Chapter 2 - The Necklace From the Grave
Matteo moved before Valentina could.
One second he was beside Antonio's bed.
The next, he had placed himself between Valentina and the man in the doorway.
Enzo and the second bodyguard, Carlo, appeared behind him.
The stranger didn't run.
That was what disturbed Valentina most.
He stood beneath the sterile hospital lights wearing an ordinary gray coat, one hand dangling at his side.
In the other was the necklace.
Gold.
Old.
A crowned lion suspended from a thin chain.
Valentina hadn't seen it since childhood.
She remembered her grandmother Lucia standing in a tiny Queens kitchen, gripping that pendant so tightly the edges cut into her palm.
Never ask again.
“Who are you?” Valentina demanded.
The man smiled at her.
“Your grandmother would be disappointed you don't recognize family.”
Matteo's shoulders hardened.
Valentina's heart stumbled.
“Family?”
“Doctor,” Matteo said quietly, “stay behind me.”
She stepped sideways so she could see.
“I don't take instructions well.”
“I noticed.”
The stranger laughed.
“So this is Matteo Bellandi.”
“You know me,” Matteo said.
“Everyone knows you.”
“Then you know leaving would be wise.”
The stranger's smile disappeared.
“Oh, I didn't come here for you.”
His eyes settled on Valentina.
“I came to return something.”
He placed the necklace on a rolling tray.
Carlo moved toward him.
The stranger raised both hands.
“No weapon.”
Carlo searched him anyway.
Nothing.
“No ID either,” Carlo said.
“Who are you?” Valentina repeated.
“Salvatore Renda.”
The name meant nothing to her.
It meant something to Matteo.
She saw it instantly.
“Renda,” Matteo said.
Salvatore inclined his head.
“So you remember.”
“What do you want?”
“I told you. I came to return what belongs to Dr. Marchese.”
Valentina stared at the necklace.
“You photographed me this morning?”
“No.”
“You sent the message?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know I received it?”
Salvatore's eyes flicked toward her phone.
Matteo noticed.
His voice lowered.
“Enough.”
Salvatore looked amused again.
“The famous Bellandi temper.”
“The famous Bellandi patience,” Matteo corrected. “You're reaching the end of it.”
Salvatore glanced past him toward Antonio.
“Ask your cousin why he came to this hospital carrying Lucia Marchese's ring.”
Antonio's monitor accelerated.
Valentina looked at him.
His eyes had closed again.
“Antonio?”
No response.
A nurse hurried in.
Valentina switched instantly from granddaughter to surgeon.
“Everyone out.”
Matteo remained.
“Especially you.”
He obeyed.
That surprised her.
Ten minutes later, Antonio was sedated.
Stable.
Valentina stepped into the corridor.
Salvatore was gone.
“How did he leave?”
Carlo looked furious.
“Fire stairwell. Security camera on that floor went dark for ninety seconds.”
Valentina faced Matteo.
“You knew his name.”
“Yes.”
“Explain.”
“Not here.”
“That's becoming your favorite phrase.”
“Because people keep trying to kill members of my family inside your workplace.”
“And now my dead grandmother is apparently involved with those people.”
Matteo picked up the necklace using a tissue.
He studied the back.
“There.”
A shallow engraving ran across the pendant.
L.M. — 1989.
Valentina had never noticed it.
“What happened in 1989?” she asked.
Matteo didn't answer immediately.
Then he said, “My father was murdered.”
The corridor suddenly seemed colder.
“And?”
“And the man accused of arranging it was Giuseppe Marchese.”
Valentina stared at him.
“My grandfather?”
“Yes.”
“My grandfather died before I was born.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Officially?”
Matteo's expression tightened.
“Heart attack.”
“And unofficially?”
“He disappeared.”
Valentina laughed once, without humor.
“Wonderful. My dead grandmother had your family crest, my dead grandfather was accused of murdering your father, and your cousin gets shot carrying a ring with my initials.”
“That's the situation.”
“You say that like we're discussing lab results.”
“Panic won't make it less true.”
“No. But punching someone might make me feel better.”
His mouth threatened a smile.
“Still not afraid?”
“I'm considering whether you're the least annoying person involved, which is terrifying.”
Matteo looked at her longer than necessary.
Valentina looked away first.
She hated that too.
“Why was your father killed?” she asked.
“He was trying to leave something behind.”
“The mafia?”
Matteo's gaze sharpened.
“Careful.”
“What? Is the word offensive?”
“The assumption is inaccurate.”
“Your employees stand like trained security, half the hospital is afraid to make eye contact with you, and someone just disabled cameras to walk away from us.”
“My family has enemies.”
“So does the IRS.”
That earned the first actual laugh she'd heard from him.
Short.
Low.
