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CHAPTER 11 – MARCO
Every day I wake up, I face the reality that Grazie is no longer here. I can’t seem to accept the truth of that. One and a half weeks ago today, my wife was murdered. A week ago today, I picked up the autopsy results and gave a sample of my DNA for the paternity test.
One agonizing week where I’ve held onto a glimmer of hope that maybe she was telling the truth. When I got the report this morning, it crushed all hope and all belief.
I read the report for what feels like the millionth time. My eyes always seem to zero in on the two bottom phrases with numbers behind the colon.
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COMBINED PATERNITYindex:0Probability of Paternity:0%
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IHAVE A FRIEND INthe morgue who owes me. Thankfully, he was able to run the paternity test that I needed. Because I never held my wife to certain obligations, I suspected the child was not mine.
I knew that I couldn’t commit to her intimately so I gave her free reign to do what she needed to fulfill her needs. While I’ve never questioned her about her personal life with other men, I have always insisted that we use a condom. There was only one occasion that I forgot to, and she swore that was the time that I impregnated her.
Edoardo and Angela DeLuca didn’t raise foolish men. We may be crazy, brutal, and savage, but we’re not stupid. I would never take my wife’s word that the child was mine. Although she claims that she doesn’t freely use the extension I gave her to engage in extramarital affairs as I do, I know that she wasn’t completely faithful to me.
A knock sounds at the door of my den. Two walls with glass shelves run from the ceiling to the floor. Each of these cases holds an arsenal of weaponry from the most medieval to the latest high-tech rifles.
Two armchairs sit in front of a fireplace that takes up one large wall with a little round table beneath it. To the fireplace's right is the door leading to the hallway. Above the fireplace hangs a sixty-five-inch TV.
The rear wall is filled with soccer posters and memorabilia I’ve collected through the years. A bar sits in front of this wall.
“Come in,” I call.
The door is opened by Carmine Romano, one of my soldiers, who sticks his head inside.
“Silvio is here, Boss.”
I nod and wait as the door opens wider and the other man steps inside.
He waits until I extend a hand to the chair across from me.
“Sit,” I order.
He does as I ask and looks hesitantly at the glass of rum I shove toward him.
“Drink.”
He tosses it back and sits the glass on the table, looking nervously at me. My wife’s bodyguard was hired by her. He’s not part ofLa Famiglia,and he was always loyal to her and that’s all that I could ask.
She told me early on not to interfere with the work he did for her, and I respected that as long as he protected her. However, he failed to protect her that night, and I need answers as to why.
Why wasn’t he on the estate? Why did he leave when he did?
I haven’t had much success finding my wife’s murderer, but that doesn’t stop my determination. I won’t be stopped until I find her murderer and avenge her death.
I get straight to the point of his visit, refusing to make small talk and waste any more time.
“Did you notice anything suspicious over the last few weeks with Mrs. Moretti-DeLuca?” I ask Silvio Caproni, my wife’s bodyguard.
“No sir. Nothing beyond the normal. She stuck to her same schedule,” he answers, staring at the carpeted space between his feet.
He knows something he’s not telling me, and I’ll be damned if he walks out of here alive without letting me know everything he knows.
