Chapter 9 - What Matteo Left BehindLuca pulled me through a narrow servants’ alcove behind the chapel wall.
It was barely wide enough for both of us. Dust clung to my face. My shoulder scraped old plaster. Through a decorative vent, I could see Vincent and Greco leave the chapel, still arguing in low voices.
Luca did not breathe until their footsteps faded.
Then he held up the blue-wrapped key.
“Rosa sent me first,” he whispered.
I almost collapsed from relief.
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
“She said you would argue.”
“She was right.”
Luca was nineteen, thin, nervous, and always dropping plates when Lorenzo entered the kitchen. Tonight, his hands were steady.
“Maria told Rosa after they took her,” he said. “Rosa sent me through the bread passage.”
I closed my eyes. Another hidden passage.
“Did anyone see you?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
He swallowed.
That was answer enough.
My earpiece crackled.
Marco’s voice. “Sophia, status.”
“I have Luca. He has the key.”
A silence.
Then Lorenzo said, “Bring it to my office.”
I stared at the vent.
“What?”
“My safe is useless if we leave the contents there.”
Marco cut in. “He’s right.”
I hated when dangerous men were right.
“The office will be guarded,” I whispered.
“Yes,” Lorenzo said. “That is why you won’t enter through the door.”
Of course.
Luca led me deeper into the alcove. Behind the wall was a low passage used, apparently, by servants in some century when rich people preferred not to see the humans carrying their food. It ran behind the chapel, under the west stairs, and ended near Lorenzo’s private study.
As we moved, Luca whispered, “Is it true?”
“What?”
“Mr. Duca is alive?”
I hesitated.
Luca’s eyes pleaded.
“Yes,” I said.
His breath came out hard. “Good.”
The answer surprised me.
“You’re loyal to him?”
Luca looked embarrassed. “My mother was sick last year. Mr. Duca paid the hospital.”
I had not known that.
“He told me if I told anyone, he would deny it,” Luca added.
That sounded like Lorenzo.
Kindness hidden like contraband.
We reached a panel behind a bookcase. Through a narrow crack, I saw Lorenzo’s office.
The room looked untouched at first glance.
Walnut desk polished. Leather chairs arranged perfectly. Bronze lamp glowing warmly. Bookshelves lined with old law books no one read. The portrait of Lorenzo’s father stared down from the wall with cold Duca eyes.
But Vincent’s presence had poisoned it.
His glass sat on the desk.
His jacket hung over Lorenzo’s chair.
My stomach twisted.
Nobody sat there.
Nobody.
Now his jacket rested over it like a flag.
Two guards stood outside the office doors. None inside.
Luca pointed to a small latch near the panel.
I pushed.
Nothing.
Luca tried.
Nothing.
The panel was stuck.
My earpiece crackled. “Problem?” Marco asked.
“Panel won’t open.”
“Push low on the right.”
I did.
The panel released silently.
Luca and I slipped into the office.
The room smelled of cigar smoke and Vincent’s cologne.
I crossed to the desk.
“Where is the safe?” I whispered.
Lorenzo’s voice answered in my ear. “Behind my father.”
Of course.
I moved to the portrait.
Up close, Lorenzo’s father looked even colder.
“Sorry,” I muttered, then lifted the frame.
Behind it was a steel panel with two keyholes and a number pad.
I inserted Lorenzo’s key from the drawer where Marco said it would be taped underneath.
Then Alessio’s key, still wrapped in blue thread.
The number pad blinked.
“Code?” I whispered.
Lorenzo said, “Three. One. Seven.”
My hand froze.
The time on the pocket watch.
3:17.
I entered it.
The safe opened.
Inside were stacks of files, hard drives, envelopes, passports, cash, and a black leather ledger.
But on top sat a small photograph.
My breath caught.
Matteo.
My husband stood beside Alessio Duca near a mechanic’s garage, both younger, both smiling. Matteo had one hand lifted as if telling whoever held the camera to stop. Alessio had Lorenzo’s eyes but a warmer face.
Written across the bottom in Matteo’s handwriting were four words:
For Sophia, if needed.
My knees weakened.
Luca grabbed my elbow.
In the earpiece, Lorenzo said quietly, “What do you see?”
I could not speak.
I picked up the photograph with shaking fingers.
Behind it was an envelope.
My name.
Sophia.
Not Mrs. Carter.
Sophia.
My husband’s handwriting.
The office blurred.
“Sophia,” Marco said. “Move. You do not have time.”
But my fingers had already opened the envelope.
Inside was a letter.
Only one page.
I read the first lines.
My love, if you are reading this, I failed to come home. I am sorry. I found something I was never supposed to hear. Alessio trusted the wrong brother, and I trusted the wrong friend. Do not trust Vincent Romano. Do not let him near our child.
Our child.
Matteo had written this before Emma was born.
Before he knew she would have his smile.
Before Vincent took him from us.
Tears fell onto the paper.
Luca whispered, “Sophia.”
Outside the office door, one guard said, “Did you hear that?”
I froze.
The other guard replied, “Hear what?”
The first one tried the handle.
Locked.
“Mr. Romano said no one enters.”
“He also said search everywhere.”
The handle turned again.
I shoved the letter into my blouse and began pulling files from the safe.
“What do we take?” I whispered.
“All of it,” Lorenzo said.
“There are too many.”
“Black ledger. Silver drive. Red folder marked A.D. Envelope marked Greco. Then close it.”
I grabbed each item, hands flying.
Luca took the ledger.
I took the drive and folders.
The guard outside knocked.
“Anyone in there?”
Luca’s face went white.
I closed the safe and lowered the portrait.
The guard unlocked the office door.
We ran for the panel.
It stuck halfway.
The door opened.
Light from the hallway spilled across the carpet.
“Hey!”
Luca shoved me through the panel first.
A hand grabbed the back of my dress.
Fabric tore.
I twisted, striking blindly with my elbow.
The guard cursed.
Luca slammed the panel shut from the inside, catching the man’s fingers. He screamed.
We ran through the passage.
Behind us, the wall shook as the guard pounded on the hidden panel.
The house alarm changed pitch.
Vincent knew.
We emerged near the old pantry stairs, breathless.
Marco waited there.
He took the ledger from Luca and the folders from me.
Then he saw my face.
“What?”
I pulled Matteo’s letter from my blouse.
Marco’s expression changed.
He did not ask.
He only said, “Later.”
But later no longer existed.
Above us, Vincent’s voice erupted over the intercom, stripped of all charm.
“Seal every exit. Shoot Marco Bruno on sight.”
A pause.
May you like
Then:
“And bring me Sophia Carter alive.”
