Chapter 5 - The Man Who Should Have Been Captive
Adrian moved first.
He pulled Elena behind the stone wall beside the staircase.
Marco took position near the landing.
Matteo extinguished the lights.
Whitmore’s voice rose from below.
“I came alone.”
Marco whispered, “That’s never true.”
Whitmore continued.
“I can prove it.”
Adrian called back.
“You escaped six armed men in Manhattan and flew to Sicily?”
“No.”
Whitmore sounded exhausted.
“They released me.”
That changed everything.
Adrian looked at Marco.
Marco shook his head.
“Impossible.”
Whitmore stepped into view with both hands raised.
No weapon.
Blood stained his collar.
His left eye was swollen.
“Your men are alive,” he said. “At least they were when I left.”
“Who released you?” Adrian asked.
Whitmore looked toward Matteo.
“Ask your brother.”
Matteo’s jaw tightened.
Elena noticed.
Adrian noticed too.
“You know something,” Adrian said.
Matteo lowered his gun.
“The Founders use Whitmore as a courier.”
Whitmore laughed bitterly.
“Used.”
“What happened?”
“They decided I had become unreliable.”
“You tried to steal one hundred fifty million dollars.”
“I did what I was told.”
Elena stepped from behind Adrian.
“You watched my father.”
Whitmore’s eyes lowered.
“Yes.”
“You knew they killed him.”
“I suspected.”
“You brought them the fake deed.”
“Yes.”
“Why should anyone trust you?”
“You shouldn’t.”
Whitmore reached slowly inside his jacket.
Five guns pointed at him.
He stopped.
“Envelope.”
Adrian nodded once.
Whitmore removed it.
Inside was a photograph and a key.
Adrian took both.
The photograph showed Isabella Bellandi.
Alive.
Standing beside a private aircraft.
Timestamp: yesterday.
Adrian stared at his mother.
“Where?”
“Trapani.”
Matteo swore.
Whitmore continued.
“She knew you would come.”
“How?”
“The beacon.”
Matteo looked at Elena’s bag.
Adrian removed the flash drive and handed it to Nina.
“Destroy it.”
“No,” Matteo said.
Adrian looked at him.
“We can use it.”
“How?”
“To feed her false movement.”
Whitmore nodded.
“He’s right.”
Adrian’s voice hardened.
“I’m not taking strategy lessons from either of you.”
Elena stepped closer.
“Then take one from me.”
Everyone looked at her.
“My father built that drive.”
Matteo shook his head.
“No. Your father stored information on it. The tracking architecture was added later.”
“Then whoever added it wants us to follow the trail.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Adrian frowned.
“Good?”
Elena looked at him.
“If someone is trying to control where we go, that means they’re afraid of where we might go instead.”
Matteo smiled faintly.
“She sounds like Salvatore.”
Lucia’s face tightened.
Elena noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You keep doing that.”
“Elena—”
“No more.”
Her mother looked away.
“No more half-truths. No more protecting me.”
Lucia’s voice broke.
“Your father wasn’t killed because of Mercer Harbor alone.”
Elena went still.
“Then why?”
“Because he found the master ledger.”
“The one in storage?”
Lucia shook her head.
“That was a copy.”
“Where is the original?”
Lucia looked toward the olive grove outside.
“Under a church.”
Elena stared.
“What church?”
“Santa Maria della Luce. Your grandfather helped restore it before immigrating to America.”
Matteo nodded.
“Salvatore used an old crypt.”
Adrian studied Lucia.
“Why hasn’t Isabella recovered it?”
“She doesn’t know exactly where.”
“But you do.”
Lucia nodded.
“Salvatore told me.”
Whitmore suddenly laughed.
Everyone looked at him.
“What?”
Adrian asked.
Whitmore wiped blood from his lip.
“That’s why they kept you alive.”
Lucia stiffened.
Elena turned toward her mother.
“What does he mean?”
Whitmore looked at Lucia.
“You thought you escaped?”
“Stop,” Lucia whispered.
“They let you disappear because they needed somebody who knew the location.”
Elena felt another betrayal unfolding.
Lucia shook her head.
“I never told them.”
“No,” Whitmore said. “But they knew eventually Elena would come looking for you.”
Adrian understood.
“The photograph.”
Whitmore nodded.
“They released the image deliberately.”
Elena looked sick.
“So even finding my mother was part of their plan.”
“Yes.”
“Then they want us to retrieve the ledger for them.”
Matteo said, “Which means we don’t.”
Elena disagreed.
“No. We retrieve it first.”
Adrian looked at her.
“They’ll follow.”
“Then we make sure they follow somewhere we choose.”
For the next hour, the villa became a command center.
Nina altered the beacon transmission to suggest they were traveling west.
Marco arranged a convoy to leave visibly toward Trapani.
Meanwhile, Elena, Adrian, Matteo, Lucia, and two trusted guards used a farm road behind the property.
Santa Maria della Luce stood in a small hill village less than forty miles away.
The church was ancient, quiet, nearly empty.
Lucia led them through a side chapel.
Behind a carved wooden panel sat a narrow staircase.
Elena descended first.
Below lay a crypt filled with old family tombs.
Lucia counted stones along the east wall.
“Twenty-three.”
“What?” Elena asked.
“Your father said, ‘Twenty-three steps from Saint Michael.’”
A statue of Saint Michael stood above one tomb.
They measured.
At twenty-three paces, Adrian stopped.
The floor stone beneath him was slightly different.
Matteo helped lift it.
A metal case rested beneath.
Elena knelt.
The case carried her father’s initials.
S.R.
She touched them.
For the first time, she felt close to him rather than only haunted by him.
Inside was a thick handwritten ledger wrapped in oilcloth.
Old photographs.
Audio tapes.
And a sealed envelope addressed to ADRIAN BELLANDI.
Adrian opened it.
His father’s handwriting filled several pages.
He read silently.
Then stopped.
“What?”
Elena asked.
Adrian handed the page to Matteo.
Matteo’s eyes widened.
“Our mother wasn’t the founder.”
Adrian shook his head.
“She inherited control.”
“From who?”
Adrian turned another page.
A name appeared.
One both brothers recognized.
Marco had mentioned him before.
A man who had served Carlo Bellandi as lawyer, adviser, godfather to Adrian, and executor of the Bellandi estate.
Alessio Grant.
Elena whispered, “Your attorney.”
Adrian’s face hardened.
“He knew about the fake deed.”
Matteo grabbed the ledger.
“If Alessio is the founder—”
“He isn’t,” Adrian said.
He pointed farther down the page.
Carlo had written:
ALESSIO IS THE DOOR. THE PERSON BEHIND HIM IS THE ONE YOU WILL NEVER SUSPECT.
The church bell rang above them.
Once.
Twice.
Then footsteps echoed on the staircase.
Marco had remained at the villa.
Only four people knew they were here.
Adrian drew his weapon.
A shadow appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
A woman stepped into the crypt.
Gray hair.
Black dress.
Calm eyes.
Adrian’s gun lowered by an inch.
His voice barely came out.
“Mother.”
May you like
Isabella Bellandi smiled.
“My sons.”
