Chapter 4 - The Woman Who Had His PasswordsJuliana Pierce arrived at Valente Mansion before sunrise because Matteo summoned her with one message.
COME NOW.
She walked into the library wearing navy trousers, a cream blouse, and the expression of a woman who had spent six years learning not to appear nervous around dangerous men.
Then she saw Elena.
Marco.
The photograph of Ethan.
Her face changed.
“Where did you get that?”
Matteo answered.
“Sit.”
Juliana did.
Elena remained near the fireplace.
She had never spoken to Juliana beyond polite household interactions.
Juliana was thirty-four.
Efficient.
Elegant.
Always controlled.
She managed Matteo’s legitimate business calendar, travel, and confidential communications.
If anyone knew his passwords, it was her.
Matteo placed the photograph on the table.
“Why did you give them the code?”
Juliana stared.
“I didn’t.”
“Ethan says you did.”
“Ethan is being held at gunpoint.”
“Answer.”
Her gaze shifted toward Elena.
Matteo noticed.
“Look at me.”
Juliana did.
“I gave nobody anything.”
Marco placed access records on the table.
“Your credentials authenticated an override at 1:56 a.m.”
“My credentials were copied.”
“How?”
Juliana’s expression tightened.
“I don’t know.”
Elena watched.
Not her words.
Hands.
Juliana’s left thumb rubbed her right ring finger.
No ring.
But a pale indentation showed.
Recently removed.
Elena asked, “Are you married?”
Everyone looked at her.
Juliana froze.
“No.”
“You wore a ring.”
Matteo’s eyes moved to the mark.
Juliana lowered her hand.
“Engaged.”
“To who?”
Silence.
Matteo’s voice became cold.
“Juliana.”
She closed her eyes.
“Dominic.”
Matteo went completely still.
Elena knew the name.
Dominic Valente.
Matteo’s cousin.
Vittorio’s only son.
Executive vice chairman of Valente Holdings.
Publicly, Matteo’s closest living relative.
Privately, apparently engaged to his assistant.
“How long?”
“Eighteen months.”
“You never told me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you hate him.”
“I distrust him.”
“For good reason.”
That sentence changed the room.
Juliana began crying.
Quietly.
“I didn’t give Dominic your security access.”
“But?”
She looked at Matteo.
“He used me.”
Matteo said nothing.
“He asked questions.”
“What questions?”
“About your schedule. Your father’s things. Whether you still kept the old watch.”
Elena’s stomach tightened.
“You told him?”
“Yes.”
Matteo’s expression remained unreadable.
But pain lived underneath.
Not romantic betrayal.
Trust betrayal.
Different wound.
Juliana continued.
“I thought he was curious about family history.”
“Why would he need security codes?”
“He didn’t ask.”
“Then how?”
“I wrote backup credentials in my home safe.”
Marco cursed.
Juliana looked ashamed.
“Dominic knew the combination.”
“Because?”
“He was my fiancé.”
Matteo laughed once.
Harsh.
“Was?”
Juliana looked down.
“I ended it three weeks ago.”
Exactly when thefts began.
“Why?”
“I found something.”
Of course.
Elena felt the story click.
“What?”
Juliana looked at her.
“Your father’s name.”
She pulled a small flash drive from inside her sleeve.
Marco moved.
Juliana held up both hands.
“I brought it because Matteo said come now.”
Matteo took it.
“Explain.”
“Dominic left a laptop at my apartment.”
Her voice shook.
“I saw a spreadsheet open.”
Shipping references.
Names.
Payments.
Antonio Moretti.
Isabella Valente.
Carlo Valente.
Daniel Valente.
Matteo’s dead brother.
“I copied it.”
Matteo’s face changed.
“What did it say about Daniel?”
Juliana’s eyes filled.
“Eliminate witness.”
Silence.
Elena looked at Matteo.
Seven years earlier, his younger brother died in a ballroom fire.
Not accident.
Witness.
“To what?” Matteo asked.
“I don’t know.”
Juliana continued.
“Dominic realized someone accessed the file.”
“He knew it was you?”
“I think so.”
“You ended the engagement.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She looked toward Matteo.
“Because I knew what you would do.”
Matteo’s jaw tightened.
“What?”
“Kill him.”
Silence.
He did not deny it.
Elena’s pulse changed.
This was the world behind the suits.
Behind quiet dinners.
Matteo looked at Juliana.
“Would I have been wrong?”
“Yes.”
Elena spoke before fear stopped her.
Everyone turned.
Matteo’s eyes hardened.
Elena continued.
“If you killed Dominic without proving anything, you’d start a family war and destroy evidence.”
“Your concern is evidence?”
“My concern is also you spending the rest of your life becoming exactly what they expect.”
Matteo stared.
Nobody spoke to him like that.
Apparently Elena did.
Juliana almost smiled through tears.
The flash drive contained partial records.
Enough to confirm Dominic knew about the freight operation.
Enough to connect him financially to shell companies.
Not enough to prove murder.
Then Elena found one code.
D17.
Repeated beside Daniel Valente’s name.
Room Seventeen.
The ballroom.
Daniel had found Isabella’s hidden room.
He discovered the tape.
Maybe Dominic caught him.
Elena looked at Matteo.
“He died because he found what we found.”
Matteo walked away.
For ten minutes, nobody followed.
Elena eventually did.
He stood in the ballroom.
Morning light reflected across the polished floor.
The same room where Elena danced in his shirt.
The same room where Daniel died.
The same room Isabella had hidden a secret behind the wall.
“I was here,” Matteo said.
