Chapter 3 - BIANCA’S BOOK
Rosa did not contact them that day.
Or the next.
The prepaid number vanished.
Cloud provider records showed only one incoming message to Rosa before she discarded her phone:
NOT SAFE. GO NORTH. USE M.
No explanation.
Dante hated initials.
They were cowardly containers for information.
M.
Marco?
Matteo?
Moretti?
Mother?
Alessia suggested:
“Motel.”
Everyone stared.
“What?”
“Use M could mean a place.”
Carlo nodded slowly.
Good.
Do not fall in love with dramatic interpretation.
The Saint Agnes accounts became priority.
Bianca’s letter had named them.
Dante’s foundation had donated roughly four million dollars over eleven years.
Bellini administered disbursement approvals.
At first glance clean.
Clinics.
Medication grants.
Emergency housing.
Hospice.
Then Sofia’s forensic accountant found pattern.
Small recurring transfers.
$18,000.
$22,500.
$14,700.
To nonprofits that existed on paper but had almost no public presence.
Total:
$1.8 million.
Not enormous compared with Moretti wealth.
Enough to matter.
Beneficiaries traced to shell organizations.
One:
North Meridian Relief.
Another:
Morrow Family Aid.
M.
Maybe.
Dante asked:
“Who controls Morrow?”
Accountant replied:
“Still tracing.”
Alessia sat at far end of conference table.
She was not an employee participant anymore.
Technically paid suspension.
Yet Dante kept asking her to stay because she saw pieces others overlooked.
She finally said:
“You cannot keep me in meetings without defining why.”
He looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because if this becomes legal evidence, Bellini can say the maid was allowed into financial strategy because you liked her.”
Room went silent.
Carlo stared at ceiling.
Sofia looked delighted.
Dante said:
“Do I like you?”
Alessia blinked.
“That is not the point.”
“You brought it up.”
“I brought up optics.”
“Same.”
“No.”
She folded arms.
“See? This is why.”
Dante almost smiled.
Sofia interrupted:
“She is right.”
Of course.
“Then?”
“Formal witness consultant only on factual chronology related to what she observed. Separate counsel if needed. No access to unrelated financial data.”
Alessia nodded.
“Good.”
Dante did too.
Boundaries.
Annoying.
Useful.
Alessia was assigned no duty to solve.
Only review facts she personally knew.
She signed confidentiality limited to investigation evidence.
Independent attorney Teresa? No repeated names perhaps use Mara Levin.
Dante paid? Better house can offer reimbursement but she selects counsel. Alessia chooses attorney Nina Park, costs advanced by independent investigation fund? To avoid conflict. Could mention.
Nina Park represented her.
Not Dante’s lawyer.
Good.
The investigation continued.
Morrow Family Aid finally traced to:
Miriam Moretti.
Dante’s aunt.
Bianca’s younger sister.
Dead?
No.
Alive.
Seventy-two.
Living in Wisconsin.
Dante had not spoken to her in nine years.
Family fracture after Bianca’s funeral.
Why?
Miriam accused Dante’s father, Carlo Moretti Sr., of keeping Bianca trapped in the family.
Dante defended his father.
Miriam left.
No contact.
He stared at the nonprofit filing.
“M.”
Alessia sat across.
“Could Rosa be going to Miriam?”
“Yes.”
“Call.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
Nine years.
Then:
“Yes.”
He dialed.
Number from public record.
A woman answered.
“Hello?”
Dante’s throat tightened.
“Aunt Miriam.”
Silence.
Then:
“Took you long enough.”
He almost laughed.
Not funny.
“Rosa.”
“She’s safe.”
Everyone exhaled.
Dante closed eyes.
“Where?”
“No.”
His anger rose.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Aunt Miriam—”
“Is Lorenzo Bellini still inside your house?”
“No.”
“Does he know you found Bianca’s safe?”
“Yes.”
