Chapter 8 - Whispers from the Grave
The brick tenement building in Cicero stood like a decayed tooth against the gray morning sky.
Windows were boarded up with rotted plywood, graffiti covered the crumbling entryways, and the cold wind howled through empty elevator shafts.
Matteo and I climbed the concrete stairs to the third floor, escorted by four heavily armed guards carrying submachine guns under long wool coats. Every step on the cracked linoleum brought back phantom memories: the smell of pine floor cleaner, the hum of a malfunctioning refrigerator, the sound of my mother humming Italian folk songs while she kneaded dough on a cracked laminate counter.
Apartment 3B was sealed with a rusty chain and padlock. One of Matteo’s men stepped forward with heavy bolt cutters. The metal snapped with a sharp crack, and the door creaked inward.
The apartment was stripped bare. Dust motes danced in the pale morning light filtering through the grime-covered windows.
"Where did she hide it, Elena?" Matteo asked quietly, his eyes sweeping over the room with a look of profound grief.
I walked through the empty living room into the tiny kitchen. The stove was gone. The sink was rusted iron. But in the corner, near the water pipes beneath the floorboards where the mice used to nest, I remembered something.
I remembered sitting on the floor when I was seven, watching my mother pry up a section of the baseboard with an old butter knife. She had told me it was where the "house fairies" lived, and that I must never touch it unless the world was ending.
I knelt down on the dusty floorboards.
I used the tip of the combat knife Matteo had given me to pry away the loose section of baseboard beneath the radiator.
The wood gave way with a dry groan.
Inside the hollow cavity, wrapped in thick layers of oilcloth and sealed with wax, was an old metal biscuit tin.
My hands shook as I pulled it out into the daylight.
I scraped away the wax and pried open the lid.
Inside lay three microcassette tapes, a gold wedding band engraved with *Matteo & Isabella - 2005*, and a handwritten letter sealed in an envelope with my name on it.
Matteo dropped to one knee beside me. He saw the gold ring. A choked, ragged sob broke from his throat—a sound so raw, so stripped of his ruthless persona, that it shook his entire frame. He picked up the wedding band, his thumb tracing the engraved letters, and pressed it against his lips.
"She kept it," he wept silently. "She kept it the entire time."
I opened the letter.
*My dearest Elena,*
*If you are reading this, it means the past has finally caught up with us. It means Matteo has looked into your eyes and seen the truth. Do not hate him for his blindness. The world he lives in is made of mirrors and poison, where even brothers sell each other for scraps of power.*
*The tapes in this tin contain every conversation Luca Ferraro had with Carmine Moretti inside our home. I recorded them using the nanny monitor I kept in your crib. They planned Matteo's death. They planned the coup. And they planned to butcher you the day you were born.*
*Take these tapes to the Commission. Let the world know that an honest cook from Naples defeated the kings of Chicago.*
*And remember, my sweet girl: you are a De Luca by blood, but you are a Rossi by heart. Never let their darkness extinguish your light.*
*Con tutto il mio amore, Mama.*
I closed the letter and looked at Matteo. He had wiped the tears from his face. The grief had burned away, leaving behind a cold, crystalline fury that was terrifying to behold.
He picked up the three cassette tapes and slipped them into his breast pocket.
May you like
"Get the cars ready," Matteo spoke into his radio, his voice lethal and absolute. "Tonight, the Rossi family settles its account."
***