Elena stopped behind him.
“The night he died?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Charity dinner downstairs.”
His voice was flat.
“Daniel texted me.”
“What did he say?”
“Come upstairs. I found something about Mom.”
Elena’s chest tightened.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I was meeting someone.”
He laughed bitterly.
“A woman whose name I don’t even remember.”
The guilt hit hard.
“You couldn’t know.”
“I ignored him.”
“You didn’t kill him.”
“I ignored him.”
“Matteo.”
“When I came up, this room was burning.”
He looked around.
“I heard him inside.”
Elena closed her eyes.
“He died before firefighters got him.”
Matteo looked at her.
“Seven years I thought electrical failure killed him.”
“And now?”
“Dominic.”
“Maybe.”
His eyes sharpened.
“Don’t.”
“No lies, remember?”
She stepped closer.
“We don’t know yet.”
Matteo’s breathing changed.
Elena understood the temptation.
Violence gives grief somewhere to go.
Evidence asks grief to wait.
Waiting is harder.
She reached toward his hand.
Stopped.
“Can I?”
He looked down.
Then nodded.
Elena took his hand.
His fingers were cold.
For a man who terrified Chicago, Matteo looked heartbreakingly human when nobody else could see.
“I danced here because my father taught me,” Elena said.
Matteo looked at her.
“What?”
“Not ballet.”
She smiled faintly.
“My mother put me in ballet. I trained until I was nineteen.”
“Why stop?”
“Knee injury.”
“That wasn’t the whole reason.”
She looked toward the windows.
“No.”
Matteo waited.
“My father used to dance terribly in the kitchen.”
A small laugh.
“Every Sunday morning.”
She squeezed Matteo’s hand.
“After he died, dancing made me angry.”
“So you stopped.”
“Yes.”
“Why start here?”
Elena thought.
“Because nobody was watching.”
Matteo almost winced.
She noticed.
“Oh, right.”
“The cameras.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
She stared.
“What?”
“I should not have watched that long.”
Elena blinked.
“How long?”
He looked away.
“Twenty-three minutes.”
“That long?”
“Yes.”
“Matteo.”
“I was investigating.”
“You watched me use a spoon as a microphone.”
“Unfortunately.”
She hit his arm.
He laughed.
The sound echoed.
Elena stopped.
Matteo stopped too.
Neither was accustomed to laughter here.
For one second the ballroom changed.
Then Marco entered.
“Sorry.”
Matteo released Elena’s hand.
Too quickly.
Marco noticed.
Wisely ignored it.
“We found Ethan.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Abandoned garage.”
They went.
Ethan was injured but conscious.
He confirmed Dominic’s men kidnapped him.
They had forced access.
Juliana’s copied codes were real.
But someone else inside the mansion helped.
“Who?” Matteo asked.
Ethan shook his head.
“I never saw them.”
“Man? Woman?”
“Man.”
Accent?
“Old Chicago. Italian maybe.”
Matteo exchanged a look with Marco.
Longtime staff.
Few possibilities.
Chef Roberto?
Valet Pietro Russo?
Grounds supervisor?
Elena remembered something.
“The donation basket.”
Everyone looked.
“Who moves Matteo’s clothing?”
Mrs. Costa supervised.
But Pietro handled personal wardrobe.
Pietro Russo had served Matteo for fourteen years.
Matteo’s face hardened.
“No.”
Elena said quietly, “You said no lies.”
He hated her for being right.
They returned.
Pietro was gone.
His room empty.
But unlike Ethan, he had left something.
A note.
Mr. Valente,
I am sorry.
They have my son.
I took the watch.
I put the shirt in laundry because Dominic told me the number mattered.
I moved the medal.
I opened the passages.
I never touched Elena’s room.
If you want the truth, come to St. Michael’s cemetery at midnight.
Alone.
—Pietro
Matteo read it twice.
Elena said, “You’re not going alone.”
He looked at her.
“That is literally what the note says.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“People who send threatening cemetery invitations don’t get to control guest lists.”
Marco smiled.
Matteo glared.
By midnight, they were at St. Michael’s.
Pietro waited near Carlo Valente’s grave.
Alone.
He looked twenty years older than he had that morning.
“Mr. Valente.”
Matteo stopped.
“Where is your son?”
“Dominic has him.”
“Why?”
“He borrowed money.”
“For?”
“Gambling.”
Pietro’s shame showed.
“They told me if I helped, the debt disappeared.”
“Why the watch?”
“Dominic said Carlo hid a key.”
Matteo’s expression hardened.
“He knew?”
“Vittorio knew.”
The uncle.
Still directing from somewhere.
“Where is Vittorio?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is Isabella?”
Pietro froze.
That was answer enough.
“You know.”
Pietro’s eyes filled.
“I know she’s alive.”
Matteo’s entire body went rigid.
“Where?”
“Dominic moved her two weeks ago.”
Elena whispered, “Moved her?”
Pietro looked at Matteo.
“Your mother came back to Chicago.”
Everything stopped.
“She came back because Daniel left her something before he died.”
Matteo barely breathed.
“What?”
“Proof.”
“Of?”
Pietro looked toward Carlo’s grave.
“That your father didn’t die from natural causes.”
Matteo’s eyes narrowed.
“My father died of a heart attack.”
Pietro shook his head.
“No.”
Carlo Valente had not simply died seventeen years earlier.
He had been poisoned.
And the man who ordered it—
was Vittorio Valente.
Matteo’s uncle.
May you like
The old family war had never ended.
It had only been waiting for Matteo to discover he had inherited his empire from a murdered father.
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