Chapter 2 - The File With Her Name on It
The elevator remained dead for thirty-eight minutes.
Renata learned three things during those thirty-eight minutes.
First, Lorenzo Columbo was capable of sitting absolutely still for long periods of time without looking nervous.
Second, he carried enough emergency equipment in his jacket to make her wonder what kind of childhood required a person to plan for hostage situations.
Third, despite everything she had heard about him, he never once touched her unless she was in physical danger.
That last detail unsettled her most.
The rumors had painted him as cold.
Ruthless.
Merciless.
But he kept his distance.
He gave her water.
He offered her his coat when the elevator grew cold.
When she complained that her ankle hurt from the shoes, he took off his own jacket and folded it under her foot.
She had never expected kindness from him.
She didn't know what to do with it.
Eventually the rescue team forced the doors open manually.
Lorenzo stepped out first.
He turned immediately.
"Take my hand."
"I can manage."
"I know."
He held out his hand anyway.
Renata stared at it.
Then took it.
His grip was warm and steady.
When they reached the garage, four men in dark suits were waiting.
One spoke rapidly in Italian.
Lorenzo listened.
Then looked at Renata.
"Your apartment has been searched."
Her heart dropped.
"What?"
"No one was inside."
"Was anything taken?"
"Not yet."
Renata looked at him.
"Yet?"
Lorenzo didn't answer.
Instead he placed a hand lightly against her back and guided her toward a waiting car.
She stopped.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere safe."
"I have no idea who you are."
His expression softened.
"That's why you're coming."
The car took them through streets she knew and then down roads she didn't.
Eventually the buildings thinned.
The gates of a private estate opened.
Renata stared through the window.
She had passed the property before.
Everyone in Milan knew it.
Columbo Villa.
A century-old stone residence overlooking Lake Como.
She had never imagined she'd enter it.
Lorenzo led her inside.
His mother, Vittoria Columbo, was waiting.
Renata recognized her from newspapers.
Elegant.
Silver-haired.
Perfect posture.
She looked at Renata for a long moment.
Then smiled.
"So you're the lawyer."
Renata frowned.
"I suppose."
Vittoria crossed the room.
She kissed Lorenzo on the cheek.
Then looked at her son.
"You finally brought her home."
Renata blinked.
Lorenzo looked annoyed.
"Mother."
"What?"
"Not now."
Vittoria smiled.
"You always were terrible at timing."
She walked away.
Renata looked at Lorenzo.
"What did she mean?"
"Nothing."
"That sounded like something."
"She's my mother."
"That explains nothing."
A housekeeper appeared and led Renata upstairs.
The bedroom looked more like a hotel suite than a bedroom.
Fresh clothes had been placed on the bed.
Renata stared.
"How?"
Lorenzo stood in the doorway.
"I guessed your size."
She turned.
"From what?"
"Your suit."
She narrowed her eyes.
"That sounds creepy."
He gave the smallest smile.
"It's efficient."
She picked up a sweater.
"This is cashmere."
"Yes."
"I can't accept this."
"You can."
"Why?"
"Because your clothes were damaged in the elevator."
She looked down.
One sleeve was torn.
She sighed.
"Thank you."
He nodded.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
His face hardened.
"Where?"
A pause.
"Send me the file."
He hung up.
Renata watched him.
"What happened?"
He hesitated.
Then handed her his phone.
A photograph.
Her law firm.
A desk.
Her name printed on a file folder.
RENATA FERRER — RESTRICTED.
"What is that?"
"Your personnel file."
"Why would my firm have a restricted file on me?"
"I don't think they did."
She looked closer.
"Then who?"
He tapped the screen.
The logo in the corner belonged to a private security company.
One associated with a Moretti family rival.
Renata's pulse quickened.
"What is this?"
"Surveillance."
"Of me?"
"Yes."
"How long?"
"Fourteen months."
She felt sick.
"But I've only been at the firm for two years."
"I know."
"Why would they watch me before I met you?"
Lorenzo said nothing.
Renata looked at him.
"You know."
"I have a theory."
"Tell me."
He hesitated.
"Your father."
Her heart stopped.
"My father died when I was seventeen."
"I know."
"He was a civil engineer."
"He was also a financial consultant."
She stared.
"How do you know that?"
Lorenzo sat.
"Because he worked for my father."
Renata's mouth opened.
"No."
"Yes."
"My father hated your family."
"That is the problem."
"Why?"
Lorenzo leaned forward.
"Because he knew what your family was doing."
She took a step back.
"What my family was doing?"
"Your father discovered a system of hidden accounts connecting several European companies."
"What companies?"
"Some legitimate. Some not."
She stared.
"Was he involved?"
"No."
"Then why was he working with your father?"
"He was trying to stop it."
Renata looked away.
Memories surfaced.
Her father staying late at his office.
Burning papers.
Phone calls he never explained.
The night before his death, he had told her mother to keep Renata away from "men who promise protection."
She had always thought it was random.
Now it felt deliberate.
"What happened to him?"
Lorenzo's voice softened.
"His car was found near Lake Garda."
"I know."
"The official report said accidental drowning."
"Yes."
"I don't believe it."
She looked at him.
"Neither do I."
The honesty surprised her.
He reached into a drawer.
Inside was a file.
Old photographs.
Bank records.
A handwritten letter.
Renata took the letter.
The handwriting was her father's.
Her hands began to shake.
If you're reading this, I have failed to stay ahead of them.
She couldn't breathe.
Lorenzo watched silently.
The next line was worse.
Do not trust your employer.
Renata looked up.
"My firm?"
"Maybe."
Her father had written one final sentence.
Trust the man who asks you to leave before he asks you to stay.
She looked at Lorenzo.
He was watching her.
"Did you put this there?"
"No."
"Who gave it to you?"
"Your mother."
Renata froze.
"My mother?"
"She contacted me six months ago."
"Why?"
"Because she knew someone was coming."
Renata's phone buzzed.
A message from her mother.
CALL ME NOW.
She answered.
"Mom?"
Static.
Then her mother's voice.
"Renata, where are you?"
"Safe."
"Don't tell me where."
"Why?"
"Because they can hear you."
Renata's heart raced.
"Who?"
Her mother whispered,
"Your father's brother."
Renata went still.
"My uncle is dead."
"No."
A pause.
"He changed his name."
Lorenzo's face hardened.
"What's his name?"
Her mother started crying.
"Matteo Ferrer."
The line cut.
Lorenzo took Renata's phone.
"What happened?"
"I don't know."
He stared at the screen.
Then his own phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A man's voice spoke.
"Columbo."
Lorenzo's eyes narrowed.
"Who is this?"
"Someone who knows the girl you're protecting."
"Leave her alone."
The caller laughed.
"That's why we're calling."
A pause.
"She is not the prize."
Lorenzo's grip tightened.
"What is?"
"The ledger."
The call ended.
Renata looked at him.
"What ledger?"
May you like
Lorenzo stared into the darkness beyond the window.
"The one your father died protecting."