“Then I am not giving you Rosa’s location over a phone line your own employees may have compromised.”
Dante looked at Carlo.
Fair.
“Can I come to you?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“No.”
“What?”
“Bring the maid.”
Alessia stared.
Dante frowned.
“Why?”
“Because Rosa says she trusted the maid before she trusted you.”
That hit.
Hard.
Alessia looked away.
Two hours later Dante and Alessia drove north with Carlo following far behind.
Not in same car.
Alessia insisted.
“If Rosa sees security convoy, she may run.”
Dante drove himself.
That felt absurdly normal.
He had not driven more than ten miles alone in years.
Alessia sat passenger.
Silent.
After thirty minutes:
“You’re gripping the wheel.”
“I am driving.”
“You’re strangling it.”
He loosened.
“Better?”
“No.”
He glanced.
She smiled.
First time since firing.
Something moved in his chest.
Annoying.
“Why did Rosa trust you?”
Alessia looked out window.
“I listened.”
“That sounds vague.”
“She talked.”
“About Bianca?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“Her knees.”
Dante blinked.
“What?”
“Arthritis.”
“Oh.”
“She hated stairs.”
“Why did I not know?”
Alessia looked at him.
“Because she worked around you, not with you.”
There.
He absorbed.
“How many staff have problems I do not know?”
“All humans have problems you don’t know.”
He almost laughed.
“Specific.”
“No.”
She continued.
“Rosa asked me once if I thought people could stay loyal to someone who was dead.”
Dante’s hands tightened again.
“What did you say?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“That loyalty to dead people can become unfair to living ones.”
He looked at her.
“That is a strange answer.”
“She laughed too.”
“What did she say?”
“That Bianca would have liked me.”
Silence.
Alessia never told him.
“Why not?”
“It wasn’t important.”
It was now.
Miriam lived in a white farmhouse outside Racine.
No visible security.
Rosa sat at kitchen table.
She stood when Dante entered.
Cried immediately.
“Mr. Moretti.”
Dante stopped.
“Rosa.”
He had known her fourteen years.
Never seen her cry.
She held a narrow black ledger.
Bianca’s book.
Not large.
Red cloth marker.
Dante looked.
Rosa clutched tighter.
“Before I give this to you, you need to hear me.”
He nodded.
Good.
She sat.
Miriam poured coffee as though family conspiracies required caffeine.
Rosa spoke.
Bianca discovered Bellini’s irregular transfers one year before she died.
Not theft for himself at first.
Payments to Moretti families harmed by Dante’s father’s old operations.
Widows.
Former employees.
People injured.
Quiet restitution.
Bianca created Saint Agnes subaccounts to help them.
Legal charitable structure partly.
Some off-book names for safety.
Bellini administered.
Then after Bianca died, Bellini began redirecting pieces.
Some still helped people.
Some went elsewhere.
Rosa knew because Bianca had asked her to carry envelopes.
Why a housekeeper?
Because bankers reported upward.
Staff became invisible.
“Did my mother trust you?” Dante asked.
Rosa looked at him.
“She trusted that nobody saw me.”
That hurt.
Dante looked at ledger.
“What does it show?”
“Original beneficiaries. Amounts. Why.”
“And Bellini?”
“Notes Bianca added.”
Rosa opened.
Names.
Dates.
Annotations:
L.B. moved 20k without approval.
Asked why. Said emergency.
Verify.
Another:
Morrow account should not be used for operations.
Then later:
L.B. has copies of family incident files. Dangerous if confronted alone.
Dante’s blood cooled.
Incident files?
Miriam answered.
“Your father kept records of people he hurt.”
“Why?”
“Insurance. Leverage.”
Of course.
Bianca wanted to use them to make restitution.
Bellini had access.
So Bellini could blackmail recipients.
Employees.
Families.
Maybe Elena through Matteo.
Dante looked at Rosa.
“Why wait eleven years?”
