Chapter 6 - The Woman Salvatore Could Not BreakThe warehouse outside Rome was empty.
That frightened Lorenzo more than armed men would have.
He entered through a rusted service door shortly after midnight with Vincent 3 steps behind him.
Vivian remained outside in the vehicle.
That had been their compromise.
She hated it.
Lorenzo hated that she was anywhere near the building.
Neither was satisfied.
Which probably meant it was fair.
Inside, fluorescent lights buzzed above bare concrete.
No machinery.
No crates.
No guards.
Only a wooden chair positioned beneath a hanging light.
Matteo sat in it.
His wrists were bound.
His face was bruised.
His shirt was stained with dried blood.
But he was alive.
“Matteo.”
Lorenzo crossed the room.
Matteo lifted his head.
His swollen eyes focused.
“Boss?”
Lorenzo cut the restraints.
“Can you stand?”
Matteo laughed weakly.
“You look terrible for a dead man.”
Lorenzo almost smiled.
Almost.
Then Matteo’s expression changed.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Who did this?”
“You need to leave.”
“Who?”
Matteo grabbed Lorenzo’s sleeve.
“Now.”
A slow clap echoed from the darkness.
Lorenzo spun.
Vincent did not.
He had already recognized the voice.
A woman stepped into the light.
She was approximately 40.
Elegant.
Black trousers.
Dark coat.
Hair pulled tightly behind her head.
No visible weapon.
She had Lorenzo’s eyes.
There was no question.
“Hello, little brother.”
Lorenzo stopped breathing.
“Isabella.”
She smiled.
There was no warmth in it.
“You got old.”
“So did you.”
“I had better reasons.”
Lorenzo stood.
“What do you want?”
Isabella looked toward Vincent.
“You brought him.”
Vincent nodded.
“You knew I would.”
“Always predictable.”
“Only when necessary.”
Lorenzo stepped between them.
“You kidnapped Matteo.”
“I borrowed him.”
“You tortured him.”
Matteo wiped blood from his mouth.
“She asks very enthusiastic questions.”
Isabella glanced at him.
“You were stubborn.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Lorenzo’s voice sharpened.
“Enough.”
Isabella studied him.
“I wanted to see what death had done to you.”
“And?”
“Not enough.”
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.
She walked around him slowly.
“You still stand like Father.”
The words struck exactly where she intended.
“Shoulders square.”
“Hands loose.”
“Always measuring whether the person in front of you needs to be frightened or killed.”
She stopped.
“Did he teach you that?”
Lorenzo said nothing.
“Or did you learn because you wanted him to love you?”
Lorenzo’s face hardened.
Vincent spoke quietly.
“Isabella.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“He deserves it.”
Then back to Lorenzo.
“You became his favorite little weapon.”
“I was 19 when you disappeared.”
“And?”
“And I thought you were dead.”
“You didn’t ask many questions.”
“I asked Father.”
Isabella laughed.
“And believed him.”
“I was a kid.”
“So was I.”
Silence.
That ended Lorenzo’s defense.
Isabella stepped closer.
“I was 17 years old.”
“Carrying a child.”
“Being handed to a man old enough to be my father because Salvatore wanted access to construction contracts.”
Her voice remained calm.
That calm made it worse.
“I begged our mother.”
“She told me obedience was survival.”
“I begged Leonardo.”
“He tried to help.”
“Then I went to you.”
Lorenzo remembered.
A hallway.
Isabella crying.
Him avoiding her eyes.
He had buried the memory.
“You told me Father knew best.”
Lorenzo closed his eyes.
“I was 15.”
“You were old enough for me to remember it.”
He opened his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
Isabella stared.
“Those words are cheap in our family.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
Something in his voice made her hesitate.
Then a car door slammed outside.
Isabella’s gaze snapped toward the entrance.
Vivian appeared.
Lorenzo swore.
“Vivian.”
She walked inside.
“I heard voices.”
“I told you to stay—”
He stopped himself.
Vivian noticed.
Isabella noticed too.
“Interesting,” Isabella murmured.
Vivian approached.
“You must be Isabella.”
“And you must be the wife who escaped.”
Vivian’s expression did not change.
“I prefer Vivian.”
A small smile appeared on Isabella’s face.
“I think I like you.”
“Most people need longer.”
“Most people aren’t married to my brother.”
Lorenzo looked between them.
“This is not a social visit.”
“No,” Isabella agreed.
“It isn’t.”
She crossed to Matteo.
“Your lieutenant gave me what I needed.”
Matteo looked toward Lorenzo.
“I’m sorry, boss.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Nothing important.”
Isabella smiled.
“Everything is important when assembled correctly.”
She removed a folded paper.
An old banking record.
Lorenzo recognized his father’s handwriting.
A series of numbers.
Dates.
Initials.
One set appeared repeatedly.
A.F.
Lorenzo frowned.
“What is that?”
“My son.”
Isabella’s voice changed.
The steel disappeared for half a second.
