Chapter 35 VITTORIO
VITTORIO
The room smelled of bleach, damp stone, and cold rain.
I sat in the motorized chair by the tall windows, my paralyzed legs covered by a wool blanket.
Outside, thunder rumbled across the Sicilian hills.
Inside, the small room was crowded. Luca stood near the door with his jaw clamped shut, his dark eyes fixed on me.
That little British girl stood next to him, watching every machine and every line on my face.
Matteo, Enzo, and Adrian waited at the foot of my bed in complete silence.
Luca stepped closer, his knuckles white with anger. "Start talking, Uncle."
My cold hands rested on the armrests. I pointed with my chin toward the wooden box on the nightstand. "Open it, Luca. If you want to know why your parents died on that mountain road twenty years ago, you have to look at how it began."
Luca stepped forward, his leather shoes clicking against the tile floor. He flicked open the tarnished brass clasp. Inside lay the badge, the tarnished cufflinks, the folded letter, and the old photograph.
"Thirty years ago, I was the youngest son in the Moretti family," I told them, my voice scratchy and dry. "Your father was the favorite child, Luca. The perfect heir. We held the power, the money, and the city. I thought nothing could hurt us. I thought I understood how our life worked."
I looked past Luca's shoulder into the rain. "Then Gabriel Rossi crossed my path in Palermo. Not at a party or a dinner. I met him in an alley by the harbor, with broken bottles on the ground and three Bellini men trying to shoot me dead."
Thirty years ago, rain beat down on the stones outside a Palermo warehouse.
I had two cracked ribs and my back pressed against wet brick, holding an empty gun while three Bellini men came closer with open blades.
Suddenly, a man jumped over the brick wall behind them and struck the first fighter with an iron pipe.
He dropped the second man with a quick hit to the throat, dodged a blade, and slammed the last man into the brick wall until the alley went dead quiet. When he turned to face me, blood dripped from his knuckles and his wet hair clung to his forehead.
He dropped the metal pipe onto the wet pavement with a loud clang. "You look like hell, friend."
"I had it under control," I coughed. My hand pressed against my sore ribs to keep from falling.
"Sure you did. That empty gun was terrifying." Gabriel wiped dirt and blood across his sleeve and held out a hand. "I'm Gabriel. Gabriel Rossi. A soldier from Chicago."
I knocked his palm away, dragging my shoulders up against the slick bricks. "Vittorio Moretti. And I don't need help from a stranger wearing boots two sizes too big."
Gabriel looked down at his scuffed boots and laughed softly. "The airline lost my bag. But you are welcome for the help anyway."
I gritted my teeth against the sharp stab in my side. "Why the hell did you jump in?"
Gabriel grinned and closed the space between us until I caught the scent of rain, sweat, and cheap soap. "As a charming knight, it's my duty to save the prince. Besides, I saw three cowards jumping someone who was fighting back with everything he had. I liked that about you."
I leaned back against the wet brick, staring right into his dark eyes. "You don't know who I am, or who owns these docks. My family runs this entire territory."
"Good thing I am bad at following rules in other's territory," Gabriel whispered, catching my shoulder to steady me in the pouring rain. "Lean on me before you hit the ground, Moretti."
In the quiet clinic, my voice broke above the quiet hum of the machines.
"He brought me to a safe apartment that night and cleaned my cuts himself.
By the time my father's men showed up at sunrise, Gabriel had already lied to protect me, telling them we found the Bellini scouts together.
He had a look in his eyes that I could never forget. "
"It took four months before I understood it," I went on, my fingers shaking on the wheels of my chair. "Four months of fake business meetings, late dinners, and made-up excuses about cargo shipments. My father believed I was making friends for the family business. In a way, I guess I was."
Four months later, warm wind blew across a sunny patio in Palermo while blue waves hit the rocks below. I leaned against the stone railing, watching Gabriel stir his coffee. "The boots," I brought up. "You never told me the whole story."
"You really spent four months thinking about my shoes?" Gabriel set his cup down hard on the saucer. "That is very sweet, but a little crazy."
I crossed my arms over my chest. "I remember every little thing that annoys me. It happens to be my best skill."
