Chapter 7 - Lorenzo Moretti returned to New York on a Sunday evening.
By Monday morning, he had insulted Enzo’s coffee, criticized the architecture of the Midtown headquarters and informed Marco that he had become “alarmingly respectable.”
Marco looked delighted.
“I missed you too.”
“I did not say I missed you.”
“You drove four hundred miles to spend a week with us.”
“I came because Elena asked.”
Enzo looked up from his desk.
“She did not ask.”
Lorenzo shrugged.
“Then perhaps I imagined it.”
Elena sat near the conference table hiding a smile.
Watching Enzo and Lorenzo together was like observing two versions of the same storm separated by twenty years.
They interrupted each other identically.
They disliked admitting uncertainty.
They both read entire documents before speaking.
And when irritated, both pressed a thumb against the side of the index finger.
Elena noticed the habit on the second day.
She said nothing.
Some discoveries were too entertaining to share immediately.
Rebecca’s investigation accelerated.
Using Lorenzo’s records, her team identified seven shell companies connected to old Moretti-Calder financial structures.
Five were inactive.
Two were not.
Northline Strategic Services had received six point three million dollars.
The remaining money went to Aster Ridge Consulting.
Aster Ridge had paid security vendors.
Private investigators.
And one employee inside Moretti Holdings.
Rebecca called everyone into the conference room.
“The employee received ninety-two thousand dollars over eight months.”
Enzo’s expression hardened.
“Name.”
Rebecca turned the screen.
Daniel Price.
Head of building security.
Marco swore.
Daniel had worked for them six years.
He controlled badge access.
Camera retention.
Visitor logs.
That explained Elena’s false midnight entries.
Enzo stood.
“Where is he?”
“His office,” Marco said.
“Not anymore.”
Elena rose.
“Do not confront him yet.”
“He fabricated records against you.”
“And if he’s our only connection to Matteo Calder, frightening him may destroy the connection.”
“He has already sold us.”
“Which makes him useful.”
Lorenzo leaned back.
“She’s smarter than Carlo.”
Enzo glared.
“That is a low standard.”
“It was not always.”
The room changed slightly.
Lorenzo rarely spoke of Carlo without bitterness.
Now his voice carried something else.
Memory.
Complication.
Elena realized hatred did not erase brotherhood.
It merely made remembering harder.
Rebecca proposed surveillance.
Enzo hated that too.
But he agreed.
For two days, Daniel behaved normally.
Then on Wednesday evening, he left the office at six fifteen.
Marco followed from a distance.
Daniel took the subway downtown.
Changed lines twice.
Walked four blocks.
Entered a restaurant in Tribeca.
A man was waiting.
Matteo Calder.
Marco photographed them through the window.
When he sent the image, Enzo’s entire body went rigid.
Elena was beside him at the estate.
She saw Matteo for the first time.
Forty-one.
Expensive suit.
Dark blond hair.
A face that looked more suited to a private bank than a criminal organization.
“He looks ordinary,” she said.
“The dangerous ones often do,” Enzo replied.
Matteo and Daniel spoke for twenty-seven minutes.
Then Daniel handed him an envelope.
Marco followed Daniel afterward.
Rebecca’s people followed Matteo.
Three hours later, everything changed.
Matteo entered a private parking garage.
He did not leave.
His car remained.
His phone went dark.
Security cameras showed him walking toward an elevator.
The elevator cameras had been disabled.
He vanished.
Enzo was furious.
“He knew.”
Rebecca shook her head.
“Maybe.”
“He spotted surveillance.”
“Or someone warned him.”
Everyone looked toward Daniel.
But Daniel returned home and went to sleep.
The following morning, he entered the Moretti building as usual.
At 9:10, Rebecca placed the intercepted photographs on the table in front of him.
Daniel’s face collapsed.
He confessed within eleven minutes.
Not because of threats.
Because Rebecca showed him the bank transfers.
