Chapter 17 - The Letter from the PastBy mid-summer, the chalet had truly become a home. We had no servants, no housekeepers, and no attendants. We cooked our own meals, chopped our own firewood for the massive stone hearth in the evenings, and spent our days walking the steep alpine trails that wound through alpine meadows choked with wild gentian and edelweiss.
One afternoon, returning from a three-hour trek up toward the glacier line, we found a single, standard international envelope resting in the rustic wooden box by the front gate.
It had been forwarded twice—first from the Buffalo estate through our secure private trustees, then through our Swiss bank in Zurich.
I picked it up, turning it over in my hand. The return address was handwritten, bearing a postmark from a federal correctional facility in Terre Haute, Indiana.
My fingers tightened around the paper. Pietro.
I hadn't spoken to Pietro since the day we left Buffalo. Not because there was bad blood, but because clean breaks require absolute separation. Pietro had chosen to stay behind to oversee the final asset liquidation and ensure the trustees managed the transition without interference, before retiring to a quiet life somewhere on the Gulf Coast.
"Who is it?" Julia asked, pausing by the door as she unlaced her hiking boots.
"Pietro," I answered, my voice neutral.
I opened the envelope inside the entryway. A single sheet of lined paper slid out, covered in Pietro’s neat, block-lettered handwriting.
Boss,Writing to let you know the books are finally closed. The last of the real estate trusts have been successfully transferred to the children's hospital fund in Buffalo, and the federal prosecutors officially sealed the Vance files last week. Victor Vance is currently serving consecutive sentences in a maximum-security facility three cells down from where his brother used to dream about prosecutors.As for me, I bought a small boat down in Biloxi. The fishing is quiet, the humidity is terrible, and nobody has asked me to check a perimeter in three months. I hope the air is treating Mrs. Mancuso well. Tell her she’s the only person in twenty years who ever managed to outsmart us both.Take care of yourself, Adriano.— P.
I folded the letter slowly, a faint, nostalgic smile touching the corners of my mouth.
"Is he doing well?" Julia asked, walking over and resting a hand on my arm, reading the signature upside down.
"He bought a boat in Biloxi," I said, folding the paper and slipping it into my coat pocket. "He says the fishing is quiet."
May you like
Julia looked up at me, her eyes softening. "He loved you, you know. In his own cold, syndicate way, Pietro was as loyal to you as a shadow."
"He was," I agreed, wrapping my arm around her shoulders as we walked into the warm kitchen. "And now he gets to cast a shadow in the sun instead of the dark."
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