Chapter 32 - The Last Debt of Antonio Duca
Roman slept beside Clara that night.
He did not actually sleep.
Clara knew because every time the old estate settled, his breathing changed.
At three seventeen in the morning, she opened her eyes.
“Stop pretending.”
Roman stared at the ceiling.
“I’m resting.”
“You’ve checked the window six times.”
“Five.”
“Six.”
He turned toward her.
“Go back to sleep.”
Clara pushed herself upright.
“What did Antonio steal?”
Roman’s silence answered first.
“You know something.”
“I know too many things.”
“Specificity would be refreshing.”
Roman sighed.
“My father kept emergency reserves during the old wars. Cash, bearer bonds, ownership certificates, blackmail records.”
“We recovered those.”
“Most.”
Clara stared.
“Most?”
“There was something called the Crown Reserve.”
That woke her completely.
“What is that?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were running the organization for years and never found it?”
“No.”
Roman sat up.
“My father mentioned it once when I was sixteen. He was drunk. He said the Crown Reserve was the reason powerful men would never move against the Ducas.”
“Money?”
“Maybe.”
“Evidence?”
“Maybe.”
Clara frowned.
“Or something worse.”
Roman nodded.
At breakfast, Marcus arrived carrying four old archival boxes.
Adrian followed with coffee.
Leo came ten minutes later after finishing an overnight shift.
Catherine Bell entered last, wrapped in a lavender shawl and complaining that nobody had informed her there would be pastries.
Roman stared at the table.
“Why is everyone here?”
Catherine selected a croissant.
“Because your family cannot keep secrets.”
Clara smiled.
Roman did not.
Marcus opened the first box.
“We searched Antonio’s private files again. Crown Reserve appears seven times.”
He handed Roman photocopies.
Most references were vague.
C.R. secured.
C.R. relocation approved.
Moretti demands denied.
One entry was different.
IF MORETTI RETURNS, NEVER GIVE HIM THE KEYS.
Adrian leaned forward.
“Keys to what?”
Catherine stopped eating.
Roman noticed.
“You know.”
She looked toward the window.
“Your father and Carlo Moretti were partners once.”
“Carlo?”
“Vincent’s father.”
Roman’s expression hardened.
Catherine continued.
“Before the Marcone war, the Ducas and Morettis controlled different parts of the port. Antonio handled shipping. Carlo handled customs relationships.”
“Bribes,” Clara translated.
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“They found something.”
Catherine’s voice became quieter.
“A network.”
Marcus frowned.
“What kind?”
“Judges. Federal contractors. Organized crime families. International brokers. People who were buying influence through the port.”
Roman leaned back.
“And Antonio documented it.”
“Antonio documented everything.”
Clara understood.
“The Crown Reserve wasn’t money.”
Catherine shook her head.
“It was insurance.”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“What happened to Carlo?”
“He demanded the records. Antonio refused.”
“Why?”
“Because Carlo wanted to sell them.”
“To whom?”
“Everyone.”
Silence.
Catherine continued.
“Antonio believed selling those files would trigger assassinations, extortion, political chaos. For once, he chose containment.”
Roman gave a bitter laugh.
“A moral awakening?”
“No. Self-preservation.”
That sounded more believable.
“So Carlo disappeared,” Clara said.
Catherine nodded.
“Officially, he fled.”
Roman looked toward Marcus.
“Unofficially?”
Marcus was already searching.
He found a death certificate.
Carlo Moretti.
Dead twenty-seven years ago.
Cause: accidental drowning.
Clara said, “That sounds convenient.”
“It was,” Catherine whispered.
Roman looked at her sharply.
“My father killed him?”
“I don’t know.”
“You always know more than you say.”
Catherine’s face filled with sadness.
“Because knowing things around your father was dangerous.”
Before Roman could answer, Sofia walked into the room carrying her backpack.
Roman stood immediately.
“You’re not going to school.”
Sofia groaned.
“Dad.”
“No.”
“Dad.”
“No.”
Clara crossed her arms.
“Roman.”
He looked betrayed.
“You too?”
“She has security.”
“She had security yesterday.”
“And now she has more.”
Sofia pointed at Marcus.
“Uncle Marcus said there are fourteen people outside.”
Roman looked at Marcus.
“You told her?”
“She counted.”
Sofia smiled proudly.
Roman looked exhausted.
Then the estate phone rang.
Not Roman’s encrypted line.
The old landline.
A phone nobody used.
Marcus answered.
His face changed.
He slowly extended the receiver toward Roman.
“For you.”
Roman took it.
“Speak.”
A man laughed softly.
Older.
Cultured.
Calm.
“Antonio’s son.”
Roman’s eyes hardened.
“Vincent.”
“So you remember my family.”
“I remember graves.”
“Then perhaps you should prepare another.”
Roman’s entire body went still.
“Threaten my children again and you will not live long enough to regret it.”
Vincent chuckled.
“You misunderstand. I don’t want your children.”
“What do you want?”
“What my father died trying to recover.”
“The Crown Reserve?”
Silence.
Then Vincent said, “So Catherine is still alive.”
Roman looked at her.
Vincent continued.
“Ask the old woman where Antonio buried Carlo.”
Catherine went pale.
Roman lowered his voice.
“Why?”
“Because Carlo Moretti did not drown.”
The line crackled.
“He died protecting something beneath the Duca estate.”
Click.
The call ended.
Everyone stared at Catherine.
Roman placed the receiver down.
“Where is Carlo buried?”
May you like
Catherine closed her eyes.
Then whispered, “Under the chapel.”
