Chapter 4 - The Name My Mother Died Trying to Protect
The silence afterward felt unnatural.
Dante rewound the tape.
Played it again.
The same interruption.
His hand clenched around the machine.
“Can you repair it?”
Marco nodded.
“Maybe.”
I looked through my mother's ledger.
Most pages were written in shorthand.
There were names I didn't recognize.
Dates.
A recurring symbol.
A small black bird.
Then I saw it.
A page dedicated entirely to Dante's father.
There was one line.
Matteo knows.
Nicholas knows.
But the third man thinks he owns them both.
I turned the page.
The next sheet had been ripped out.
Dante noticed.
“Missing page.”
“Yes.”
“Can you reconstruct it?”
“Not from this.”
“Maybe your mother's records can.”
I kept reading.
There were references to an event called The Winter Transfer.
It appeared to have happened twenty years ago.
Three trucks.
A private dock.
A missing shipment.
Seven people disappeared.
My mother's handwriting became increasingly frantic.
Then, on the last complete page:
If Dante survives, tell him the truth before Nicholas does.
I looked at Dante.
“He was a child twenty years ago.”
“Seventeen,” he said.
“Your father was already preparing you?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“To take over.”
I stared at him.
He gave a humorless smile.
“My family doesn't have retirement parties.”
Marco returned with repaired equipment.
He had managed to restore a few seconds of the missing audio.
The tape played.
My mother's voice emerged through static.
“The man who betrayed Matteo isn't Nicholas. Nicholas believes he controls the ports, the accounts, and the political network. But he is being used.”
A sound.
A door closing.
Then:
“Lucien—”
The tape ended.
I looked at Dante.
“Lucien.”
He went completely still.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
Marco did.
His face changed.
“You do,” Dante said.
Marco swallowed.
“Lucien Marchetti.”
Dante stepped toward him.
“My uncle?”
Marco nodded.
“Your father's older brother.”
I felt dizzy.
Dante's uncle had supposedly died in a boating accident when Dante was ten.
Another dead man.
Another convenient accident.
Dante sat down slowly.
“My family told me Lucien died overseas.”
“He didn't.”
“How do you know?”
Marco pulled out his phone.
“I spent eleven years protecting you. There are things I learned without permission.”
He showed us a classified photograph.
An older man stood beside a shipping terminal.
Lucien Marchetti.
Alive.
Taken six months earlier.
Dante stared at the image.
“Why would he stay hidden?”
“Because he wanted your empire.”
The answer came from the doorway.
Nicholas Vale stood there.
His gun was lowered.
He looked exhausted.
Dante raised his weapon.
Nicholas didn't move.
“Don't shoot.”
“You have ten seconds.”
Nicholas looked at me.
“Your mother was my friend.”
I said nothing.
“Your father was my brother in every way that mattered.”
Dante's jaw tightened.
“You killed him.”
“No.”
“You lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“You're responsible.”
“I am.”
He lowered his head.
“But not for his death.”
Dante stepped closer.
“Then tell me who killed Samuel.”
Nicholas looked at Marco.
Marco's expression told me the answer was about to hurt.
Nicholas said one name.
“Lucien.”
Nobody moved.
Nicholas continued.
“Lucien built the network long before Dante inherited anything. When Matteo tried to leave parts of the business behind, Lucien refused.”
“Why?”
“Power.”
“That simple?”
“No.”
Nicholas looked at me.
“Your father discovered Lucien was moving people through shipping routes disguised as cargo transfers.”
My stomach turned.
“People?”
“Witnesses. Informants. Rivals. Anyone who knew too much.”
Dante's face darkened.
“And my father stopped him.”
“He tried.”
“What happened?”
“Lucien arranged the accident.”
I closed my eyes.
Finally.
An answer.
But it wasn't enough.
“Why did you let me believe my father died drunk?”
Nicholas looked at me.
“Because Lucien had people watching you.”
I stepped forward.
“You could have protected me.”
“I did.”
I laughed bitterly.
“By disappearing?”
“Yes.”
“That isn't protection.”
“It is when everyone looking for you believes you are alone.”
Dante looked at Nicholas.
“Where is Lucien?”
Nicholas smiled sadly.
“You're assuming he wants you alive.”
The room became colder.
“What does he want?”
“Your signature.”
“On what?”
“The Marchetti Trust.”
Dante's expression changed.
The trust.
I knew nothing about it.
Nicholas explained.
“Your father placed controlling ownership of several legitimate businesses into a private trust. Dante gains full authority at thirty-seven.”
Dante stared.
“That's tomorrow.”
Nicholas nodded.
“Exactly.”
I looked at him.
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“He has until tomorrow to sign.”
“To claim everything.”
“And if he doesn't?”
“Lucien takes control through a succession clause.”
Dante looked at Marco.
“How many people know?”
“Too many.”
“And who set the trap at Lucent?”
Nicholas's eyes shifted.
“The person who knew exactly where you would sit.”
I realized it at the same time Dante did.
The restaurant reservation.
The security schedule.
The table arrangement.
The note.
Someone had known every detail.
Marco whispered, “There's only one person with access to all of that.”
“Who?”
“Your chief legal counsel.”
Dante frowned.
“Elias Grant.”
My father’s ledger flipped open under the air conditioning.
A page fluttered.
A name appeared.
Elias Grant.
Beside it:
Paid by V.M.
I looked at Dante.
“V.M.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
Nicholas answered.
“Vale Maritime.”
I felt a chill.
“Then Elias works for Nicholas.”
Nicholas looked almost offended.
“No.”
He looked at Dante.
“Elias works for Lucien.”
Dante stared at him.
“You've been hiding too much.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Nicholas looked at me.
“Because Lucien told me that if I exposed him too early, he would kill Alina.”
I froze.
Dante stepped between us.
“You threatened my guest?”
Nicholas shook his head.
“I was trying to keep her alive.”
Dante looked at me.
The expression in his eyes had changed.
No longer suspicion.
Something more dangerous.
Protectiveness.
“Then we'll end this tomorrow.”
Nicholas shook his head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because tomorrow isn't when Lucien plans to take the trust.”
Nicholas reached into his coat.
Marco aimed instantly.
Nicholas pulled out a folded document.
May you like
He placed it on the table.
“Tonight.”
Related Stories
