Chapter 4 - The Woman Who Raised Him
Damiano called the estate.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
His chest tightened.
“Elena.”
Marco saw the phone.
“What does it mean?”
“I don’t know.”
Damiano called Matteo’s deputy.
No answer.
Then Sofia’s security detail.
Nothing.
Matteo cursed.
“They jammed the house.”
Damiano looked at the ledger.
The attack on the safe house had been a distraction.
Someone knew exactly where they were.
Exactly when they left.
“Vincent,” Carlo said.
“He’s locked in a room.”
“He has people.”
Damiano looked at the message again.
ELENA ROSSI.
Could Elena be involved?
The idea felt impossible.
That made it dangerous.
Damiano had learned long ago that betrayal always wore a familiar face.
They left through the rear of the house.
Matteo found one SUV still operational.
They drove south at reckless speed.
No one spoke.
Damiano stared at the photograph.
Sofia did not appear frightened.
She looked confused.
The fountain behind her meant she had been outside.
Why would Elena take her there during a lockdown?
His phone rang.
Unknown number.
Damiano answered.
“Put Sofia on.”
A man laughed.
“No greeting?”
“Put her on.”
A pause.
Then a small voice.
“Damiano?”
His chest constricted.
“I’m here.”
“Where are you?”
“Coming home.”
“The lights went off.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Is Elena with you?”
A long pause.
“No.”
Damiano closed his eyes.
“Who is?”
The phone shifted.
A man spoke again.
“Bring the ledger to the old St. Anthony freight yard.”
“Let the girl go.”
“No.”
“You know who I am?”
“I know what you are.”
Damiano’s voice became cold.
“If she cries once because of you, there will not be a city far enough away to hide.”
The man laughed.
“Your father used to speak like that.”
Damiano froze.
“Who are you?”
Click.
The call ended.
Marco looked at him.
“What?”
“He knew Salvatore.”
Carlo’s face tightened.
“That doesn’t narrow it enough.”
They reached the estate twenty-eight minutes later.
The main gate hung open.
Two guards were unconscious but alive.
No bodies.
Inside, the west corridor lights were dead.
Damiano rushed upstairs.
Sofia was gone.
Elena sat on the floor near the blue room.
Blood marked her forehead.
Damiano stopped.
“Elena.”
She looked up.
“Damiano.”
He knelt.
“Who took her?”
Elena grabbed his sleeve.
“I’m sorry.”
“Who?”
“Raffaele Costa.”
Carlo went pale.
Damiano knew the name.
Everyone did.
Raffaele Costa had been Salvatore’s accountant.
Officially retired fifteen years ago.
Unofficially vanished after a federal investigation.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“How did he get inside?”
Elena looked away.
Damiano’s voice hardened.
“Elena.”
“I let him in.”
The words landed heavier than any bullet.
Marco cursed.
Damiano stared at the woman who had bandaged his knuckles at seventeen.
Who had stayed awake after his father died because he refused to sleep.
Who had buried his mother beside Salvatore.
“Why?”
“He called me from the gate. He said Marco had been hurt.”
“You believed him?”
“He knew the phrase.”
“What phrase?”
Elena began crying.
Damiano had seen her cry only twice in his life.
“Your father gave us emergency phrases. If someone needed entry during a crisis.”
“What was it?”
“Blue roses bloom in winter.”
Damiano stood.
“Who knew it?”
“Salvatore. Me. Marco.”
Marco shook his head.
“I never told Costa.”
Elena looked at him.
“I didn’t either.”
Carlo’s expression changed.
“Vincent.”
They went to the east guest room.
The guards were gone.
The door stood open.
Vincent had escaped.
On the bed lay his gold ring.
Damiano picked it up.
Inside the band was an engraving.
S.V.
Salvatore Vitale.
His father’s ring.
Not a matching copy.
The original.
Damiano stared.
Vincent had worn his murdered brother’s ring for twenty years.
Marco whispered, “My God.”
Carlo sank into a chair.
Damiano closed his fist around the ring.
“Freight yard.”
Matteo blocked the doorway.
“It’s a trap.”
“Yes.”
“We need more men.”
“No.”
“They want the ledger.”