Gabriel chuckled at that, giving me a warm smile, and explained the mix-up with the airport, a lost bag, and a police who lent him the boots. It was a silly, simple story. But hearing him laugh made me realize I wanted to hear it every single day.
Gabriel tapped his fingers on the stone next to my hand. "You are doing the squint again."
"I do not squint." I turned my head away toward the blue sea.
"You do. You narrow your eyes like I am a puzzle you cannot solve." Gabriel moved right in front of me, smiling wide. "Go on. What is today's report?"
I stepped closer until his jacket brushed against my side. "My report is that you talk too much and order terrible coffee."
Gabriel stepped close, smelling like the ocean, strong coffee, and clean clothes. He bumped his shoulder against mine. "You want to solve me. And figuring that out is keeping you awake at night."
"He was right about both," I whispered to the room, my chest aching.
We spent evenings parked along the cliffs past Mondello, where the city lights died down and the road turned to gravel. He would cut the headlights, pull two bottles of cold Peroni from behind the passenger seat, and lean his back against the driver's door, watching me in the dim dash light.
He brushed his warm knuckles over my collarbone. "You're quiet tonight, Vittorio."
"I'm thinking about tomorrow," I answered, resting my head against the vinyl seat, listening to the waves crash against the black rocks down below. "My father wants me at the docks by dawn."
"Forget tomorrow for an hour," Gabriel whispered, sliding his fingers through my hair until my eyes shut. "Right now it's just you and me. No fathers. No shipments. Nobody to tell you what to do."
His mouth found mine, tasting of sea spray and cold beer, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw until the tension left my shoulders.
The grip on my collar stayed steady, pulling me in while the harbor wind rattled the windshield, and for the first time in years, the weight of the family name slid away into the dark.
"We hid the truth for over a year," I admitted, looking at Enzo and Matteo, whose faces had gone pale.
"We met at quiet beach houses and rented small boats.
For the first time in my life, I was not just a weapon for this family.
I had someone I loved more than anything.
But your grandfather was smart, Luca. He saw right through me. "
In the big dining room at the house, my father cut into his rare steak with sharp, angry motions. He looked up cold. "You spend way too much time around that Chicago soldier."
I set my water glass on the table without a sound. "He knows the shipping business. The Chicago bosses trust his work at the docks."
My father scoffed, forearms heavy on the white tablecloth. "Shipping. I raised three sons, Vittorio. I know what a man looks like when he wants power, and I know what a fool looks like when he loses his mind over another man."
My stomach dropped. "You are making up problems that are not there."
"I do not make up problems, I fix them." My father dropped his metal knife hard against the plate. "Whatever this game is, stop it before I deal with him myself. Decide right now if you care about this family or your own desires."
"I told him there was nothing going on," I admitted to Luca and Nora, my voice shaking with shame.
"I lied to my own father. It was the first lie I told out of sheer fear instead of duty.
But Gabriel and I could not let each other go.
We kept meeting in secret, hiding in quiet houses and using borrowed boats, acting like we would never get caught. "
In a rented bedroom by the sea, the thin curtains blew in the cool night breeze. We lay together on white sheets, watching moonlight stream across the dark ceiling.
Gabriel rested his warm hand against my chest and looked into the dark. "One day soon, we will buy a house with three big locks on the gate and zero mob ties."
I traced a line down his bare shoulder. "You hate yard work and you burn the food every time you cook."
Gabriel rested his face against my neck. "I can hire a cook, Moretti. I have money saved. I even bought a ring. It is sitting in a safe until I figure out how to ask you without getting shot."
My throat tightened. My heart skipped a beat. "You bought jewelry on a soldier's pay?"
"I know how to save." He slid his fingers between mine. "Get ready to say yes."
A dry cough hit my chest, pulling me back to the present. "Two weeks later, your father walked into the study. He had a thick folder sent by Santro Bellini, and his face was completely pale."
In the study, my brother shut the heavy wooden doors with a dull thud. "Sit down, Vittorio," he ordered.
"I have to finish these shipping papers." I kept my eyes fixed on the open ledger on the desk.
"Close the book, Vittorio." My brother threw a brown envelope onto the desk. "Gabriel Rossi is not from Chicago. He is an FBI agent from New Jersey. Bellini found his wiretaps this morning to brotherhood and sent this file to make us fight each other."