Chapter 5 - Someone Was Waiting in Her Apartment
Matteo refused to let Valentina go home alone.
Valentina refused to let Matteo enter first.
They compromised by arguing in the elevator.
“I live there.”
“Exactly why I'm entering first.”
“That sentence makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense.”
“To criminals.”
“Valentina.”
“Matteo.”
Enzo stood behind them looking exhausted.
“Should I press the emergency stop so you two can finish this?”
Both turned toward him.
“No,” they said together.
Enzo nodded.
“Beautiful. Progress.”
The doors opened.
Valentina's apartment stood at the end of the hall.
Her front door was closed.
Matteo raised one hand.
Everyone stopped.
No signs of forced entry.
He approached.
Unlocked.
Valentina's heart pounded.
She remembered her mother—Elena—laughing in this apartment years earlier.
Cooking too much food.
Rearranging Valentina's furniture.
Complaining that American tomatoes had no soul.
Her mother had died after a long illness.
Valentina had been there.
Hadn't she?
Memory suddenly felt unreliable.
Matteo pushed the door open.
“Stay.”
Valentina rolled her eyes and followed him.
“Of course you did,” he muttered.
The apartment was dark.
Kitchen empty.
Living room empty.
Then Valentina smelled something.
Tomato sauce.
Fresh basil.
Garlic.
She stopped.
“No.”
A pot simmered on her stove.
Her mother's sauce.
Not similar.
Exact.
There were tiny habits no recipe captured.
Orange peel.
One anchovy dissolved completely.
A pinch of cinnamon.
Valentina knew before she saw the woman.
A chair moved behind her.
“Valentina.”
She turned.
Her mother stood in the dining room.
Older.
Thinner.
Alive.
Valentina couldn't speak.
Elena took one step toward her.
Valentina stepped backward.
“Don't.”
Elena stopped.
Tears filled her eyes.
“I deserve that.”
“You died.”
“I know.”
“I held your hand.”
“That was my sister.”
Valentina's mind rejected the sentence.
“You don't have a sister.”
“I did.”
Lucia had already taught Valentina what family secrets could do.
Still, this one shattered something.
“Why?”
Elena sat down.
“Because Domenico discovered I had started looking for your grandfather.”
“My grandfather is alive too?”
“No.”
The word hit harder because it was final.
“Giuseppe died protecting Lucia.”
Matteo stood silently nearby.
Elena looked at him.
“You look like Paolo.”
Matteo's face tightened.
“You knew my father?”
“Everyone knew Paolo.”
She pointed to the flash drive.
“And what's inside that proves exactly why he died.”
They spent hours reconstructing the past.
Vittorio Marchese had betrayed Giuseppe.
But he had done more.
After Paolo's murder, Vittorio became Domenico's partner.
Together they expanded trafficking operations.
When federal pressure increased, they buried the network beneath legitimate businesses.
Years later Elena discovered financial records showing Vittorio was still alive.
She began investigating.
Domenico threatened her children.
So Elena and her terminally ill twin sister, Sofia, made an impossible choice.
Sofia had only months to live.
She agreed to assume Elena's identity publicly.
Elena disappeared to continue gathering evidence.
“You let Aunt Sofia die as you.”
“She offered.”
“You let me believe my mother was dead!”
Elena wept.
“I wanted to come back every day.”
“Then why didn't you?”
“Because every time I tried, someone photographed you or Nico and sent it to me.”
Valentina stopped.
Exactly like the photograph she had received outside the hospital.
“They were watching us.”
“Yes.”
Matteo spoke quietly.
“Vittorio.”
Elena nodded.
“He's the one sending messages now.”
“Why?”
“Because Domenico is losing control.”
“And Vittorio wants it.”
“Yes.”
Valentina paced.
“So two old men spent decades destroying our families for money.”
“For power,” Elena corrected.
“Same disease.”
Matteo looked at her.
“You sound like my mother.”
Valentina's anger softened slightly.
Elena saw it.
“You care about him.”
“Mom.”
“What?”
