Chapter 14 - The Traitor at Our Table
I did not show Massimo the photograph until we were inside the SUV.
His reaction was worse than anger.
He went completely still.
“Marco?”
“I recognized him too.”
Marco Bellini had worked for the Romano family since Massimo was nineteen.
He had stood behind Donna Caterina at our wedding.
He had personally supervised security at my flower shop after Salvatore threatened Claire.
Massimo stared at the image.
“This could be altered.”
“Gabriel expected you to say that.”
I handed him the original digital file on the encrypted drive Gabriel had provided.
Massimo plugged it into a secure tablet.
His security software verified the metadata.
His face changed.
“Call Marco,” I said.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if he’s innocent, I insult a loyal man.”
“And if he isn’t?”
Massimo looked toward the driver.
“We learn who he reports to.”
That evening, we hosted family dinner exactly as planned.
Donna Caterina sat at the head of the table.
Francesca discussed a hospital fundraiser.
Claire complained about a surgeon who thought residents were furniture.
Marco stood near the doors.
Watching.
Waiting.
I had never noticed how much a security man saw.
Every conversation.
Every movement.
Every weakness.
Massimo acted perfectly normal.
I was less convincing.
Every time Marco glanced toward me, I imagined flames reflecting in his eyes.
Dessert arrived.
Donna Caterina took one bite of tiramisu and announced it needed more coffee.
Then Massimo’s phone rang.
He answered.
His expression hardened.
“What?”
Everyone stopped eating.
He listened.
Then stood abruptly.
“When?”
Another pause.
“We’re coming.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?” Francesca asked.
“Warehouse Three.”
I knew there was no emergency.
Massimo and I had created the fake call twenty minutes earlier.
“Fire?” I asked, playing my role.
“Possible intrusion.”
Marco immediately approached.
“I’ll prepare the vehicles.”
Massimo shook his head.
“Stay with the family.”
Marco hesitated.
Only half a second.
But I saw it.
Massimo saw it too.
We left with another security team.
The SUV traveled four blocks before turning into an underground parking garage.
Then we waited.
Massimo watched a tracking screen.
Marco’s phone remained at the estate.
His vehicle remained at the estate.
For fourteen minutes, nothing happened.
Then a signal appeared.
A tiny transmitter moving north.
Massimo frowned.
“What is that?”
“Something we planted inside the archive invitation.”
The invitation Gabriel had sent us was sitting inside Massimo’s study.
Marco had taken it.
The tracker traveled toward Lincoln Park.
We followed from a distance.
The signal stopped outside an old Catholic church.
Massimo’s hand tightened around mine.
“You stay in the vehicle.”
I laughed softly.
He looked at me.
“After a year of marriage, you still say adorable things.”
We entered through a side door.
The church was dark except for candles flickering near the altar.
Marco stood in the center aisle.
He was not alone.
A woman faced him.
Tall.
Raven-haired.
Thin.
For one impossible second, my brain refused to understand.
Then she turned.
My blood became ice.
“Elena.”
The woman who had tricked me into Massimo’s bedroom smiled.
“I wondered how long it would take you.”
Massimo’s security officers moved instantly.
Marco raised both hands.
“Boss, wait.”
Massimo’s voice was deadly.
“You have ten seconds.”
“I’m not working for her.”
Elena laughed.
“No, Marco. You’re working for yourself.”
Marco ignored her.
He looked at Massimo.
“The fire wasn’t meant to destroy Sophie’s business.”
I stepped forward.
“It destroyed property records.”
“Exactly.”
Marco’s face looked tortured.
“Because someone needed those records gone before Sophie reached the downtown archive.”
Massimo moved closer.
“Who?”
Marco looked toward Elena.
She slowly removed a small envelope from her coat.
“Ask your mother.”
The church seemed to tilt.
Massimo’s face went blank.
“What did you say?”
Elena tossed the envelope onto a pew.
Inside was a photograph.
Francesca.
Twenty-six years younger.
Standing beside Dominic Moretti.
They were outside the same private bank Donna Caterina had told us about.
On the back was a handwritten date.
October 17, 2000.
And one sentence.
THE SECOND AGREEMENT.
Massimo stared at the photograph.
“My mother said she never met Dominic Moretti.”
May you like
Elena smiled.
“Your mother lied.”