“I can help you,” she said. “Or you can explain all of this without cooperation.”
Daniel covered his face.
“I never knew they were going after Mrs. Moretti.”
Enzo stood behind the glass observation wall.
Elena felt him tense.
“That sentence may save his life,” Marco murmured.
Elena gave him a look.
Marco lifted his hands.
“Metaphorically.”
Daniel admitted duplicating credentials.
Changing logs.
Granting remote access to M-17.
He claimed he believed Matteo was collecting corporate intelligence for leverage in a business dispute.
Rebecca asked, “You received ninety-two thousand dollars and thought this was normal competition?”
Daniel looked ashamed.
“I didn’t ask enough questions.”
“No,” she said. “You asked none.”
“Where is Matteo?” Rebecca asked.
“I don’t know.”
“What was in the envelope?”
“Security layouts.”
Enzo’s face changed.
Elena noticed.
“Layouts for what?”
Daniel swallowed.
“The estate.”
Silence.
Even Rebecca paused.
Elena felt cold spread beneath her skin.
“Why?”
“He asked about access roads, alarm zones, camera placements.”
“When?”
“Over the last month.”
Enzo turned away from the glass.
“Everyone out.”
“Elena—”
“Out.”
Marco recognized the tone.
He left.
Lorenzo followed.
Rebecca remained inside interviewing Daniel.
Elena faced Enzo.
His hands were clenched.
“Say it.”
“No.”
“Say what you’re thinking.”
“No.”
“Enzo.”
He turned.
“I want you out of the country.”
There it was.
“No.”
“You asked.”
“And you answered. Now we discuss.”
“There is nothing to discuss.”
“Wrong.”
“They mapped our home.”
“I understand.”
“They know security patterns.”
“I understand.”
“Matteo disappeared last night.”
“Yes.”
“I cannot protect you from someone I cannot locate.”
Elena’s voice softened.
“Then moving me to another country does not solve that.”
“It creates distance.”
“It creates another location he can learn.”
“I have properties no one knows about.”
“Your people know.”
His face tightened.
The lesson from Daniel hurt.
Elena continued.
“You cannot build enough walls to guarantee nothing happens.”
“I can build more.”
“And spend the rest of our lives hiding?”
“If the alternative is burying you, yes.”
The words landed heavily.
His fear was raw now.
Not arrogance.
Not possessiveness.
Fear.
Elena moved closer.
“I know what this does to you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Then tell me.”
He laughed bitterly.
“You want honesty?”
“Yes.”
“I wake up every morning and look at you before you open your eyes.”
She became still.
“I check that you’re breathing.”
“Enzo.”
“Sometimes I do it twice.”
His voice roughened.
“I know it is irrational. I know you are healthy. I know the house is secure. I still check.”
Elena had not known.
He looked away.
“When Monaco happened, I thought wanting you made you vulnerable. Then Vaughn proved I was right. Now Calder maps our home and uses your name to steal money.”
“You were not right.”
His gaze snapped back.
“He is targeting me because of you. That part is true. But loving someone does not create the evil in people who decide to use them.”
“That distinction does not keep you alive.”
“No. Good decisions might.”
She took his hand.
“Make one with me.”
He resisted the comfort but did not pull away.
“What do you suggest?”
“We move temporarily.”
Relief crossed his face.
“To a safe location.”
“No.”
His relief vanished.
“To Lorenzo’s vineyard.”
From the doorway, Lorenzo said, “Absolutely not.”
They both turned.
He stood holding coffee.
Elena stared.
“You were listening?”
“The walls are inadequate.”
Enzo looked irritated.
Lorenzo continued, “Also, I dislike guests.”
Elena smiled sweetly.
“You have four bedrooms.”
“I use them emotionally.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. But the answer remains no.”
Enzo crossed his arms.
“Actually, it is not a bad idea.”
Lorenzo stared at him.
“You are not invited.”
“I would be coming.”