“I found out you weren't dead three hours ago. You don't get to become interested in my dating life.”
Matteo lifted an eyebrow.
“Dating?”
“We are not dating.”
Elena looked between them.
“Of course.”
Valentina groaned.
For the first time in twenty-four hours, laughter entered the room.
Brief.
Necessary.
Then the laptop chimed.
Antonio's files finished decrypting.
A folder appeared.
1989 ORIGINAL.
Matteo opened it.
Shipping manifests.
Bank transfers.
Photographs.
An audio recording.
And a scanned handwritten statement by Paolo Bellandi.
Matteo stared at his father's handwriting.
He couldn't click.
Valentina placed her hand over his.
“You don't have to.”
“Yes.”
He pressed play.
Paolo's voice filled the room.
“If something happens to me, Domenico is responsible. Giuseppe Marchese tried to warn me. Vittorio Marchese sold us out.”
Matteo closed his eyes.
Valentina didn't remove her hand.
The recording continued.
“My son Matteo is seven years old. If he grows up believing Giuseppe killed me, Domenico will own his anger.”
Matteo's breathing changed.
Paolo's next words broke him.
“Matteo, if you ever hear this, you were never meant to inherit my enemies. You were meant to inherit my chance to be better.”
Silence.
Valentina squeezed his hand.
Matteo looked down.
One tear.
Nothing more.
But Valentina understood what it cost him.
“You can still do that,” she whispered.
He looked at her.
“Do what?”
“Be better.”
Their faces were close.
Not hospital-close.
Not threatening.
Something gentler.
Matteo touched her cheek.
Slowly enough for her to stop him.
She didn't.
Their first kiss wasn't dramatic.
No hunger.
No audience.
Just two exhausted people standing in the wreckage of family lies and finding one thing that felt honest.
When they separated, Elena cleared her throat.
Valentina closed her eyes.
“Mom.”
“I said nothing.”
“You made a sound.”
“I'm Italian. Sounds are protected speech.”
Even Matteo laughed.
Then his phone rang.
Enzo answered.
His smile disappeared.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“Police picked up Domenico.”
Valentina exhaled.
“Good.”
Enzo didn't.
“He's asking to speak to Valentina.”
“Absolutely not,” Matteo said.
Valentina looked at him.
“You don't decide.”
“He could manipulate you.”
“He kidnapped my grandmother.”
“Exactly.”
“And I want answers.”
Matteo knew arguing was pointless.
At the precinct, Domenico sat behind reinforced glass.
He looked smaller without his men.
But his eyes remained sharp.
Valentina picked up the phone.
“Where is Vittorio?”
Domenico smiled.
“Straight to business.”
“Where?”
“He'll come to you.”
“Why?”
“Because you have something he wants.”
“The drive?”
Domenico shook his head.
“You still don't understand.”
“What?”
“He doesn't care about the evidence anymore.”
“Then what does he want?”
“You.”
Valentina went still.
Domenico leaned toward the glass.
“Vittorio has no children. No heir. No one with the Marchese name who can inherit the legitimate companies he hid everything inside.”
Valentina stared.
“You're insane.”
“He needs your signature.”
“For what?”
“A trust established before you were born.”
“Why would I sign anything?”
“You won't.”
His smile frightened her.
“Not willingly.”
Matteo grabbed the phone from Valentina.
“If he comes near her—”
Domenico laughed.
“He already has.”
Matteo froze.
“What?”
Domenico looked at Valentina.
“Ask the hospital who authorized Antonio Greco's transfer five minutes ago.”
Valentina pulled out her phone.
Three missed calls.
One voicemail.
She played it.
A terrified ICU nurse spoke quickly.
“Dr. Marchese, someone arrived with transfer papers signed in your name. We tried to stop them, but—”
The message ended.
Another text arrived.
A photograph.
Antonio unconscious inside an ambulance.
Beside him sat Nico.
Bound.
May you like
Vittorio's message contained one sentence.
COME TO ST. AGATHA'S ALONE, OR YOUR BROTHER DIES FIRST.
