Chapter 5 - The CouncilVilla Carmina had no address.
At least, not one that appeared on any public map.
According to Giovanni, the estate officially belonged to a charitable foundation devoted to preserving medieval architecture. Unofficially, its underground rooms had hosted conversations responsible for assassinations, elections, bankruptcies, coups, and wars.
Sarah listened without interrupting as Giovanni explained the Council over dinner.
The three of them sat at Lorenzo’s long dining table. Sarah had cleaned only enough dust from it to prevent accidental poisoning. A bottle of wine stood between them.
“So these people control organized crime?” she asked.
Giovanni tore a piece of bread.
“They control access. Crime families believe guns create power. They are wrong. Banks create power. Courts create power. Ports create power.”
“And your brother?”
“Vittorio understood that.”
Lorenzo drank silently.
Giovanni continued.
“Your father joined the Council when he was twenty-eight. Youngest criminal representative they had ever accepted.”
“What did they want from him?”
“Chicago.”
Lorenzo looked up.
“The American routes.”
“Yes. Italian heroin moving west. American weapons moving east. Later cocaine. Money. Art. Political contributions.”
Sarah frowned.
“And then he betrayed them.”
Giovanni nodded.
“Because they ordered your mother killed.”
The room went silent.
Lorenzo slowly lowered his glass.
“What?”
Giovanni met his eyes.
“Your mother did not die from complications after surgery.”
Lorenzo stood so quickly his chair crashed backward.
Sarah rose too.
“Careful.”
But Lorenzo barely heard her.
“My mother died in a hospital.”
“Yes.”
“She had an aneurysm.”
“No.”
Lorenzo grabbed Giovanni by the throat.
“You have five seconds.”
Giovanni did not resist.
“They poisoned her medication.”
Sarah placed a hand on Lorenzo’s arm.
“Let him talk.”
Lorenzo released him.
Giovanni coughed.
“Vittorio had begun refusing orders. The Council wanted access to unions in Chicago. Your father feared they were becoming too powerful. He considered leaving.”
“So they killed my mother.”
“To remind him membership was permanent.”
Lorenzo turned away.
Sarah saw the grief before he buried it.
All those years, he had believed death had simply taken his mother.
Now death had a face.
An organization.
A purpose.
“What did Vittorio do?” Sarah asked.
“He stole the Registry.”
“The list of names.”
“Yes.”
“Why not expose it?”
“He intended to.”
Giovanni looked at Lorenzo.
“But then he realized exposing everyone at once would cause chaos. Governments would collapse. Judges would disappear. Intelligence operations would be exposed. Innocent people would die alongside guilty ones.”
“So he hid it.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Giovanni smiled sadly.
“If I knew, I would have retrieved it decades ago.”
Sarah studied him.
“Why did everyone think you were dead?”
“Because Vittorio arranged it.”
Lorenzo turned.
“My father helped you disappear?”
“He knew the Council would kill anyone close to him. He staged my death and sent me to Argentina.”
“Then why come back now?”
“Because someone found evidence that Vittorio passed the Registry to you.”
“He didn’t.”
“I believe you.”
“The Council won’t.”
“No.”
Lorenzo picked up his chair and sat again.
“Who leads them?”
“No single leader. Seven seats. Finance, law, logistics, intelligence, politics, enforcement, and arbitration.”
“Names.”
Giovanni hesitated.
Lorenzo stared.
“Names.”
“Matteo Bellandi controls finance. His father Antonio was in the photograph. Sofia Rinaldi controls politics. Colonel Erik Voss represents intelligence. Lucien Armand handles logistics. Tomas Varga enforcement.”
“Five.”
“The remaining two conceal themselves even from lower members.”
Sarah leaned back.
“A secret organization where the leadership is secret from the secret organization. Efficient.”
Giovanni almost smiled.
“You joke when you’re afraid.”
“I joke when other people are too dramatic.”
“She is afraid,” Lorenzo said.
Sarah looked at him.
“Thank you.”
“I can tell.”
“Would you like me to shoot you?”
“See?”
Giovanni laughed.
For a moment, tension eased.
Then Sarah asked the important question.
“What do they expect Lorenzo to do tomorrow?”
“Return the Registry.”
“He doesn’t have it.”
“They may test him.”