“I’ll give them a ledger.”
Marco understood.
“A copy.”
“We photograph every page.”
Carlo nodded.
“I can create a duplicate binding.”
“How long?”
“An hour.”
“We have thirty minutes.”
“Then it’ll look bad.”
“It only needs to look good from twenty feet away.”
While Carlo worked, Damiano went to his father’s old office.
He had avoided the room for years.
Now he opened the locked cabinet.
Inside were weapons.
Old documents.
Photographs.
He found a cassette player.
The tape from the safe house waited in his coat pocket.
He inserted it.
Pressed play.
Salvatore’s voice filled the room.
“Marco, if you hear this, I failed.”
Damiano sat.
The voice continued.
“Vincent knows about the second ledger, but he does not know where Gabriella is.”
A pause.
“If I die, protect both my children.”
Damiano shut his eyes.
Both.
For the first time, his father connected him and Gabriella in the same sentence.
“Damiano will hate you. Let him.”
Damiano’s throat tightened.
“He will survive hatred better than truth.”
A long silence.
Then Salvatore said something Damiano would carry forever.
“My son thinks fear makes a man powerful. Someday I hope someone small enough teaches him otherwise.”
Damiano stopped the tape.
He could not breathe.
Someone small enough.
Sofia.
The door opened.
Marco stood there.
Damiano did not hide the tears quickly enough.
Marco saw.
He said nothing.
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“He thought there would be time.”
“There’s never time.”
“No.”
Damiano stood.
“We bring Sofia home.”
The freight yard had been abandoned since the nineties.
Rusting containers.
Broken tracks.
One sodium light buzzing over the central platform.
Damiano arrived with Marco and Matteo.
Carlo stayed hidden in a second vehicle.
The fake ledger was inside a metal case.
Vincent stood beneath the light.
Raffaele Costa beside him.
Sofia between them.
She held the rabbit.
Damiano’s vision narrowed.
“You came,” Vincent said.
“Let her go.”
“Ledger first.”
Damiano held up the case.
Sofia saw him.
Her face crumpled.
“Damiano!”
He took one step.
Costa raised a pistol.
“Stay.”
Damiano stopped.
Vincent smiled.
“She likes you.”
“Wrong child to use against me.”
“That is exactly why she is the right child.”
Damiano stared at his uncle.
“You killed my father.”
Vincent’s face remained calm.
“He forced me.”
“Men like you always say that.”
“Salvatore would have destroyed everything.”
“So you destroyed him.”
“He chose sentiment over power.”
Damiano looked at Sofia.
She was crying silently.
“And you think I’ll choose power.”
Vincent nodded toward the case.
“You already did.”
Damiano dropped it.
Costa picked it up.
Opened it.
Flipped pages.
His eyes moved quickly.
“Looks right.”
Vincent smiled.
“Good.”
“Now Sofia.”
Vincent took the case.
“No.”
Damiano’s expression changed.
“You gave me your word.”
“I learned from Salvatore never to leave witnesses.”
Marco stepped forward.
“You touch her and—”
Costa swung the gun toward him.
Then Sofia did something no one expected.
She bit Costa’s hand.
Hard.
He shouted.
The gun dropped.
Damiano moved.
Matteo moved faster.
One shot shattered the overhead light.
Darkness.
Sofia screamed.
Damiano ran toward her voice.
Gunfire cracked across the yard.
He found her crouched behind a crate.
He threw himself over her.
“Got you.”
She grabbed his shirt.
“I knew you’d come.”
“Always.”
The word left him before he could stop it.
Always.
Matteo shouted.
“Clear!”
Emergency vehicle lights approached.
Carlo had called trusted state investigators tied to no Vitale accounts.
Vincent was gone.
Costa lay wounded but alive.
Marco had disappeared into the darkness after him.
Damiano lifted Sofia.
She clung to him.
“Marco?”
“We’ll find him.”
Then Damiano’s phone rang.
Marco’s number.
He answered.
No voice.
Only breathing.
Then Vincent spoke.
“You want Marco alive?”
Damiano’s blood went cold.
“Where are you?”
May you like
“Ask Elena where your father is really buried.”
The line disconnected.
