Chapter 14 - THE PARTY WITHOUT A WEDDING
Beatrice turned eighty-two six months later.
Victor planned a dinner.
Beatrice turned it into a party.
“Why?”
“Because I nearly got shoved down stairs at your last one.”
“That is a terrible reason.”
“I’m old.”
Apparently that remained her universal defense.
The terrace was decorated again.
Not white roses.
Yellow.
Beatrice’s choice.
No wedding arch.
No formal orchestra.
A jazz trio.
Family.
Employees.
Neighbors.
A few old friends.
Lorenzo attended in a wheelchair.
He hated the wheelchair.
Beatrice decorated it with ribbon.
He threatened revenge.
Victor took photographs.
Life.
Messy.
Alive.
At sunset, Beatrice stood near the same staircase where Marina had pushed her.
Victor immediately moved closer.
She glared.
“I can stand beside stairs.”
“I’m aware.”
“Stop hovering.”
“No.”
“Control issues.”
“Family trait.”
They smiled.
Lorenzo joined them.
For the first time in twenty-nine years, the three stood together at a Bellucci celebration.
No secrecy.
That mattered.
Victor raised a glass.
He hated speeches.
Everyone knew.
So when he began, the terrace quieted.
“To Beatrice.”
She smiled.
“The woman who raised me.”
Lorenzo nodded.
“The woman who kept too many secrets.”
Beatrice shouted:
“Careful.”
Laughter.
Victor continued.
“And the woman who stayed.”
His voice changed.
Beatrice’s eyes filled.
Victor looked toward Lorenzo.
“And to people who come back.”
Lorenzo lowered his head.
Victor did not say more.
Enough.
After the toast, an elderly guest approached Lorenzo.
Joseph Maren.
Former dock supervisor.
He stared as if seeing a ghost.
“Lorenzo?”
Lorenzo smiled.
“Hello, Joe.”
Joseph began crying.
Word would spread.
Victor knew.
Lorenzo’s return could not remain private forever.
This time nobody planned to hide.
A carefully prepared public statement came days later.
Lorenzo had survived threats decades earlier and lived under another identity.
No glorification.
No details compromising investigations.
Just truth.
Old associates reacted.
Some furious.
Some relieved.
One anonymous threat arrived.
Security handled it.
No panic.
The world did not end because a secret became public.
That surprised all of them.
Maybe secrets often exaggerated their own importance.
Later, Victor found Lorenzo alone by the fountain.
“Regret coming back?”
“No.”
“Even with reporters?”
“I survived worse.”
Victor sat beside him.
Lorenzo looked toward the party.
“You happy?”
Victor frowned.
Dangerous question.
“I don’t know.”
“Try.”
Victor watched Beatrice arguing with a caterer over cake slices.
Frank laughing nearby.
Evelyn holding champagne.
A legitimate company CEO speaking with warehouse managers.
No men whispering about territory.
No wedding.
No Marina.
No fear disguised as tradition.
“Yes.”
The answer surprised him.
“I think so.”
Lorenzo smiled.
“Good.”
Then handed him an envelope.
Victor groaned.
“Another?”
“Last one.”
“That is what everyone says.”
Inside was a map.
Old.
Chicago waterfront.
One building circled.
Victor frowned.
“What?”
Lorenzo shrugged.
“Arturo had another archive.”
Victor stared.
“You’re telling me this at a birthday party?”
“I’m dying. Timing privileges.”
Victor laughed.
The archive could wait.
Tomorrow.
Maybe next month.
Victor folded the map.
Beatrice called:
“Cake!”
Lorenzo pointed.
“Priorities.”
May you like
Victor finally understood.
The past did not have to be solved before anyone was allowed dessert.
