Chapter 8 - THE LOYAL MAN’S SECRETRenzo did not sit.
For twenty seconds, nobody spoke.
Dante watched every detail.
The tightening around Renzo’s eyes.
The slight movement of his right hand away from his jacket.
Good.
He understood that reaching for a weapon would be a mistake.
“Open the laptop,” Renzo said.
Dante did.
He turned the screen.
Renzo read.
His face changed when he saw the list.
Not guilt.
Recognition.
Dante saw it.
“You know what this is.”
Renzo looked at him.
“I know the format.”
“From where?”
“Your grandfather.”
Dante frowned.
“My grandfather died when I was nine.”
“He kept threat assessments exactly like this.”
Vincenzo gestured toward the screen.
“Including terminate lists?”
“Yes.”
Elena whispered, “Who would still have access?”
Renzo looked toward the door.
“Very few people.”
Dante waited.
Renzo sighed.
“One is Isabella.”
“We know.”
“Another is Marco.”
“Obviously.”
“The third is me.”
Vincenzo laughed humorlessly.
“Excellent.”
Renzo ignored him.
“And the fourth was Vittorio.”
Dante’s expression hardened.
“My father marked us for death?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Vittorio stopped using this system twenty years ago.”
Renzo touched the screen.
“Someone wanted us to think this list came from the old organization.”
“Who?”
Renzo looked at Dante.
“I think I know.”
Before he could continue, gunfire exploded outside.
Everyone moved.
Dante grabbed Elena.
Vincenzo drew his pistol.
Renzo shouted into his radio.
No answer.
The lights died.
Dante’s blood ran cold.
“Matteo.”
He ran.
Up the stairs.
Down the hall.
Two guards lay unconscious outside the bedroom.
Dante kicked the door open.
Empty bed.
Window open.
“Elena!”
She reached him.
Saw the bed.
“No.”
Dante crossed to the window.
A rope hung down the exterior wall.
His vision narrowed.
Not again.
A small sound came from the closet.
Dante turned.
Opened it.
Matteo sat inside holding a lamp.
He smiled.
“Uncle Renzo told me if the lights ever go out, hide in the closet.”
Dante nearly collapsed.
Elena dropped to her knees and hugged him.
Dante looked at Renzo.
“Thank you.”
Renzo nodded.
Gunfire stopped.
Then a voice came over the estate intercom.
“Dante.”
Everyone froze.
Vittorio.
Dante looked at the ceiling speaker.
“Father?”
“I need everyone in the ballroom.”
The signal crackled.
“And bring Isabella.”
Ten minutes later, the family gathered.
Vittorio stood at the center.
No wheelchair.
No oxygen.
Dante stared.
“You look healthier.”
Vittorio smiled faintly.
“I have been exaggerating my illness.”
Isabella’s mouth fell open.
Vincenzo cursed.
Dante closed his eyes.
“Of course you have.”
Vittorio walked toward the table.
“My heart is failing. But not as quickly as I allowed people to believe.”
“Why?” Dante asked.
“To force whoever was moving against us to accelerate.”
Dante laughed.
“You endangered everyone for bait.”
Vittorio’s expression hardened.
“I was trying to identify the traitor.”
“Congratulations. Everyone is a traitor.”
Vittorio almost smiled.
“Not everyone.”
He looked at Renzo.
“Tell them.”
Renzo sighed.
“Twenty-six years ago, Vittorio asked me to create an emergency network outside normal family command.”
Vincenzo stared.
“A shadow organization?”
“A contingency.”
“For what?”
Renzo looked at Isabella.
“In case she took control.”
Isabella’s face became stone.
“You watched me for twenty-six years?”
“Yes.”
She slapped him.
Renzo accepted it.
Dante muttered, “Family tradition.”
Elena nearly smiled.
Vittorio continued.
“Renzo’s name is absent from the murder list because whoever created it assumes he can be recruited.”
“Can he?” Vincenzo asked.
Renzo looked offended.
“No.”
“Just checking.”
Dante faced his father.
“Who do you suspect?”
Vittorio’s eyes moved toward the doorway.
“Someone who benefited from Carlo’s death. Your imprisonment. Marco’s disappearance. Vincenzo’s rise. And Isabella’s fear.”
Dante thought.
“One person benefited from all of that?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Vittorio reached beneath his coat.
Removed an old photograph.
He placed it on the table.
A younger Vittorio.
Marco.
Isabella.
Lucia.
And another man.
Dante recognized him.
“Senator Thomas Vale.”
Vale had represented Illinois for twenty-four years before retiring.
Billionaire.
Political kingmaker.
Friend to every mayor Dante remembered.
Vittorio said, “Vale handled the Bellandi estate after Lucia’s father died.”
Dante understood.
“He had access to the trust.”
“Yes.”
Isabella whispered, “Thomas wouldn’t.”
Vittorio looked at her.
“You said the same about Marco.”
She went silent.
Vincenzo scrolled through the financial files.
“Vale’s foundation received payments.”
Renzo nodded.
“Hundreds.”
Dante’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
“Dante Marchetti.”
A warm older voice replied.
“I wondered when you would finally learn my name.”
Dante looked around the room.
“Senator Vale.”
“Former senator.”
“Kidnapping children and arranging assassinations is an unusual retirement hobby.”
Vale laughed.
“I did neither.”
Dante looked at the black murder list.
“Someone did.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“You are surrounded by people who have lied to you your entire life, Dante. Why would you suddenly trust their conclusions?”
Dante said nothing.
Vale continued.
“Ask Isabella who signed the order keeping you in prison.”
Dante slowly looked at her.
She went white.
“Ask Vittorio who ordered Marco’s car bomb.”
Vittorio’s jaw tightened.
“Ask Renzo who knew Elena was pregnant before you were sentenced.”
Renzo’s expression changed.
Dante noticed.
Vale’s voice softened.
“And then ask yourself why I am the first man offering you proof.”
A phone vibrated on the table.
Dante’s second device.
An email arrived.
Attached were scanned documents.
Prison transfer orders.
Legal correspondence.
Trust agreements.
And a surveillance video.
Dante opened it.
Six years earlier.
Isabella sat at a restaurant table.
Across from her—
Renzo.
Audio played.
Elena is pregnant, Renzo said.
Isabella closed her eyes.
Does Dante know?
No.
Good.
Dante paused the video.
The room seemed to disappear.
He looked at Renzo.
“You knew.”
Renzo’s face broke.
“Dante.”
“You knew she was carrying my son.”
“Yes.”
“And you let me sit in prison.”
“I was under orders.”
Dante stepped toward him.
“From whom?”
Renzo looked at Isabella.
Then at Vittorio.
Finally he said, “Your mother.”
Dante’s expression turned deadly.
“Lucia was dead.”
Renzo whispered, “No.”
Everyone froze.
Dante stared.
“What did you say?”
Renzo looked toward the portrait above the staircase.
“Lucia Marchetti did not die giving birth to you.”
May you like
Dante’s entire life cracked open.
“She died three years later.”
