Chapter 10 – The Men His Brother Protected

“You can’t tell them everything, Luca.”

The business manager stood across the desk, holding the proposed memorial announcement.

Luca looked up.

“Why not?”

“Because the investigation is still active. Because there are people who worked for Bellini Recovery who may be implicated. Because the family name is going to be dragged into things we can’t control.”

Luca folded his hands.

“My brother died because a man wanted to hide the truth.”

“I understand.”

“Then you should understand why I’m not going to do the same thing.”

The manager sighed.

“I’m asking you to be careful.”

“I am being careful. The announcement will contain only facts the investigators have confirmed. No speculation. No accusations beyond what the evidence establishes.”

“And the former employees?”

“They’re welcome.”

“Some may blame you.”

Luca looked at him for a long moment.

“They may have good reason.”

The man left without another argument.

I had been standing near the office doorway with a tray of coffee.

Luca noticed me.

“You heard that?”

“Some of it.”

He rubbed his forehead.

“I suppose people think I’m losing my mind.”

“I don’t.”

He smiled faintly.

“That’s kind of you.”

I set down the coffee.

“Sir, may I say something?”

“Of course.”

“When Vanessa hurt me, the worst part wasn’t the pain.”

Luca looked at me.

“It was knowing I had to come back to work and pretend nothing happened.”

His expression changed.

“I kept thinking that if I could just make it through the week, I’d be fine. But I wasn’t fine. I was frightened every time I heard her footsteps.”

Luca nodded slowly.

“I understand.”

“The men Michael was trying to help probably felt something like that.”

He looked down at the announcement.

“Having to act grateful for a job that was putting them in danger.”

“Yes.”

For a while, he said nothing.

Then he reached for his pen.

He added a sentence to the memorial invitation.

Anyone who wishes to remember Michael, or who was affected by the work he tried to improve, is welcome.

He looked at it.

“Better?”

I nodded.

“Much.”

The following days were difficult.

The funeral arrangements required more decisions than Luca had expected.

Michael’s remains had finally been released to the family.

The police had completed the examinations necessary for the ongoing investigation, and the funeral director was helping arrange a dignified burial.

Luca chose a simple wooden casket.

No extravagant metal fittings.

No enormous display of flowers.

“Michael would’ve hated all that,” he said.

Instead, he asked Samuel to organize the music.

Samuel listened carefully as Luca described the service.

Then he shook his head.

“Not that hymn.”

Luca looked surprised.

“It was my mother’s favorite.”

“Yes. But this is Michael’s funeral.”

“What would he have wanted?”

Samuel smiled sadly.

“Something with a little life in it.”

They spent an afternoon choosing music.

Samuel remembered Michael as a boy, standing beside the organ and asking why church songs always sounded so serious.

Once, he’d convinced Samuel to teach him an old gospel tune.

He’d played it badly.

But enthusiastically.

Luca laughed when he heard the story.

“That sounds like Michael.”

For a moment, the grief lifted enough to let a memory through.

I began to understand something about mourning.

It wasn’t only about remembering how someone died.

It was learning how to speak about the life they’d lived without letting the ending swallow everything else.

A few days before the funeral, Thomas Calder came to the mansion.

He wore a clean brown jacket and carried a small paper bag.

Mrs. Carter brought him into the library, where Luca was reviewing the memorial program.

Thomas looked nervous.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all.”

He sat down.

Then he placed the bag on the table.

“There’s something I wanted you to have.”

Inside was the blue coat lining he’d shown us before.

It had been returned after the investigators completed their initial examination.

Thomas had carefully stitched the torn edge to stop it from unraveling.

Luca looked at the fabric.

“You repaired it?”

Thomas nodded.

“Didn’t seem right to leave it like that.”

Luca picked it up.

There was a small square of white cloth sewn into the lining.

A laundry label.

Michael’s name was written there in Isabella’s handwriting.

M. Moretti.

Luca stared.

Then he smiled through tears.

“My mother labeled everything.”

Thomas chuckled.

“So did mine.”

The two men sat together.

For a while, they spoke about the old garage.

Not the terrible night.

The ordinary days.

Michael stopping by with coffee.

Michael complaining that the radio never played anything decent.

Michael helping a young apprentice replace a tire because the boy was too embarrassed to admit he’d never done it before.

“He was a good man,” Thomas said.

Luca nodded.

“He was.”

Thomas looked down.

“I wish I’d been a better one.”

Luca studied him.

“You came forward.”

“Nine years too late.”

“Yes,” Luca said.

Thomas flinched slightly.

But Luca continued.

“And you helped us find him. Both things are true.”

Thomas lowered his head.

“I spent so long being afraid of Frank that I forgot there were other people I should’ve been afraid of disappointing.”

“Like Michael?”

“Like myself.”

Luca didn’t offer him an easy pardon.

He simply sat with him.

Sometimes that was all another person could honestly give.

The evening before the funeral, I found Samuel in the chapel, practicing the music.

He stopped when he heard my footsteps.

“Emily?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come sit.”

I sat beside him on the organ bench.

He played a few quiet notes.

Then he asked, “How’s your father?”

The question surprised me.

“Doing better. The new medication seems to be helping.”

“Good.”

I smiled.

“He asked me to thank you for asking.”

Samuel nodded.

Then he reached toward the music stand.

“Do you know what Isabella told me about Luca when he was young?”

“What?”

“She said he wanted to fix everything. Broken clocks, loose doors, people who were unhappy.”

I laughed softly.

“That sounds familiar.”

Samuel smiled.

“She worried he’d grow up thinking love meant never allowing anything bad to happen.”

He paused.

“Michael was different. He couldn’t fix much. But he’d sit beside somebody until they felt less alone.”

I looked toward the empty pews.

“Maybe Luca’s learning that now.”

“I think he is.”

The next morning, the chapel filled slowly.

Former drivers.

Mechanics.

Neighbors who remembered Michael.

Old friends of Isabella.

People who’d worked for the Moretti family for decades.

Some carried flowers.

Others came with nothing.

Several stood awkwardly near the doors, unsure whether they were truly welcome.

Luca walked over and shook their hands himself.

No bodyguards standing between them.

No one checking whether their jackets were expensive.

Just a grieving brother greeting the people his brother had cared about.

When Thomas Calder arrived, he paused at the entrance.

He was carrying no flowers.

Only a folded sheet of paper.

Luca approached him.

“Thomas.”

The old mechanic looked toward the altar.

“I don’t know if I should be here.”

“You should.”

Thomas swallowed.

“There’s something I need to say.”

Luca waited.

“I’ve written it down. I don’t think I’ll manage without the paper.”

Luca looked at his trembling hands.

Then he nodded.

“Would you like to say it during the service?”

Thomas stared at him.

“You’d let me?”

Luca’s eyes filled.

“Michael always believed people deserved to be heard.”

He stepped aside.

“Then come inside, Thomas. Tell them what my brother was trying to do.”

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