Chapter 2 - Eight Months of Missing Money
Maria blocked the doorway.
Matteo did not attempt to pass her.
"Who was that?"
"No one."
"You and your sister really do lie the same way."
Maria almost smiled.
Almost.
Then the exhaustion returned to her face.
"You need to leave."
"I came because Isabella has been selling her belongings."
Maria looked down.
"She told you?"
"No."
"Then you shouldn't know."
"She's my wife."
"And I'm her sister."
Neither spoke.
Matteo finally said, "Is she in danger?"
Maria's eyes lifted.
"No."
"Are you?"
That question struck harder.
Maria turned toward the house.
"I don't know what Isabella told you about me."
"Almost nothing."
Pain crossed Maria's face.
"Of course."
She stepped onto the porch and pulled the door nearly closed behind her.
"She wasn't ashamed of you," Matteo said.
Maria laughed quietly.
"You don't know that."
"I know her."
"Do you?"
The question irritated him because he no longer knew the answer.
Maria folded her arms against the morning cold.
"When Isabella married you, she made me promise never to contact her through anything connected to your household."
"Why?"
"Because she wanted this part of her life separate."
"Why?"
Maria studied him.
"You really don't know."
"No."
"Then maybe she had a reason."
Matteo's jaw tightened.
"I'm not here to interrogate you."
"Could've fooled me."
"I'm here because my wife has been secretly sending money to San Aurelio for eight months."
Maria's face hardened.
"Then stop looking."
"She sold her bracelet."
Silence.
"The necklace."
Maria looked away.
"The earrings."
"Stop."
"Why?"
"Because I know what she sold."
That stopped him.
Maria's voice broke.
"I begged her not to."
Matteo felt the anger drain out of him.
"What happened?"
Maria sat slowly on the porch chair.
For the first time, Matteo noticed how carefully she moved.
She seemed exhausted by the simple act of sitting.
He remained standing until she gestured toward the other chair.
"You might as well sit. You drove four hours."
Matteo sat.
Maria stared across the small yard.
"I worked at Bellmont Textiles."
Matteo knew the name.
One of San Aurelio's largest remaining employers.
"Two years ago, the factory downsized. Then it shut one division completely. I lost my insurance."
She rubbed her hands together.
"I already had health problems. Nothing dramatic at first. Appointments. Medication. Tests."
Matteo said nothing.
"It got worse."
Her voice stayed matter-of-fact.
That made it harder to hear.
"Isabella found out eight months ago."
"How?"
"I fainted at work."
"You were still working?"
"Different job."
Maria smiled bitterly.
"People who need rent don't get to be delicate."
Matteo glanced toward the peeling house.
"Why didn't she tell me?"
Maria looked directly at him.
"Because of Uncle Victor."
The name changed everything.
Victor Marino.
Isabella's uncle.
The man whose business relationship had helped create their marriage.
"What does Victor have to do with this?"
Maria stood.
"I've already said too much."
"Maria."
"No."
She moved toward the door.
Matteo stood too.
"Does Victor know Isabella has been helping you?"
Maria froze.
There.
Another answer without words.
Matteo's voice dropped.
"What did he do?"
Maria opened the door.
"You need to ask your wife."
"She won't tell me."
"Then maybe ask yourself why."
She stepped inside.
Before closing the door, she looked at him once more.
"Isabella didn't sell those things because she didn't value what you gave her."
"I know."
"No, you don't."
Maria swallowed.
"She sold them because they were the only things she owned that Victor couldn't trace."
The door closed.
Matteo stood on the porch.
For several seconds, he didn't move.
Then he returned to the sedan.
"Home?" the driver asked.
Matteo looked at the gray folder on the seat.
"No."
He opened it again.
He studied every transfer.
Every institution.
Every date.
Then he noticed something Luca had marked but not explained.
Three transfers had been rejected.
Each rejection happened within twenty-four hours of a deposit from a Marino-controlled company.
Coincidence?
Matteo no longer believed in coincidence.
"Take me to Bellmont Textiles."
The old factory sat on the edge of town.
Half the windows were boarded.
A security guard initially refused entry until Matteo explained that he was looking for employment records connected to a private family matter.
The manager, Helen Ward, recognized Maria's name.
"Good worker," she said. "Too stubborn."
"Why?"
"She kept working when she shouldn't have."
Helen pulled an archived personnel file.
"I can't give you medical information."
"I'm not asking."
"What are you asking?"
"Whether anyone from the Marino family contacted this company about her."
Helen's expression changed.
Matteo noticed.
"Someone did."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't need to."
Helen closed the file.
"You should leave."
Matteo leaned back.
"I'm not here to cause trouble."
"People who say that usually bring it."
"I'm trying to understand why my wife has spent eight months hiding financial help to her sister."
Helen stared at him.
Then she opened a drawer.
She removed an envelope.
"This arrived after Maria was laid off."
"From whom?"
"No return address."
Inside was a photocopy of an old company document.
At the bottom was a Marino Logistics stamp.
Matteo read the page.
Then read it again.
It wasn't about Maria's health.
It was about property.
The white house at Number 18 had once belonged to Isabella and Maria's mother.
Years earlier, the title had been transferred.
Not to Maria.
Not to Isabella.
To a holding company.
A company connected to Victor Marino.
"Why would Maria still be living there?"
Helen answered quietly.
"Because someone lets her."
Matteo looked up.
"Someone?"
Helen nodded.
"And every time Maria gets close to paying off her debts, another claim appears against the property."
Matteo felt something cold settle in his chest.
"Who files the claims?"
Helen didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
His phone vibrated.
Isabella.
He stared at her name.
He answered.
"Where are you?"
Her voice was calm.
Too calm.
"Out."
"Matteo."
He closed his eyes.
She knew.
"Who told you?"
"Luca came to the house looking for you."
Matteo cursed silently.
"Isabella—"
"Are you in San Aurelio?"
He didn't lie.
"Yes."
Silence.
Then:
"Did you see Maria?"
"Yes."
Isabella inhaled sharply.
"You had no right."
"My wife was selling her jewelry to secretly pay bills connected to her sister. What was I supposed to do?"
"Trust me."
"I tried."
"No. You investigated me."
"Because you looked terrified."
"I was terrified."
"Of what?"
Isabella didn't answer.
"Victor?"
Another silence.
Matteo stood.
"Isabella, what did Victor do?"
"Come home."
"Tell me."
"Come home now."
"Not until I understand."
Her voice suddenly broke.
"Matteo, please."
He had heard Isabella angry.
Happy.
Annoyed.
He had almost never heard her beg.
"Why?"
"Because if Victor finds out you've been asking questions in San Aurelio, Maria could lose everything."
Matteo looked at the document.
"Her house?"
"No."
The word came immediately.
Matteo's pulse changed.
"What, then?"
Isabella began to answer.
But another voice sounded through her phone.
A man's voice.
Close to her.
Inside their house.
"Isabella?"
She stopped breathing.
Matteo knew the voice.
May you like
Victor Marino.
Then the call went dead.