“How?”
“Torture.”
Lorenzo shrugged.
“They can try.”
Sarah ignored him.
“They invited him because they want information. That means they probably won’t kill him immediately.”
“Probably.”
“I hate that word.”
They spent the next day preparing.
Giovanni provided forged Italian identification and information about Villa Carmina’s security. Sarah studied floor plans until she could draw them from memory.
The estate had a main villa, gardens, chapel, wine cellar, underground conference chamber, and a tunnel leading toward an abandoned monastery.
“Escape route?” she asked.
Giovanni shook his head.
“Originally smugglers’ passage. The Council sealed part of it.”
“Part?”
“Nobody knows how much.”
Sarah tapped the blueprint.
“This section passes beneath the chapel.”
“Yes.”
“If things go bad, we use it.”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“When things go bad.”
“Optimism again.”
That afternoon, Lorenzo found Sarah outside beneath a cypress tree.
She was staring across the valley.
He approached quietly.
“You regret coming?”
“No.”
“Lie.”
She turned.
“I don’t regret coming with you.”
“But?”
“I regret believing we could stop.”
Lorenzo stood beside her.
“So do I.”
Sarah looked at him.
“Did you really want to retire?”
“Yes.”
“What would you have done?”
He thought.
“Wake up late.”
“That’s your fantasy?”
“I’ve never been allowed to wake up late.”
She smiled.
“What else?”
“Drink coffee. Walk through the vineyard. Learn how to grow grapes badly.”
“Very ambitious.”
“Maybe buy a dog.”
Sarah laughed.
“A mafia don with a Labrador?”
“German shepherd.”
“Of course.”
He looked at her.
“And you?”
“What?”
“If we had gotten the boring life.”
Sarah’s smile faded.
“I don’t know.”
For five years she had lived for revenge. Before that, she had been a daughter trying to survive grief.
Future plans had been a luxury.
“I might have gone back to school.”
“For what?”
“Medicine.”
Lorenzo looked surprised.
“My mother was sick for years. I used to read everything the doctors gave us. I thought maybe I’d become a nurse. Then everything happened.”
“You still could.”
Sarah looked at the mansion.
“Assuming we don’t get tortured tomorrow.”
“There’s the optimism I like.”
He reached for her hand.
She let him take it.
“I meant what I said in Chicago,” he told her.
“About what?”
“Not controlling you.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow.
“I know.”
“But I need you to understand something.”
His voice changed.
“If this meeting becomes impossible, you leave.”
“No.”
“Sarah.”
“No.”
“Please.”
That stopped her.
Lorenzo Moretti did not say please.
He faced her.
“I’ve buried everyone I ever loved. My mother. My father. Men I called brothers. Women I thought would stay. I spent twenty years believing attachment was a weakness because eventually someone uses it against you.”
His thumb moved across her knuckles.
“And now they already have.”
Sarah’s throat tightened.
“You think that means you should push me away.”
“I think it means I finally understand why my father became afraid.”
She stepped closer.
“If they use me against you, then we make that dangerous for them.”
“Sarah—”
“You don’t get to decide whether I risk myself.”
“No.”
“But you can trust me.”
Lorenzo looked into her eyes.
Slowly, he nodded.
“I trust you.”
“Good.”
She kissed him.
Not desperately like in the car.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
A promise rather than a celebration.
When they separated, Sarah whispered, “Now teach me the Italian phrase for ‘take your secret organization and shove it.’”
Lorenzo laughed.
That evening, Giovanni returned with clothing.
Lorenzo received a black suit.
Sarah received a dark green gown.
“No masks?” she asked.
“Not this time,” Giovanni said. “The Council wants faces visible.”
“Pity.”
Midnight approached.
They drove toward Villa Carmina in Giovanni’s Mercedes.
The estate appeared beyond tall iron gates.
Armed guards waited.
No uniforms.
No insignia.
The car stopped.
A guard opened Lorenzo’s door.
“Mr. Moretti.”
Not surprise.
Not fear.
They truly expected him.
Sarah exited.
The guard stared at her.
“Ms. Miller.”
Sarah smiled.
“Nice to know the guest list is accurate.”
Their weapons were taken.
Phones confiscated.
Then they were escorted through the villa.
No music.
No servants.