Unexpected.
Valentina crossed her arms.
“Explain 1989.”
Matteo sobered.
“My father believed someone inside the Bellandi organization was stealing from us and using our shipping company to move things that had nothing to do with our legitimate businesses.”
“What things?”
“People.”
Valentina's irritation disappeared.
“Human trafficking?”
“We didn't know then.”
“And my grandfather?”
“Giuseppe Marchese was an accountant. He found the records.”
Valentina stared at him.
“You just said your family believed he killed your father.”
“My uncle believed it.”
“You don't?”
Matteo looked at the necklace.
“I stopped believing many things my uncle told me.”
“Which uncle?”
“Domenico Bellandi.”
Valentina knew that name too.
The respected patriarch.
Charity galas.
Church donations.
Photographs with politicians.
If Matteo was feared, Domenico was admired.
“What does he have to do with me?”
“I don't know yet.”
Valentina's phone buzzed again.
She flinched.
Matteo noticed.
The message came from her younger brother, Nico.
CALL ME.
She dialed immediately.
No answer.
She called again.
Nothing.
A third message appeared.
Not from Nico.
Unknown number.
YOUR BROTHER OPENED THE BOX.
Valentina's blood turned cold.
“What box?”
Matteo read the screen.
“Where does your brother live?”
“Brooklyn.”
“We're going.”
“I'll drive.”
“No.”
“Matteo—”
“My car has reinforced glass.”
Valentina stared at him.
“That's not the reassuring detail you think it is.”
Twenty minutes later she was sitting in the rear of a black SUV beside Matteo while Enzo drove and Carlo followed in another vehicle.
Valentina looked at Manhattan sliding beyond the window.
“How often do women get into your car voluntarily?”
Matteo turned his head.
“Are you asking for statistics?”
“I'm establishing whether kidnapping surgeons is part of your normal Tuesday.”
“You got in willingly.”
“Under protest.”
“That still counts.”
She almost smiled.
Almost.
Then she remembered Nico.
She called again.
No answer.
Matteo watched the anxiety in her face.
“He's twenty-six?”
“How do you know that?”
“I had Enzo check.”
“You investigated my family?”
“I had ten minutes.”
“That doesn't improve the sentence.”
“Nico Marchese. Architect. No criminal record. One speeding ticket.”
“You looked up his speeding tickets?”
“You're focusing on the wrong thing.”
“I decide what the wrong thing is.”
His eyes warmed.
Valentina hated the warmth.
It made it too easy to forget what kind of man she was sitting beside.
“Why didn't you become a doctor?” she asked suddenly.
Matteo blinked.
“What?”
“You understand medical terminology.”
“My mother was a nurse.”
That softened something in Valentina despite herself.
“She worked?”
“Until she got sick.”
“What happened?”
“Cancer.”
“I'm sorry.”
Matteo looked out the window.
“She would have liked you.”
Valentina stared.
“You've known me two hours.”
“She liked difficult women.”
“I am not difficult.”
Enzo coughed from the driver's seat.
Valentina pointed at him.
“Don't.”
Enzo raised one hand.
“I said nothing.”
They reached Nico's building.
His apartment door was open.
Valentina ran inside.
“Nico!”
No answer.
Furniture had been moved.
A lamp lay broken.
But there was no blood.
Matteo entered behind her.
“Don't touch anything.”
“This is my brother's apartment.”
“Exactly.”
Valentina ignored him.
“Nico!”
A sound came from the bedroom.
She rushed toward it.
Matteo caught her elbow.
“Behind me.”
She pulled free.
Together they entered.
Empty.
A cardboard box sat on Nico's bed.
Old.
Dusty.
Valentina recognized her grandmother's handwriting across the top.
FOR VALENTINA.
Her hands trembled for the first time that night.
“How did Nico get this?”
Matteo examined the room.
“Open it.”
Inside was an envelope.
A cassette tape.
Several photographs.
A ledger.
And a small key.
Valentina picked up the first photograph.
Her grandmother Lucia stood outside a warehouse beside a much younger man.
Matteo took the picture.
His face went pale.
“That's my father.”
Valentina turned over the photograph.
A handwritten sentence covered the back.
If anything happens to us, Domenico knows why.
Valentina looked up.
Matteo's expression had changed completely.
Then someone knocked.
Three slow taps.
A pause.
Two more.
Matteo drew Valentina behind him.
Enzo moved toward the door.
“Who is it?”
No answer.
A phone began ringing inside the cardboard box.
Valentina stared.
There was an old flip phone beneath the photographs.
Impossible.
It shouldn't have had power.
It rang again.
Valentina opened it.
One incoming call.
The display showed a name.
May you like
GRANDMOTHER LUCIA.
Valentina's dead grandmother was calling.
