Chapter 3 - The Voice That Shouldn't Exist
Valentina couldn't move.
The phone vibrated in her hand.
GRANDMOTHER LUCIA.
Again.
Again.
Matteo stared at the screen.
“Don't answer.”
Valentina pressed the button.
“Hello?”
Static.
Then breathing.
A woman's voice spoke.
“Valentina?”
Her knees nearly failed.
It wasn't Lucia.
But the voice knew how Lucia had pronounced her name.
Soft vowels.
Old Palermo rhythm.
“Who is this?”
“You finally found the box.”
“Where is my brother?”
Silence.
Valentina's grip tightened.
“Where is Nico?”
“He's alive.”
Matteo leaned closer, listening.
The woman continued.
“Play the tape before you trust Matteo Bellandi.”
The call ended.
Valentina slowly lowered the phone.
Matteo's face revealed nothing.
“You heard her.”
“Yes.”
“She told me not to trust you.”
“I heard that part too.”
“You don't seem offended.”
“I've been called worse things tonight.”
Valentina looked at the cassette.
They found an old player in Nico's closet.
It took batteries from a kitchen drawer.
Valentina inserted the tape.
Lucia Marchese's voice filled the bedroom.
Real.
Unmistakable.
“If Valentina is hearing this, then we failed.”
Valentina sat down.
Matteo remained standing.
Lucia continued.
“Giuseppe was innocent. Paolo Bellandi was innocent. We found the same crime from different directions.”
Matteo closed his eyes.
Paolo.
His father.
“The man responsible was not Giuseppe,” Lucia said. “And it was not Paolo. It was someone both families trusted.”
A pause crackled through the tape.
“Domenico Bellandi.”
Matteo's eyes opened.
Valentina looked at him.
His face had become stone.
Lucia explained that Domenico had used Bellandi shipping routes to move vulnerable women through ports controlled by corrupt officials. Paolo discovered unusual manifests. Giuseppe traced the money.
Together, they planned to expose him.
Before they could, Paolo was murdered.
Giuseppe disappeared.
Lucia fled.
“She lied about everything,” Valentina whispered.
“She kept you alive,” Matteo said.
The tape continued.
“Domenico will blame Giuseppe. He will raise Paolo's son believing the Marcheses destroyed his family. Hatred is easier to control than truth.”
Matteo turned away.
Valentina saw the blow land even though he made no sound.
Lucia's voice softened.
“If Matteo ever learns this, tell him his father trusted Giuseppe with his life.”
The tape clicked off.
Nobody spoke.
Finally Valentina said, “I'm sorry.”
Matteo stared at the photograph.
“For what?”
“Everything you were made to believe.”
He swallowed.
“My uncle raised me.”
“That doesn't make Lucia wrong.”
“No.”
His voice was almost inaudible.
“It makes it worse.”
Valentina stood.
“Then help me find Nico.”
Matteo looked at her.
No flirtation.
No arrogance.
Something far more serious passed between them.
“You have my word.”
She held his gaze.
“I'm trusting you.”
“I know.”
“Don't make me regret it.”
“I won't.”
They searched the ledger.
Pages listed shipping codes from 1988 and 1989.
Some entries were circled.
Others carried initials.
A.G.
Antonio Greco.
Valentina frowned.
“Antonio wasn't even born.”
“Could be another A.G.”
A photograph slid from between pages.
Matteo picked it up.
Four people stood beside a dock.
Paolo Bellandi.
Giuseppe Marchese.
Lucia.
And a young woman Valentina didn't recognize.
On the back:
Elena Renda.
Valentina remembered the hospital visitor.
“Salvatore Renda.”
Matteo nodded.
“His mother.”
“Maybe she's the caller.”
“She'd be in her sixties.”
“The voice sounded around that age.”
Matteo took out his phone.
“Enzo. Find Elena Renda.”
Enzo returned five minutes later.
“Officially dead since 1994.”
Valentina laughed bitterly.
“Of course she is.”
Matteo's phone rang.
Antonio.
He answered.
The ICU nurse sounded frantic.
Antonio was gone.
Not transferred.
Gone.
Security footage showed a nurse wheeling him into an elevator.
The nurse didn't work at the hospital.
Matteo's face darkened.
“Domenico knows.”
“Knows what?”
“That Antonio survived.”
Valentina looked toward the box.
“And that I found this.”
A sound came from the living room.
Nico's apartment door.
Opening.
Matteo signaled for silence.
Enzo moved forward.
A shadow crossed the hallway.
Then a man stumbled inside.
“Nico!”
Valentina ran.
Her brother collapsed into her arms.
His face was bruised.
His shirt torn.
But alive.
“Oh my God.”
Nico gripped her.
“You have to leave.”
“What happened?”
“They thought I had the ledger.”
“Who?”
He looked at Matteo.
Fear filled his face.
“Bellandi.”
Valentina stiffened.
Matteo didn't.
“Which Bellandi?”
Nico stared.
“The old one.”
Domenico.
Nico explained that two men had grabbed him outside work.
They took him to a warehouse.
Asked about Lucia's box.
He escaped when one captor went outside to answer a phone.
Matteo crouched beside him.
“Which warehouse?”
Nico gave the address.
Enzo swore.
Matteo recognized it.
“That's Pier Seventeen.”
“The same pier in Lucia's records?” Valentina asked.
“Yes.”
Nico looked between them.
“Why is the mafia boss in my apartment?”
“Long story.”
“Are you dating him?”
“No!”
Matteo's mouth moved.
Valentina pointed.
“Do not smile.”
Nico blinked.
“You insult him like that?”
“In two languages.”
“Apparently,” Matteo said, “it's become a tradition.”
Despite everything, Nico laughed.
It broke the tension for three seconds.
Then his expression collapsed.
“They had someone else at the warehouse.”
“Who?”
“I couldn't see his face. He was tied to a chair.”
Matteo knew.
“Antonio.”
They left Nico under police protection arranged through a detective Matteo trusted.
Valentina refused to stay behind.
“You're a surgeon.”
“Excellent observation.”
“This isn't an operating room.”
“No. In an operating room people listen to me.”
Matteo stepped closer.
“If something happens—”
“If something happens, you'll be grateful there's a surgeon.”
He knew he'd lost.
They drove toward Pier Seventeen.
The warehouse stood beside black water.
No lights.
No guards.
Too easy.
Matteo hated it immediately.
They entered through a side door.
Antonio sat tied to a chair.
Alive.
Barely conscious.
Valentina rushed toward him.
Matteo caught her.
“Wait.”
A wire ran beneath Antonio's chair.
Not explosive.
Connected to a recording device.
A speaker clicked.
Domenico Bellandi's voice filled the warehouse.
“Matteo.”
Matteo froze.
“You've always been predictable when family was threatened.”
Valentina looked around.
Cameras.
They were being watched.
Domenico continued.
“You're wondering whether Lucia told you the truth.”
Matteo shouted toward the ceiling.
“Come tell me yourself.”
“Oh, I will.”
A warehouse light turned on.
Then another.
Then another.
At the far end stood a table.
Someone was sitting there.
An elderly woman.
Silver hair.
Thin shoulders.
A crowned-lion necklace around her throat.
Valentina couldn't breathe.
The woman slowly raised her head.
Her eyes met Valentina's.
They were Lucia's eyes.
Not similar.
The same.
“Nonna?”
The woman whispered:
“Valentina.”
Valentina stepped forward.
Matteo's hand caught hers.
The old woman began crying.
Then a man emerged from the darkness behind her.
May you like
Domenico Bellandi rested both hands on her shoulders.
And smiled.
