jersey, moving further from Elena and closer to answers I'm not sure I want anymore.
What am I really doing?
Risking a potential future with the woman I've never stopped loving for the sake of clearing a name that most have already forgotten was tarnished?
Dom's warning echoes in my head. Elena must have gone straight to him after our conversation.
The betrayal stings, but I understand her loyalty to her cousin. Still, the distance growing between us makes my chest ache. Just when I thought I'd found my way back to her, she's slipping away again.
But I can’t let this go. Since becoming Don, I’ve tried to focus on the job, become the man Elena wants.
But I’m haunted by that day seven years ago when I drove up to meet Umberto and found him surrounded by Feds.
Before I knew it, I was blamed and my father had me on a plane to Italy.
Maybe I was a coward to go instead of staying and defending myself. Chances are good I’d be as dead as Umberto if I had.
But I’m not that twenty-three-year-old kid anymore. Someone has to pay for killing my mentor, framing me, and forcing me to leave Elena.
My phone buzzes with a text from Gabriella.
Let me know what you find out. I'm here if you need anything.
At least my sister believes in me.
She had a moment to question whether I should wait, but when I accused her of being like everyone else, she stepped up, offering her unwavering support.
The GPS directs me to exit toward a nondescript diner off the highway.
This Carl Bishop spent a few months as Umberto's cellmate before Umberto's death.
If anyone knows what happened in those final days, it's him.
I park and sit for a moment, gathering my thoughts. This conversation could change everything.
At the same time, I need to prepare for it to change nothing.
The bell chimes as I enter.
I recognize Carl from his mug shot in Joe’s file.
He’s in his mid-fifties, with a weathered face and wary eyes that constantly scan the room.
He's nursing a coffee in the corner booth.
"Carl?" I slide into the seat across from him. "Appreciate your meeting me."
“Don Monti.” So word has reached him. Joe’s file indicates Joe was into a lot of criminal activity, but he wasn’t a soldier in any family in New York.
The waitress comes by.
“I’m paying. Whatever you want,” I say.
With that, Carl orders a burger, double fries, a milkshake, and pie for dessert. I order the same just to make it easy.
“You shared a cell with Umberto Vitale?”
“I did. Why?”
“He was a friend of mine, and I don’t like that someone put him in jail and murdered him.”
He cocks his head. “That was a long time ago, and now you want to know?”
I narrow my eyes at him, and he sits back as if he finally connects what it means that I’m a Don.
“But hey, it’s your dime.”
“It is. Did he tell you anything?”
Carl takes a long sip of his coffee, eyes never leaving mine. "Umberto wasn't stupid. He knew someone set him up from the beginning."
"Did he mention who?" I lean forward.
"He had his theories." Carl's voice drops lower. "First he thought it was a young upstart he was mentoring. I’m assuming that’s you. Said the kid was conveniently late when he got busted. But that changed.”
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 worth something. 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.
My father's lucidity comes and goes now, but seven years ago, his mind was sharp.
If he discovered Aldo's betrayal, he would have known exactly how dangerous the man was.
Dangerous enough to target anyone connected to his enemies.
Including me.
Including Elena, which explains her fear.
What about Dom?
Did he know?
Did he help?
He’s not on the list, but he worked closely with his father.
"Your old man," Carl says, interrupting my thoughts, "Umberto said he was one of the good ones. Said Antonio told him to hang tight, that the truth would come out eventually."
But Umberto was killed before that could happen. What are the chances that Aldo knew my father had visited him and arranged for Umberto’s murder then?
And now Aldo is dead and everyone involved is keeping their mouths shut.
“Of course, he didn’t live long enough, but like I said, he figured he would. His real concern was his daughter. He was torn up about leaving her alone. Said she was in trouble, but wouldn't tell him what kind."
"What kind of trouble?" Fucking hell, is there more I don’t know about?
"The kind that comes nine months after a good time." Carl's eyes meet mine directly.
The triplets.
“He made it sound like it wasn’t just that she had a bun in the oven, but there was something about the baby daddy.”
My brow furrows, not understanding what he’s trying to tell me. “She was in danger from the father?”
Carl shakes his head. “No. He said he wished the baby daddy took her to Italy with him. Said it would've been safer for her and her baby."
The world tilts off its axis. "Italy?"
"Yeah. Said the kid's father was heading there. Umberto seemed to think it was for the best, all things considered."
My mind races back through time.
Elena and I were careful when we had sex, but there was one time the condom broke.
I quickly do the mental math.
"Did he say…" My throat constricts around the words. "Did he specifically say who the father was?"
Carl shrugs. "Nah, but he wasn’t mad about it."
My world spins. I press my hands on the table to make it stop. The triplets. They’re mine. I’m a father.
"You okay, man? You look like you’re going to hurl."
"I'm fine," I manage, though it feels like nothing will ever be fine again. If what he's suggesting is true, Elena has kept my own flesh and blood from me for six years.
The rage and grief that surge through me are overwhelming.
I do my best to pull myself together.
I fold the paper carefully, tucking it into my jacket pocket.
I call for the check and pay it and then rise to leave.
“You’re not gonna eat that?” Carl nods toward my food.
“No It’s all yours.” I leave my number. “Call me if you think of anything else.” I toss him a few one-hundred dollar bills.
“Sure will.” He stuffs the money in his pocket.
Outside in the parking lot, I slide into my car, hands shaking too badly to put the key in the ignition.
“Fuck!” I slam my hand on the steering wheel.
It’s one thing to think my father might have kept the truth about Aldo from me, but Elena hiding the kids?
I feel sick.
Everything I thought I knew about her is now in question.
It makes sense now why she doesn’t want me going back in time. Why she’s pushing me away.
Had she wanted me out of the picture the whole time?
If Umberto wanted her with me, why didn’t she come?
I’m sure my father would have helped her. Or maybe Aldo held her prisoner of sorts and she couldn’t come.
But Aldo has been dead for years and she’s never said a word. In fact, she’s gone out of her way to treat me like I have a contagious disease.
The rage burns hot. Her betrayal cuts deep. Rocco, Elio, Adalina. My blood. My legacy.
I want nothing more than to drive to Elena’s and demand answers. But I’m pissed and confused.
So instead, I drive to Gabriella's home. She’ll be able to help me sort this out and figure out my rights.