Chapter 4 - The Name Inside His Phone
“Move away from him, Sofia.”
Marco’s hands shook around the gun.
I stepped between him and Lorenzo.
“Put that down.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
Lorenzo stayed strangely calm behind me.
“Marco.”
“Don’t say my name.”
“Fine.”
“Your family killed our father.”
My stomach twisted.
“Where did you hear that?”
Marco laughed bitterly.
“Dad told me.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Two weeks before he died.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was nineteen and terrified.”
His eyes filled.
“He said if anything happened to him, I was supposed to forget everything and protect Mom.”
I lowered my voice.
“Marco, give me the gun.”
“He married you because he wanted that ledger.”
“No,” Lorenzo said.
Marco swung the weapon toward him.
“Shut up.”
“Marco!”
“He knew about Dad.”
“So did Victor Hale.”
Marco hesitated.
I saw it.
“You knew Victor?”
“No.”
“You just reacted.”
His jaw tightened.
“Marco.”
He finally lowered the gun.
“I got a message.”
“When?”
“After your wedding.”
“From who?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did it say?”
“That Dad’s killer would eventually lead us to Warehouse 214.”
I looked at Lorenzo.
Same manipulation.
Different messages.
Someone was pushing us toward the same place.
I opened my father’s letter.
The next page said:
Do not trust the obvious answer.
The Santangelos are dangerous, but danger and guilt are not always the same thing.
Lorenzo read over my shoulder.
Marco stared.
“That doesn’t clear him.”
“No.”
I turned the page.
Your mother knows more than she told you.
I stopped.
“My mother?”
Marco’s face changed.
“You knew?”
“No.”
But he did.
I could see it.
“Marco.”
He looked away.
“What did Mom tell you?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
“Not here.”
That was when gunfire erupted outside.
Lorenzo pulled both of us behind a steel column.
His guards returned fire.
The attack lasted less than a minute.
Then silence.
Lorenzo grabbed my arm.
“Back entrance.”
We escaped through a loading tunnel.
In the car, Marco finally spoke.
“Mom met with Victor Hale.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Dad leave her something?”
Marco rubbed both hands over his face.
“She has a safe deposit box.”
My anger rose.
“She never told me.”
“She made me promise.”
“Why?”
“Because she thought you would go looking.”
I laughed without humor.
“Apparently everyone in this family thinks hiding things protects me.”
Lorenzo stared out the window.
I glanced at him.
“That includes you.”
“I know.”
It was the first time he admitted it without defending himself.
We went directly to my mother’s apartment.
She cried when she saw Lorenzo’s injury.
Then she became angry when Marco mentioned the box.
“You promised me.”
“Dad’s secret is getting people killed,” Marco said.
My mother looked at me.
“Sofia.”
“Please.”
She sat slowly.
“Your father discovered that someone had infiltrated both families.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Victor?”
“No.”
“You met him.”
“To ask for help.”
“Why?”
“Because your father trusted Victor once.”
“His letter said not to trust anyone.”
“That was after everything fell apart.”
She removed a key from a necklace beneath her blouse.
“The box is at Hudson Private Bank.”
Inside were photographs.
Bank records.
And an old phone.
Lorenzo turned it on.
One contact remained.
No name.
Only initials.
A.S.
The same initials appeared repeatedly in the ledger.
Payments.
Transfers.
Meeting dates.
Marco asked, “Who is A.S.?”
Lorenzo went still.
I noticed.
“You know.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“My father.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Lorenzo’s father, Alessandro Santangelo, had died ten years earlier.
“Your father was involved?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just said—”
“I said those are his initials.”
My mother whispered, “Alessandro tried to stop them.”
Lorenzo turned.
“You knew my father?”
“Your father and mine worked together,” she said. “Quietly.”
“Doing what?”
“Trying to identify the person controlling the network.”
My mother looked at me.
“Antonio thought he found him.”
“Who?”
“He never told me the name.”
“Why not?”
“He said names were dangerous.”
I looked at the phone.
“Then maybe it’s inside this.”
The device required a password.
Marco tried birthdays.
Nothing.
My mother tried anniversaries.
Nothing.
I thought about my father.
Then typed 214.
The phone unlocked.
There was one audio file.
My father’s voice filled the room.
“If you hear this, I am probably dead.”
My mother covered her mouth.
I could barely breathe.
“The person behind everything has access to both families. He controls money, information, and people. He will try to make the Bellinis blame the Santangelos. He will make the Santangelos believe the Bellinis betrayed them.”
The recording crackled.
“Victor knows part of the truth. Michael knows the rest.”
Michael.
Alive?
My father continued.
“But the most dangerous man is the one neither family suspects.”
The recording stopped.
No name.
Lorenzo picked up the phone.
“There’s deleted data.”
“Can you recover it?”
“My people can.”
Two hours later, his cybersecurity specialist extracted a contact list.
One number had been called repeatedly in the weeks before my father’s death.
Lorenzo stared at it.
“What?”
He turned the screen toward me.
The contact was saved under one name.
GRANDMOTHER.
I stared at him.
“Your grandmother?”
He immediately dialed.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Lorenzo stood.
“We’re going to her house.”
The Santangelo estate was twenty minutes away.
The gates stood open.
No guards.
The front door was unlocked.
Lorenzo entered first.
“Nonna?”
Silence.
We found his grandmother’s sitting room empty.
A teacup was still warm.
On the table sat Lorenzo’s childhood photograph.
Beside it was a note.
He picked it up.
His face changed.
“What does it say?”
He handed it to me.
Only four words were written.
ASK YOUR MOTHER, LORENZO.
I looked up.
Lorenzo’s mother had supposedly died when he was seven.
Then a woman’s voice came from the doorway behind us.
“You were never supposed to learn that I survived.”
Lorenzo stopped breathing.
I turned.
A woman in her late fifties stood there.
She had Lorenzo’s eyes.
And beside her stood the man I had heard outside my bedroom in Italy.
May you like
Michael Russo.
Alive.
