Chapter 6 - The Traitor at the Table
Matteo survived.
The bullet passed through the muscle above his hip without striking an organ. His doctor called it fortunate.
Matteo called it inconvenient.
I called him an idiot when he tried to stand twelve hours later.
He was recovering in an upstairs bedroom while armed guards searched the estate and questioned every employee. No one was allowed to leave. Phones had been collected. Security footage played continuously in the library.
Someone inside Matteo’s organization had revealed our movements.
The attack at my apartment could have been observation.
Franklin Station might have been anticipated.
But Saint Michael’s had been known only to five people.
Matteo.
Dominic.
Two guards named Carlo and Enzo.
And me.
“Vittorio could have followed us,” I said.
Dominic shook his head. His injured arm was wrapped in a sling. “We changed cars twice and used three decoy routes.”
“Then one of the guards.”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“Carlo’s father worked for Matteo’s father. Enzo took a bullet for Matteo four years ago.”
“Loyal people still betray.”
Dominic looked toward the ceiling.
“So do frightened ones.”
I spent the afternoon reading my mother’s notebooks.
At sunset, Matteo came downstairs despite medical orders. He wore dark trousers and an open-collared white shirt. The bandage beneath it showed faintly when he moved.
“You should be in bed,” I said.
“You sound like the doctor.”
“The doctor has training.”
“I have a meeting.”
“You were shot yesterday.”
“And today I am not.”
“That is not how recovery works.”
He walked past me toward the dining room.
I followed.
“Where are you going?”
“To discover who betrayed us.”
The dining room looked like the one at Bellaforte, only colder. A long polished table occupied the center. Matteo’s senior men sat along both sides.
Seven in total.
Dominic stood behind Matteo’s chair.
I recognized Carlo and Enzo. The others included an accountant, an attorney, a port supervisor, and two men whose roles no one explained.
Matteo gestured to the seat beside him.
“For me?”
“You found the clue. The betrayal concerns you.”
Several men looked displeased.
I sat anyway.
Matteo placed the first ledger on the table.
Not the second.
That remained hidden in a safe only he and I knew about.
“This book contains records Luca collected before his death,” he said. “Vittorio has killed repeatedly to recover it.”
The attorney, Anthony Bell, adjusted his glasses. “Why are we discussing this in front of an outsider?”
“Tessa is not an outsider.”
The room changed.
Matteo continued.
“She is Luca’s daughter.”
Silence spread around the table.
Carlo crossed himself.
The accountant went pale.
Anthony stared at me openly.
“That is impossible.”
“It is confirmed.”
It was not, technically. We had no DNA result.
But my face and Luca’s letters had convinced Matteo.
A test had been arranged.
I suspected he did not need it emotionally, only strategically.
Enzo leaned forward. “Does Vittorio know?”
“He suspects,” Matteo said.
“Then she is a liability.”
Dominic moved before I registered the words, placing one hand near his weapon.
Matteo did not raise his voice.
“Choose your next sentence carefully.”
Enzo lowered his eyes.
“I meant she is in danger.”
“No,” I said. “You meant exactly what you said.”
He looked at me, surprised.
I smiled without warmth.
“I understand English too.”
Carlo almost laughed.
Matteo’s gaze moved around the table.
“Only five people knew the location of Saint Michael’s. One of them informed Vittorio.”
No one moved.
He placed five folded cards on the table.
“Before leaving yesterday, each person received a different destination through a secure message. Carlo was told Saint Michael’s. Enzo was told Saint Peter’s. Anthony received Saint Anne’s. Dominic received the correct location verbally. The fifth message went to my port supervisor, who was told Saint Joseph’s.”
I realized what he had done.
A trap.
Carlo’s face drained of color.
Matteo turned toward him.
“The attack occurred at Saint Michael’s.”
Carlo stood abruptly.
Dominic drew his gun.
Two guards blocked the exits.
Carlo’s hands rose.
“Boss, listen.”
“How much did Vittorio pay you?”
“It wasn’t money.”
“What, then?”
“My daughter.”
The anger in the room shifted.
Carlo’s voice broke.
“She was arrested in New Jersey. Possession. Vittorio had someone move her into a private facility. He said she would disappear into prison if I didn’t cooperate.”
Matteo watched him without expression.
“You could have come to me.”
“He said he had someone close to you. He knew things only this room knew.”
Matteo’s eyes narrowed.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“You gave him my movements.”
“Only twice.”
“Three times,” I said.
Carlo looked at me.
“My apartment, Franklin Station, and the church.”
“I didn’t tell him about the apartment.”
“Then there is another traitor.”
The room erupted in overlapping voices.
Matteo slammed his hand onto the table.
Pain flashed across his face from the wound, but the room became silent.
“Carlo,” he said, “where is your daughter?”
“I don’t know.”
