Chapter 6 - thirty pieces of silver
A heavy, suffocating silence filled the library. Marco shifted his weight by the door, his hand resting closer to the leather holster under his jacket.
Victor took two slow steps toward Clara. “A settlement for what?”
“Not for me,” Clara said, her voice steady despite the tension in the room. “For St. Anthony’s Hospice. In Queens.”
Victor paused. “Why would my father fund a hospice in Queens through your personal account?”
“Because that’s where his younger brother, Thomas Bellaro, spent the last six years of his life,” Clara said softly.
Marco gasped, taking an involuntary half-step into the room. “Thomas died in a car crash in Miami in 1999! Silvio identified the body himself!”
“Silvio lied to you, Marco,” Clara said, turning her head toward the old capo. “Thomas survived that crash, but he lost his memory and both legs. Silvio couldn’t bring him back into the family without reigniting the war with the Moretti syndicate. So he hid him under an alias. My mother was the head nurse who cared for him.”
Victor stared at Clara, piecing together decades of family history in seconds. His father had always been ruthless, but he was also a man who carried impossible secrets to the grave to keep the Bellaro family alive.
“The $250,000 paid for Thomas’s medical care,” Clara continued, looking back at Victor. “Your father used my name so the transaction wouldn’t trace back to any Bellaro account. But three days after that transfer... Thomas passed away in his sleep.”
“And Silvio had his stroke forty-eight hours later,” Victor murmured, his mind racing.
“He didn't have a stroke from stress, Victor,” Clara said, taking a step closer to him. “The night before he collapsed, Silvio called me. He told me he found out that someone had discovered Thomas’s real identity. Someone had visited the hospice that afternoon.”
Victor’s voice dropped into a terrifying whisper. “Who visited Thomas?”
Clara reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a small guest sign-in receipt from the hospice, yellowed and stamped with the facility's seal.
On the visitor line, written in elegant, looping cursive, was a single name:
May you like
*Celeste Vance.*
***
