Chapter 6 - The Betrayal Beside the Wheelchair
Enzo reached the mansion in nineteen minutes.
Lucia rode beside him.
Nobody spoke.
Security vehicles surrounded them.
Enzo made three calls.
One to the physician.
One to the head of the outside security team.
One to Vittorio.
The third call lasted ten seconds.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“If you’re lying—”
“I’m not.”
Click.
When they arrived, the front doors were open.
Two guards had been disarmed.
Alive.
Marco had not slaughtered his way inside.
That mattered.
Enzo entered first.
Lucia stayed one step behind.
Alfonso’s suite door was open.
Marco stood behind the wheelchair.
One hand rested on Alfonso’s shoulder.
The other held a pistol.
Alfonso was conscious.
Pale.
Furious.
“Marco,” Enzo said.
Marco looked almost sad.
“I hoped you wouldn’t find the box.”
“Step away from him.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“No.”
Lucia moved slightly.
Marco noticed.
“Stay there, Miss Bellini.”
“Is he hurt?”
“No.”
“I need to check him.”
“No.”
“Marco, he can barely breathe.”
“I know.”
“You worked for this family twenty years.”
“Twenty-seven.”
“You carried him to bed when he couldn’t walk last winter.”
Marco’s jaw tightened.
“How do you know that?”
“He told me.”
Alfonso spoke weakly.
“She listens.”
Marco looked down at him.
Something passed through his face.
Pain.
Enzo saw it too.
“You cared about him,” Enzo said.
Marco swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Then lower the gun.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Salvatore has my daughter.”
Silence.
Lucia’s anger shifted.
Not disappeared.
Shifted.
Enzo lowered his gun slightly.
“What?”
Marco’s eyes filled.
“She is twenty-six. Graduate school in Boston. He took her two weeks ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because he showed me what would happen if I did.”
Enzo’s voice softened.
“We could have helped.”
“He said the moment I told you, she died.”
Marco looked at Alfonso.
“He wanted the ledger. Then Lucia appeared. Then the old records started moving again.”
Lucia asked, “Did you send the note?”
“Yes.”
“To scare me away.”
“Yes.”
“The blood?”
“From a butcher shop.”
Lucia almost laughed from disbelief.
“Why not tell me?”
“You would have stayed.”
He was right.
Marco looked at Enzo.
“I cut the cameras.”
“Did you arrange the shooter?”
“No.”
“The apartment?”
“No.”
“Who shot at us?”
“I don’t know.”
Alfonso coughed.
Lucia instinctively stepped forward.
Marco raised the gun.
“Stop.”
“He needs oxygen.”
“He has oxygen.”
“He needs more.”
“Lucia,” Enzo warned.
She ignored him.
“Marco, look at his lips.”
Marco glanced down.
Blue tint.
That was enough.
Lucia moved.
Fast.
She reached Alfonso.
Adjusted the oxygen.
Checked his pulse.
Marco did not shoot.
Enzo did not move.
The room balanced on one breath.
Lucia looked up at Marco.
“You don’t want him dead.”
“No.”
“Then let us help your daughter.”
Marco’s hand shook.
“You can’t.”
Enzo said, “Try me.”
Marco laughed bitterly.
“You think money fixes everything.”
“No.”
Enzo’s voice was quiet.
“But men do.”
Marco looked at him.
Enzo continued.
“I have men. Vittorio has contacts. Lucia has evidence. And Salvatore thinks you still work for him.”
Marco’s eyes sharpened.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying don’t tell him we know.”
Marco slowly lowered the gun.
Everything changed after that.
For the next six hours, the Marchetti mansion became a command center.
Vittorio was released from guard.
He and Enzo nearly killed each other verbally within ten minutes.
Lucia stopped them twice.
Alfonso slept.
Marco contacted Salvatore.
He claimed the bank box had been empty.
Salvatore did not believe him.
Then Marco offered something better.
Lucia.
He told Salvatore she had the flash drive.
A meeting was arranged.
An abandoned hotel outside the city.
Midnight.
Lucia listened.
Then said, “I’m going.”
Enzo turned.
“No.”
Here they were again.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Marco’s daughter is there because of evidence connected to my mother.”
“That does not make you responsible.”
“It makes me useful.”
“It makes you a target.”
“So are you.”
“I am accustomed to it.”
“Well, congratulations.”
Vittorio looked between them.
“I see why Alfonso likes her.”
Both turned.
“Not now,” they said together.
Vittorio smiled.
At eleven thirty, the team moved.
Lucia wore a concealed microphone.
No weapon.
Enzo hated that.
She knew because he checked the microphone three times.
“You pull this once,” he said, indicating a cord beneath her coat, “and we enter.”
“I know.”
“If anything feels wrong—”
“I pull.”
“If he moves toward you—”
“I pull.”
“If—”
“Enzo.”
He stopped.
Lucia looked at him.
“I’m scared too.”
His face changed.
She had not meant to say it.
But it was true.
Enzo stepped closer.
“I should never have let you become part of this.”
“You didn’t.”
“My family did.”
“My mother did, years ago.”
“No. Your mother tried to end it.”
Lucia looked down.
He touched her hand.
Not romantic.
Not exactly.
Something more honest.
“If we get through tonight,” he said, “I’m going to ask you something.”
She tried to smile.
“Your grandfather already did.”
“I’m not my grandfather.”
“I noticed.”
“What does that mean?”
“Later.”
He almost smiled.
Then she entered the hotel.
Salvatore DeLuca waited in the ballroom.
Camilla stood beside him.
Lucia stopped.
Camilla looked exhausted.
Not glamorous.
Not proud.
Afraid.
Salvatore was in his sixties.
Silver hair.
Expensive suit.
Cold eyes.
“So,” he said. “Elena’s daughter.”
Lucia held up the flash drive.
“Marco’s daughter first.”
Salvatore smiled.
“You inherited her courage.”
“Where is she?”
He nodded.
A side door opened.
A young woman was pushed into the ballroom.
Hands tied.
Alive.
Marco’s voice shook in Lucia’s earpiece.
That’s her.
Lucia swallowed.
“Release her.”
“Drive first.”
Lucia held it up.
Salvatore stepped closer.
Camilla suddenly said, “Father.”
He ignored her.
“Father.”
“What?”
“We should leave.”
Salvatore looked annoyed.
“You should have left four days ago when Alfonso embarrassed you.”
Camilla flinched.
Lucia understood.
Camilla had not sent the threats.
She had been trapped too.
Salvatore reached for the flash drive.
Lucia pulled back.
“Why did you kill Lorenzo Marchetti?”
His eyes changed.
Behind the walls, every microphone caught the question.
Salvatore smiled.
“Your mother asked the same thing.”
Lucia’s heart stopped.
“You saw my mother?”
“Oh, yes.”
“When?”
“The night before she died.”
Lucia forgot the plan.
Forgot the wire.
Forgot Enzo.
“My mother died from a brain aneurysm.”
Salvatore tilted his head.
“That is what the hospital wrote.”
Lucia could not breathe.
In her earpiece, Enzo said one word.
Lucia.
Warning.
She stared at Salvatore.
“What did you do?”
Salvatore stepped closer.
Then Camilla screamed.
“Dad, stop!”
A gunshot went off.
The ballroom lights shattered.
Lucia fell.
Someone grabbed her.
Men shouted.
The side door burst open.
Enzo’s voice cut through the darkness.
“LUCIA!”
May you like
She reached for the emergency cord.
But another hand closed around her wrist first.