“Dominic will find her.”
Carlo stared at him.
“You’ll help her?”
“She is not responsible for your betrayal.”
Relief crumpled the older man’s face.
“What happens to me?”
Matteo’s expression went cold again.
“That depends on whether your information saves Tessa’s life.”
Carlo was taken from the room.
The remaining men were searched and separated.
Anthony Bell remained seated.
“This is becoming unstable,” he said. “The ledgers create exposure for everyone.”
“That concerns you?” I asked.
“It should concern all of us.”
“You’re the family attorney.”
“I protect the organization.”
“My father wanted to destroy the organization.”
Anthony’s mouth tightened.
“Your father was idealistic.”
“My father was murdered.”
“Those are not mutually exclusive.”
Matteo leaned back carefully.
“Leave, Anthony.”
The attorney stood.
At the door, he turned toward me.
“Blood does not make you one of them, Ms. Romano. Remember that before they use your father’s name to decide your future.”
After he left, I looked at Matteo.
“He hates me.”
“He fears what you represent.”
“What do I represent?”
“An alternative.”
“To you?”
“To the old rules.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want to lead your family.”
“I know.”
“That sounded like you don’t believe me.”
“It sounded like I know power often chooses people before they choose it.”
I stood and walked toward the windows.
Below, security lights illuminated the grounds.
“Father Quinn,” I said. “We need to reach him before Vittorio.”
Matteo joined me slowly.
“We will.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“You can barely walk.”
“I walk well enough.”
“You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“By women?”
“Frequently.”
I looked at him.
He was closer than I expected.
Neither of us moved.
The tension between us had been building through danger, arguments, and grief. I had ignored it because attraction to Matteo Moretti seemed like another form of self-destruction.
But I felt it now.
In the way his eyes lowered briefly to my mouth.
In the careful distance he maintained despite wanting to close it.
“You defended me at the table,” I said.
“You did not need defending.”
“You threatened Enzo with your eyes.”
“That was not a threat.”
“What was it?”
“A warning.”
“That sounds like a threat with better tailoring.”
A real smile appeared.
Brief.
Transforming.
I understood then why my mother had believed there was goodness in him. It had not disappeared. It had simply learned to hide.
“Tessa,” he said softly.
“What?”
“You should step away.”
“Why?”
“Because I am trying not to do something selfish.”
My heart beat faster.
“What?”
He lifted one hand and touched a loose strand of hair near my cheek.
The gesture was unexpectedly gentle.
“Kiss you when your entire life has just been torn apart.”
I should have stepped back.
Instead, I said, “At least your grammar was correct.”
His laugh was quiet and surprised.
Then I kissed him.
For one suspended moment, Matteo did not move.
Then his hand settled at the back of my neck and he kissed me with restrained intensity, as if control were the only thing keeping the moment from consuming us.
Pain made him inhale sharply.
I pulled away.
“You tore the wound.”
“Worth it.”
“That was a terrible line.”
“I was distracted.”
Dominic entered without knocking.
He stopped.
His gaze moved from Matteo to me.
“I can return.”
“No,” Matteo said.
“Yes,” I said at the same time.
Dominic almost smiled.
“We found Father Quinn.”
“Where?” Matteo asked.
“Saint Agnes. But he disappeared two hours ago.”
My relief vanished.
“Vittorio?”
“We found security footage. Father Quinn left willingly with Anthony Bell.”
The attorney.
The man who had just warned me that the Morettis would use my blood.
Matteo’s face became unreadable.
“Anthony is the second traitor,” I said.
“Or he is trying to protect the priest.”
“Do you believe that?”
“No.”
Dominic placed a phone on the table.
“It was delivered to the gate.”
The screen lit up.
An incoming video call.
Matteo answered.
Vittorio Salvi appeared on-screen.
Behind him, Father Quinn sat tied to a chair.
Anthony Bell stood at his side.
Vittorio smiled.
“Bring both ledgers to Pier Nineteen before midnight,” he said. “And bring Isabella’s daughter.”
Matteo’s voice was ice.
“If you touch the priest—”
“I already have what I need from him.”
Father Quinn raised his head.
His face was bruised, but his eyes were clear.
“Tessa,” he said urgently. “Do not give them the final ledger.”
Vittorio turned toward him.
The screen went black.
I looked at the clock.
10:47 p.m.
Seventy-three minutes until midnight.
Matteo reached for his gun.
“No,” I said.
He looked at me.
“We are not walking into Vittorio’s trap with the ledgers.”
“He has Father Quinn.”
“And Anthony. And probably twenty armed men.”
“What do you suggest?”
I picked up my mother’s notebook.
“We give Vittorio exactly what he expects.”
Matteo studied me.
“A frightened waitress?”
“No.”
May you like
I turned to the page about Saint Michael.
“Luca Moretti’s daughter.”