“Then it is an extremely bad idea.”
Despite the situation, Elena laughed.
Eventually Lorenzo surrendered.
They moved the next afternoon.
Only five people knew the destination.
Enzo.
Elena.
Marco.
Rebecca.
Lorenzo.
Dominic remained in New York coordinating company operations under Rebecca’s observation.
Enzo hated leaving the city.
Elena knew because he checked his phone every seven minutes for the first three hours.
“Put it down.”
“I am working.”
“You’re staring at the same email.”
“It may change.”
“Emails do not evolve when observed.”
He looked at her.
“You are enjoying my suffering.”
“Marriage contains many forms of intimacy.”
Lorenzo nearly choked on wine.
For two days, the vineyard was quiet.
Too quiet.
Elena began walking among the vines each morning.
Enzo followed at a distance the first day.
The second day she turned.
“You know I can see you.”
“I am walking.”
“Thirty feet behind me.”
“I enjoy this distance.”
“Why?”
“It offers perspective.”
“Enzo.”
He caught up.
She slipped her hand into his.
“That wasn’t difficult.”
“I prefer the tactical position.”
“Of course.”
On the third night, Lorenzo opened an old bottle from his private cellar.
After dinner, he and Enzo sat outside.
Elena joined them later.
They were talking about Carlo.
Not his crimes.
Small things.
How he hated tomatoes.
How he once broke a boat engine and blamed the manufacturer for three years.
How he taught Enzo to drive at thirteen.
“How did that happen?” Elena asked.
Lorenzo smiled.
“Bad parenting.”
Enzo almost smiled too.
Then Lorenzo said, “He loved you.”
The smile disappeared.
Enzo stared into his glass.
“He had an interesting way of showing it.”
“Yes.”
Lorenzo did not defend his brother.
That mattered.
“He was afraid constantly,” Lorenzo continued. “He disguised it as certainty. That was his talent.”
Elena looked at Enzo.
So did Lorenzo.
Enzo noticed.
“I know what both of you are doing.”
“We are drinking wine,” Lorenzo said.
“You are making a psychological comparison.”
“I said nothing.”
“You implied it.”
Lorenzo shrugged.
“Perhaps your guilt supplied the implication.”
Elena whispered, “I like him.”
Enzo looked betrayed.
“He is temporary.”
Before Lorenzo could respond, Marco stepped outside.
His face erased the humor.
“We found Matteo.”
Enzo stood.
“Where?”
“New York.”
“I thought—”
“So did we.”
Marco handed him the phone.
A surveillance image showed Matteo Calder entering Moretti Holdings.
Not secretly.
Through the front doors.
At 4:12 that afternoon.
He had walked directly to reception.
Asked for Enzo.
When informed Enzo was unavailable, he left an envelope.
The receptionist opened it only after security cleared the contents.
Inside was a single photograph.
Elena and Enzo at their wedding.
On the back, Matteo had written:
YOUR FATHER TOOK MY FAMILY.
NOW I TAKE SOMETHING FROM YOURS.
Enzo went completely still.
Then Marco swiped to the second image.
Another note.
Smaller.
Almost an afterthought.
TELL ELENA TO CHECK HER MOTHER’S NAME.
Elena stared at the screen.
“My mother?”
Enzo looked at her.
She had rarely spoken about her mother because there was little to say.
Elena had been six when she died.
Cancer.
Quick decline.
Her father had raised her afterward.
“What could my mother possibly have to do with this?”
Nobody answered.
Lorenzo stood.
“What was her name?”
Elena looked at him.
“Isabella Russo.”
The wineglass slipped from Lorenzo’s hand.
It hit the stone patio.
Shattered.
Everyone froze.
Enzo stared at him.
“You know that name.”
Lorenzo’s face had gone pale.
“Yes.”
Elena’s heart began pounding.
“From where?”
May you like
Lorenzo looked at her with something close to horror.
“Isabella Russo worked for Carlo.”