“Antonio Falcone.”
Vivian watched her.
“How old would he be?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Would?”
Isabella’s eyes turned cold again.
“I don’t know if he’s alive.”
Lorenzo looked at the document.
“What does Father’s ledger have to do with him?”
“After Salvatore took Antonio, payments began.”
“To whom?”
“A private institution.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where?”
“That is what I’m trying to discover.”
Vincent stepped forward.
“The reserve.”
Isabella nodded.
“Father used the same network to hide the money.”
Lorenzo understood.
“You don’t want the 180 million.”
“I couldn’t care less about the money.”
“You want the transaction history.”
“I want my son.”
Vivian’s voice was quiet.
“Then why threaten us?”
Isabella looked at her.
“I didn’t.”
Lorenzo pulled out the photograph.
“Dead men should stay buried.”
Isabella studied it.
“That wasn’t me.”
Everyone became still.
Lorenzo looked at Vincent.
“Rocco.”
Isabella’s expression sharpened.
“Rocco is alive?”
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
The answer appeared genuine.
Lorenzo felt the situation shifting beneath him.
“Then who are you working with?”
“Myself.”
“Who brought Matteo here?”
“People who owe me favors.”
“You expect me to believe—”
A gunshot exploded outside.
Everyone dropped.
A second shot shattered a high window.
“Down!” Lorenzo shouted.
He grabbed Vivian and pulled her behind a concrete pillar.
Matteo rolled behind the chair.
Vincent drew a compact pistol.
Isabella already had one in her hand.
Lorenzo looked at her.
She shrugged.
“You thought I came unarmed?”
Another burst struck the building.
Lorenzo recognized the pattern.
Controlled.
Professional.
Not street soldiers.
A voice came through the darkness outside.
“Lorenzo!”
Lorenzo froze.
He knew that voice.
Rocco Bellandi.
“Come outside.”
Isabella looked toward him.
“You said he survived Maine.”
“Yes.”
Rocco called again.
“I don’t want your wife.”
Lorenzo’s eyes became murderous.
“Mention her again and—”
Vivian grabbed his arm.
“Don’t.”
Rocco continued.
“I came to warn you.”
“Interesting warning,” Lorenzo shouted.
“You’re shooting at us.”
“I’m shooting at the men behind you.”
Lorenzo frowned.
Then movement came from the rear entrance.
Three men appeared.
Not Isabella’s.
Suppressors.
Black clothing.
Vincent fired first.
Chaos erupted.
Lorenzo dragged Vivian lower.
Isabella shot one attacker in the shoulder.
Matteo tackled another despite his injuries.
The third escaped through a side door.
Then silence.
Rocco entered through the front.
Older than Lorenzo remembered.
Gray at the temples.
Scar across his jaw from Maine.
He lowered his pistol.
“I told you to stay buried.”
Lorenzo stood.
“You photographed my daughter.”
“Yes.”
“I should kill you for that alone.”
“Probably.”
Rocco looked toward Isabella.
His expression changed.
“Jesus.”
Isabella aimed at him.
“You knew where Antonio was.”
Rocco’s face went still.
That was answer enough.
Isabella’s hand began shaking.
“Where is my son?”
Rocco said nothing.
“Where is he?”
“He’s alive.”
Isabella stopped breathing.
Vivian covered her mouth.
Even Lorenzo felt the impact.
“Where?”
Rocco looked toward the bodies on the floor.
“We need to leave.”
Isabella stepped closer.
“Tell me where my son is.”
“He isn’t your biggest problem.”
“He is my only problem.”
“No.”
Rocco looked at Lorenzo.
“Salvatore’s reserve wasn’t just money.”
“What was it?”
“Insurance.”
“Against whom?”
“Everyone.”
Rocco’s expression became grim.
“Judges.”
“Police.”
“Politicians.”
“Businessmen.”
“Members of every major family.”
“Your father kept records.”
Lorenzo understood.
“Blackmail.”
“Enough to destroy hundreds of people.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“And someone found the archive.”
Rocco nodded.
“Who?”
Before Rocco could answer, the wounded attacker on the floor began laughing.
Everyone turned.
Blood stained his shoulder.
But he smiled.
“You still don’t understand.”
Lorenzo approached.
“Who sent you?”
The man looked directly at him.
“The Falcone family did.”
Lorenzo stared.
“I am the Falcone family.”
The wounded man laughed harder.
“No.”
He looked toward Isabella.
“Not anymore.”
Then he bit down.
Vincent moved instantly.
Too late.
The man convulsed.
Poison.
Seconds later, he was dead.
Vivian stared in horror.
Lorenzo looked at Rocco.
“Who?”
Rocco’s answer changed everything.
“Antonio.”
Isabella’s face went white.
“My son?”
Rocco nodded.
“Antonio Falcone found his grandfather’s archive 3 years ago.”
“And now?”
May you like
Rocco looked around the warehouse.
“Now he’s rebuilding the empire you destroyed.”
