Chapter 5 - THE DEAD MAN’S HOUSE
Domenico drove in silence for almost a minute.
Then he said, “Say that again.”
Marco didn’t.
“Say it.”
“Your father didn’t die in Florida.”
Domenico slammed the brakes.
The SUV stopped beneath an overpass.
Camilla cried out.
Domenico turned toward his brother.
“Our father had a heart attack.”
“No.”
“I saw a death certificate.”
“Fake.”
“I saw his ashes.”
“Not his.”
Domenico’s fist closed around Marco’s shirt.
“You stood beside me while I buried him.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“Because he asked me to.”
Domenico hit him.
One punch.
Hard.
Marco’s head struck the passenger window.
Camilla screamed.
“Dad!”
Domenico grabbed him again.
“You let me grieve a man who was alive?”
Marco wiped blood from his nose.
“He had no choice.”
“Everybody seems to have no choice tonight.”
“He was working with federal investigators.”
Domenico stared.
Marco continued.
“After Isabella contacted Mercer, Dad found out what I’d been doing. He tried to clean it up quietly.”
“He knew about you laundering money?”
“Yes.”
“And said nothing to me?”
“He thought he could protect you.”
Domenico laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“Of course he did.”
Marco gave an address.
A small town in Pennsylvania.
Two hours away.
Domenico started driving again.
Nobody spoke.
At 11:42 p.m., they reached a modest house surrounded by woods.
No lights.
No cars.
Domenico parked.
“This is it?”
Marco nodded.
Domenico stepped out.
Camilla followed.
He turned.
“Stay in the car.”
“No.”
“Camilla.”
“I’ve been lied to all night too.”
He wanted to argue.
He didn’t have the energy.
They walked to the porch.
Marco knocked.
Nothing.
Again.
Still nothing.
Domenico tried the handle.
Unlocked.
Inside smelled like coffee and cedar.
A lamp was on in the den.
Domenico entered slowly.
Then he stopped.
There were photographs everywhere.
Camilla as a baby.
Camilla at twelve.
Camilla graduating college.
Domenico standing beside Isabella on their wedding day.
Pictures taken from distances.
Pictures Domenico had never seen.
Someone had been watching them for years.
Camilla picked up one frame.
“This was my high school graduation.”
Domenico heard a floorboard creak.
He turned.
An old man stood in the hallway.
White hair.
Thin shoulders.
Deep lines around familiar brown eyes.
Domenico forgot how to breathe.
His father leaned heavily on a cane.
“Hello, son.”
Domenico stared.
Eleven years of grief.
Eleven birthdays.
Eleven Christmases.
Eleven years of conversations he thought he’d never have.
Then rage arrived.
Domenico crossed the room and shoved his father against the wall.
“You were alive?”
Camilla gasped.
“Dad!”
The old man didn’t resist.
“Yes.”
“You let me bury you!”
“Yes.”
“You let me tell my daughter her grandfather was dead!”
“I know.”
Domenico’s eyes filled.
“I hated myself because I wasn’t there when you supposedly died.”
His father’s face broke.
“I know.”
“Stop saying you know!”
Marco closed the door.
The old man looked at Camilla.
She stared back at him.
“Grandpa?”
His eyes filled with tears.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Camilla stepped backward.
“No.”
He nodded sadly.
“That’s fair.”
Domenico released him.
“Tell me about Isabella.”
The old man’s expression changed.
Fear.
Not sadness.
Fear.
“What happened?”
His father looked at Marco.
Then at Camilla.
Finally at Domenico.
“Isabella didn’t die because of Marco.”
Domenico’s heart pounded.
“Then who?”
May you like
His father whispered:
“Me.”
