It read:
My dear son,
There are things your father has hidden from you.
There are things I allowed him to hide.
One day, you may discover that the Moretti family was not destroyed by its enemies. It was damaged by the people who claimed to love it.
If you ever hear the name Daniel Rossi, do not believe the stories your father tells you.
Find his daughter.
She is the only person who can explain what happened to your uncle.
And when you find her, tell her that I am sorry.
Your mother.
Matteo watched Elena read.
She looked up.
"Your mother knew my father?"
"Apparently."
"Why didn't you tell me this at the restaurant?"
"Because I didn't know whether I could trust what was written."
Elena folded the letter.
"Your family has spent twenty years keeping secrets."
Matteo nodded.
"And now the secrets are killing people."
***
At the Moretti estate, Alessandro had not slept.
The mansion stood on a hill outside the city, surrounded by iron gates and old trees. Its windows were illuminated, but the gardens remained dark.
The old man sat in his study.
A glass of untouched whiskey stood beside him.
On the desk were three photographs.
Daniel.
Sofia.
And Lorenzo.
He had not looked at those photographs in years.
For twenty years, he had believed that Daniel was a traitor.
For twenty years, he had allowed Vincent to sit beside him.
For twenty years, he had built an empire on the grave of a man who had saved his life.
The door opened.
A man named Carlo entered.
He had been Alessandro's head of security for fifteen years.
"Boss."
"What have you found?"
"Vincent's people were involved in the attack on Miss Rossi."
"How many?"
"Three. Two were captured. One escaped."
"Where is Vincent?"
"Under guard."
Alessandro looked at him.
"Has he spoken?"
"Not yet."
The old man leaned back.
"Then ask him again."
Carlo hesitated.
"There's something else."
Alessandro waited.
"We found an account connected to Daniel Rossi. It was opened three months after he disappeared."
"Where?"
"Switzerland."
"How much?"
"Nothing substantial. But the account received one payment every year."
Alessandro narrowed his eyes.
"From whom?"
Carlo placed a document on the desk.
"The transfers came from an account belonging to your wife."
Alessandro stared at the paper.
His wife had died eight years earlier.
He picked up the document.
"How much?"
"Five thousand dollars every year."
"To whom?"
Carlo hesitated.
"To Elena Rossi."
Alessandro said nothing.
His wife had known.
She had known Elena was alive.
She had known Daniel's daughter was receiving money.
And she had never told him.
"Find out why."
Carlo nodded.
Then he added:
"Boss, there is something else in the account records."
"What?"
"The final transfer was made two days before your wife's death."
Alessandro looked at him.
"How much?"
"Two hundred thousand dollars."
The old man slowly put down the paper.
"Why?"
Carlo shook his head.
"We don't know."
Alessandro stood.
"Bring me Vincent."
***
Vincent Bellini had been placed inside a private room beneath the estate.
It had once been a wine cellar.
Now it contained a table, four chairs, and a single overhead light.
The room was not designed to frighten people.
It was designed to make them understand that nobody would hear them.
Vincent sat with his hands folded.
When Alessandro entered, he smiled.
"Still playing the king?"
Alessandro closed the door.
"Why did my wife send money to Elena Rossi?"
Vincent's smile disappeared.
For a moment, his eyes moved toward the security camera.
Then he looked back at Alessandro.
"I don't know."
"Try again."
"Your wife had her own affairs."
"She knew Elena was alive."
Vincent said nothing.
Alessandro placed the financial records on the table.
"She sent money every year."
"Perhaps she felt guilty."
"Guilty about what?"
Vincent leaned forward.
"Ask her."
Alessandro slapped the table.
"She's dead."
Vincent looked at him.
"Then perhaps you should have asked her while she was alive."
The old man stared at him.
Vincent continued.
"You always believed that being feared meant being respected. You never understood the difference."
Alessandro's expression remained controlled.
"Tell me what happened to Daniel."
Vincent sighed.
"Daniel was going to expose the organization."
"I know."
"He had copies of the accounts. He had names. He had enough information to destroy the entire operation."
"Where is he?"
Vincent looked down.
"Dead."
"Where?"
"I don't know."
Alessandro studied him.
"You expect me to believe that?"
"I arranged for him to disappear. I didn't personally bury him."
The old man's jaw tightened.
"Who did?"
Vincent remained silent.
Alessandro leaned closer.
"Who?"
"Your brother."
Alessandro froze.
"Lorenzo?"
Vincent nodded.
The old man stared at him.
For a moment, he seemed unable to understand the words.
Vincent continued.
"Lorenzo discovered Daniel's investigation before you did. He confronted him. They fought. Daniel was wounded."
"You're lying."
"Ask the men who were there."
"Lorenzo was dead."
"After Daniel."
Alessandro took a step backward.
The room seemed smaller.
"Why did you tell me Daniel killed him?"
"Because it was convenient."
"You told me my brother had been murdered by a traitor."
"He had been betrayed."
"By you."
Vincent shrugged.
"By all of us."
Alessandro looked at him with a hatred so old it had become almost indistinguishable from grief.
"What happened to Sofia?"
Vincent's expression changed.
"She knew too much."