Chapter 8 - Six Hours to Bring Him HomeThey found Rafael in ninety-three minutes.
Not because Matteo made a mistake.
Because Rafael did something brilliant.
His medical monitor transmitted diagnostic information automatically to a specialist clinic.
Matteo had taken the monitor with him because Rafael needed it.
Rafael knew that.
So he deliberately triggered a minor alert.
The device sent data.
The clinic logged the location.
An abandoned hotel outside Palermo.
Isabela kissed the screen when Enzo showed her.
“My brother is a genius.”
“He’s also reckless,” Damiano said.
“Runs in the family.”
The rescue plan was simple.
Which meant it immediately went wrong.
Matteo expected them.
The hotel was empty except for Rafael and six armed men.
Matteo was gone.
Isabela waited in the command vehicle while Damiano led the entry team.
She hated every second.
Gunfire sounded through the communication channel.
Then silence.
“Damiano?”
Nothing.
“Enzo?”
Static.
Her heart hammered.
Finally:
“We have Rafael.”
She nearly collapsed.
“Damiano?”
A pause.
Then his voice.
“I’m here.”
She closed her eyes.
“Bring him home.”
Rafael emerged twelve minutes later.
She ran to him.
He was pale but smiling.
“Told you not to give him anything.”
She hit his shoulder.
“Ow.”
Then hugged him so tightly he complained he needed oxygen.
Damiano approached.
Blood covered his sleeve.
Isabela saw it.
“You’re hurt.”
“Not mine.”
She stared.
“Mostly.”
“Damiano.”
“Scratch.”
It was not a scratch.
A bullet had grazed his upper arm.
Back at the villa, Isabela cleaned the wound herself.
“You have doctors.”
“I know.”
“Nurses.”
“Yes.”
“People professionally qualified.”
“Stop talking.”
He obeyed.
Mostly.
When she finished, he caught her wrist.
“You were good today.”
“I sat in a vehicle.”
“You made decisions.”
“So did you.”
“I’m accustomed to it.”
“I’m becoming accustomed.”
“That worries me.”
“Why?”
He looked at her.
“Because this world rewards people for becoming harder.”
She understood.
“You think I’m changing.”
“Yes.”
“Do you dislike who I’m becoming?”
“No.”
That answer came instantly.
“I’m afraid you’ll lose the woman who sang while cleaning windows.”
Isabela smiled faintly.
“She’s still here.”
“Good.”
“She’s just armed now.”
He laughed.
Then kissed her.
Not desperately.
Not possessively.
Slowly.
Like reassurance.
Later, Rafael revealed what he had learned.
“Matteo talked too much.”
They gathered around the library table.
“He thinks Lucia betrayed him.”
“How?” Isabela asked.
“She was supposed to convince you to surrender the trust.”
“She didn’t.”
“Exactly.”
Rafael leaned forward.
“He also said something about a ledger.”
“What ledger?”
“Carmela’s.”
Isabela frowned.
“The recipe book?”
“No. Something called the Black Ledger.”
Damiano’s expression changed.
“What?”
“You know it?”
“My father searched for it for twenty years.”
The Black Ledger supposedly documented agreements between major Sicilian organizations, politicians, businesses, and financial intermediaries.
Enough information to destroy reputations.
Empires.
Families.
“Where is it?” Isabela asked.
“No one knows.”
Rafael smiled.
“I might.”
Everyone looked at him.
“Matteo said, ‘The old woman hid the ledger where only the girl who remembered the song could find it.’”
Isabela’s skin prickled.
“The song again.”
Carmela had hidden coordinates in music once.
Perhaps more than once.
They returned to the lullaby.
Hours passed.
Notes.
Lyrics.
Translations.
Isabela sang each verse.
Damiano listened.
Rafael mapped syllables against numbers.
Nothing.
Then Rosa entered.
“You’re singing it wrong.”
Isabela stopped.
“What?”
“The last verse.”
“That’s how Grandma taught me.”
“No.”
Rosa looked emotional.
“That’s how she taught you.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Carmela changed one line after your mother died.”
“Why?”
Rosa sang the original.
The difference was tiny.
One word.
Instead of mare — sea — Carmela had taught Isabela madre — mother.
Sea became mother.
Rafael typed quickly.
“Wait.”
He compared the words to coordinates.
Then looked up.
“You’re kidding.”
“Where?”
He turned the screen.
A location appeared.
Not Switzerland.
Not Sicily.
Providence.
Carmela’s old restaurant.
The building had been sold twenty years earlier.
Now it was a laundromat.
Three days later, they stood in its basement.
Behind a brick wall, they found a steel box.
Inside:
The Black Ledger.
And another letter.
This one addressed directly to Isabela.
She stared at her name.
Not Renata.
Not Lucia.
Isabela.
Carmela had written it before she died.
She had known.
Somehow, years before Isabela understood anything, her grandmother had known the day might come when the little girl listening to songs in a Providence kitchen would need everything hidden inside them.
Isabela opened the letter.
My beautiful Bella.
May you like
Tears blurred the words.
If you found this, then you finally know why I taught you to sing.
