Chapter 6 - The Lie Stefano Told
We left through the freezer door.
That is a sentence I never expected to say about my birthday.
Marco led us through an alley that smelled like rain and old grease while two of Stefano's men stayed behind. A dark SUV waited at the end of the block.
Before I got in, I caught Stefano's sleeve.
"One question. No careful answer. Why didn't you give me Paula's letters?"
His men pretended to be deaf.
Stefano looked at me for a long moment.
"Because one of them accused me of getting her killed."
The noise of the city seemed to retreat.
"Did you?"
"Not the way she believed. But I made a choice that put her in danger."
"What choice?"
"I gave my father her location."
I slapped him.
Marco looked away.
Stefano did not move.
"She was my best friend."
"I know."
"No, you know her last name. You know the date she died. You know which safe held her letters. You don't know what it was like to be seventeen and have one person who could tell when you were lying by the way you chewed your lip. You don't know what it was like to wait for that person to come back."
His voice dropped. "I know what it was like to be her brother and think fear could keep her alive. I was wrong."
I wanted to hate him cleanly. That would have been easier.
Instead, I saw a man who had carried one bad decision for twenty years until it shaped the way he stood.
"If Claire dies because you make another clever choice for me," I said, "I will never forgive you."
"Then don't let me make it alone."
We drove to St. Bridget's.
The broken glass had been swept from the parish hall, but the church itself was dark. Father Michael, the current priest, met us at the side door wearing pajama pants under his coat and looking deeply annoyed at organized crime for interrupting his sleep.
"Daniel told me there might come a night when someone asked for R.B.," he said.
"You have it?" I asked.
"I have a key to where it is."
He led us to the boiler room and moved a rusted shelving unit. Behind it was a narrow iron door.
Three flights down, the church stopped feeling like a church.
Brick tunnels stretched beneath us, old and damp, marked with faded numbers.
309. 310. 311.
My pulse climbed.
312.
313.
Then we reached 314.
The brass key fit.
Inside the small metal compartment was a cassette tape, a ledger wrapped in plastic, and a sealed envelope addressed to me.
I opened the envelope first.
The first line was in my mother's handwriting.
Nora, Stefano Moretti will tell you he betrayed Paula. Believe him.
May you like
The second line was worse.
But do not believe him when he tells you who killed her.