Only paintings, candlelight, and security cameras.
The underground conference chamber was beneath the library.
Seven chairs formed a semicircle.
Five were occupied.
Matteo Bellandi was perhaps sixty, silver-haired and elegant.
Sofia Rinaldi looked younger, maybe fifty, dressed like a politician.
Lucien Armand was thin and expressionless.
Voss had the posture of a soldier.
Varga looked exactly like what he was: violence wearing a suit.
Two chairs remained hidden behind frosted glass panels.
Lorenzo and Sarah stood before them.
Bellandi smiled.
“Lorenzo Moretti.”
“Matteo.”
“You resemble your father.”
“I hope that’s not a compliment.”
Bellandi’s smile vanished.
“You possess something belonging to us.”
“No.”
“Your father stole the Registry.”
“My father is dead.”
“He gave it to you.”
“No.”
Varga leaned forward.
“We can discover whether he lies.”
Sarah spoke.
“If your interrogation methods are half as outdated as your decor, this could take all night.”
Every eye turned toward her.
Lorenzo almost smiled.
Bellandi studied Sarah.
“Arthur Miller’s daughter.”
“Yes.”
“Your father once worked for Vittorio.”
“My father worked for Lorenzo.”
“And died because of it.”
Sarah’s expression froze.
Lorenzo stepped closer.
“Careful.”
Bellandi lifted a hand.
“We did not bring you here to discuss old grievances.”
“Then tell me what evidence you have that I possess this Registry.”
Colonel Voss placed a photograph on the table.
Lorenzo stared.
It showed his father standing outside a Chicago bank.
Beside him was twelve-year-old Lorenzo.
On the back, Vittorio had written a note.
WHEN THE BOY IS READY, HE WILL HAVE THE KEY.
Lorenzo frowned.
“I’ve never seen this.”
Bellandi produced another object.
A small brass key.
Sarah’s pulse quickened.
“Where did you get that?”
“Marco Vain.”
Lorenzo looked up.
Bellandi smiled.
“Your traitor survived the hotel.”
The room seemed to shrink.
“He was taken,” Lorenzo said.
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
“Us.”
Sarah’s hand curled into a fist.
Bellandi continued.
“Marco told us Vittorio entrusted you with a safety-deposit key as a child.”
Lorenzo stared at the brass object.
A memory surfaced.
His father taking him downtown.
A bank.
A private room.
A metal box.
Lorenzo had been twelve.
He remembered being bored.
He remembered his father saying something.
If anything happens to me, remember this room.
His blood turned cold.
“I know the bank.”
Bellandi leaned back.
“We thought you might.”
Sarah looked at Lorenzo.
He had the expression of a man watching a grave open.
Bellandi pushed the key across the table.
“Tomorrow morning, you will take us to it.”
“And if I refuse?”
A scream echoed somewhere beyond the chamber.
Sarah froze.
Another scream.
Male.
Bellandi pressed a button.
A wall screen illuminated.
Marco Vain appeared on camera.
Alive.
Barely.
He was tied to a chair in a concrete room.
His face was bruised.
One hand was missing two fingers.
Lorenzo showed no emotion.
Marco looked toward the camera.
“Lorenzo,” he rasped.
Bellandi spoke.
“Mr. Vain has been useful.”
Marco began laughing weakly.
“You think they want the ledger?”
Lorenzo stared at him.
Marco’s grin was bloody.
“They want what’s inside it.”
Bellandi switched off the screen.
“Enough.”
But Sarah had seen something.
Behind Marco.
Painted on the wall.
A number.
She memorized it.
Bellandi stood.
“Tomorrow. Nine o’clock. Banco Fiorentino.”
Lorenzo picked up the key.
“If the box is empty?”
Varga smiled.
“Then we begin searching inside people instead.”
His eyes moved to Sarah.
Lorenzo stepped toward him.
Three guards immediately entered.
Sarah caught Lorenzo’s wrist.
“Not here.”
He stopped.
Barely.
Bellandi smiled.
“Your father made the mistake of thinking love gave him strength.”
Lorenzo looked at Sarah.
Then back at Bellandi.
“No.”
His voice was quiet.
May you like
“My father’s mistake was leaving you alive.”
And for the first time that night, Matteo Bellandi stopped smiling.