She cried.
“Because your mother told me if she died before proving it, do not give you the book until you stopped trusting Bellini more than your own eyes.”
Silence.
Dante’s face hardened.
“She thought I would choose him.”
“No.”
Rosa swallowed.
“She thought you would choose the system.”
Worse.
Miriam looked at Dante.
“You were thirty.”
“Young?”
“No. Proud.”
Fair.
“You wanted to prove you could run everything exactly like your father without becoming him.”
He looked away.
“That is impossible.”
“Yes.”
Miriam’s voice softened.
“You kept his people.”
Bellini.
Carlo? no Carlo maybe his own.
Managers.
Methods.
Silence.
“You changed outcomes,” she said.
“But not enough architecture.”
Alessia watched.
Not her family.
Still recognizable.
Dante asked:
“What is in the red file?”
Rosa looked terrified.
“Bianca’s copies of the incident files.”
“Which incidents?”
“Everything your father paid to disappear.”
The room chilled.
Deaths?
Bribes?
Injuries?
Protection payments?
Maybe.
“Bellini has them.”
“Yes.”
“He can blackmail me.”
Rosa shook her head.
“Not you.”
“Then who?”
“Everyone else.”
Exactly.
Politicians.
Police.
Business owners.
Families.
People whose names appeared.
Bellini stole leverage.
Dante understood.
“What did he want?”
Miriam answered.
“Independence.”
“From me?”
“From everyone.”
Bellini had managed finances for twelve years while quietly collecting enough secrets to become untouchable.
The $1.8 million diversion might not be enrichment.
Operating fund.
Buying silence.
Paying informants.
Building his own network.
Dante looked at Bianca’s book.
“Can I take it?”
Rosa held tighter.
Then looked at Alessia.
Not Dante.
Alessia said:
“Make copies first.”
Everyone turned.
“Why?” Dante asked.
“Because Bellini expected one folder and one book.”
She looked at him.
“If you carry the only ledger back, you turn a person into a single point of failure.”
Miriam smiled.
“Bianca would have liked you.”
Alessia looked uncomfortable.
Dante did not.
He felt something dangerously close to gratitude.
They scanned the ledger through an independent law office in Racine before leaving.
Copies to Sofia.
Miriam’s attorney.
Secure evidence custodian.
Original stayed with Miriam pending formal handoff.
No single safe.
No hidden wall.
No one person controlling truth.
Bianca had been right.
Paper was not safer than memory if one person owned the paper.
On drive home, Dante said:
“Why did you become a maid?”
Alessia looked at him.
“That is abrupt.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You notice systems.”
“So do people who clean.”
“Fair.”
She looked out window.
“My mother got sick.”
Dante waited.
“Cancer. I left community college. Took jobs with stable hours.”
“What were you studying?”
“Accounting.”
Of course.
He almost laughed.
“Funny?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Only a little.”
She smiled.
“Do not hire me as accountant.”
“Why?”
“I am seven years out and never finished.”
“Finish.”
She looked at him sharply.
“That sounded like an order.”
He corrected.
“Do you want to?”
Silence.
Then:
“Maybe.”
Good.
Dante nodded.
No offer.
Not yet.
They reached Chicago after dark.
Carlo called before gate.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“Bellini moved.”
“Where?”
“We got lawful preservation on company systems. He attempted remote access to Saint Agnes archive.”
“Blocked?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
Carlo hesitated.
“He sent one email before credentials shut down.”
“To who?”
“Elena Conti’s son.”
Matteo.
Subject:
YOUR MOTHER CHOSE THE WRONG MAID.
Alessia’s face went pale.
Dante’s anger sharpened.
“What did it say?”
Carlo read:
You have until midnight to return what Rosa took, or the warehouse losses become yours.
Bellini was not only stealing leverage.
May you like
He was using Bianca’s old secrets to manufacture new victims.
And midnight was less than three hours away.
