Chapter 7 - The Brother Luca Couldn’t ForgiveMarco survived.
Barely.
The bullet missed his heart but caused enough damage that the surgeon refused to promise anything for the first three hours.
Luca sat outside the operating room without speaking.
Blood stained the cuff of his white shirt.
Marco's blood.
Isabella sat beside him.
I stood near the window.
Nobody knew what to say.
How did you comfort a man whose brother had betrayed him, hurt the woman he cared about, lied for months—and then stepped in front of a bullet for him?
Families liked simple stories.
Good son.
Bad son.
Loyal brother.
Traitor.
Marco had destroyed all of those categories.
At 7:16 p.m., the surgeon appeared.
"He's stable."
Isabella covered her mouth.
Luca lowered his head.
Just once.
I saw his shoulders move.
Then he stood.
"Can I see him?"
"Five minutes."
Luca entered alone.
When he came out, his eyes were red.
He didn't explain.
He didn't need to.
Matteo escaped during the chaos at the restaurant.
The shooter was arrested.
He refused to talk.
But the recording Isabella had captured changed everything.
Matteo had admitted Thomas Marlowe was with Antonio.
Not murder.
Not directly.
But enough to reopen old questions.
Enough to make him desperate.
Marco woke the next morning.
He asked for me.
I almost refused.
Then I went.
He looked awful.
Tubes.
Bandages.
Skin too pale.
"You're difficult to kill," I said.
He smiled weakly.
"Family trait."
I stayed near the door.
He noticed.
"I deserve that."
"Yes."
"I need to tell you something."
"Then tell me."
He looked at the ceiling.
"I didn't start investigating Matteo because of Dad."
I waited.
"I started because Matteo was paying me."
My stomach tightened.
"For what?"
"Information."
I stared.
"About Luca?"
"At first, business information."
"How long?"
"Two years."
I couldn't speak.
Marco closed his eyes.
"I was angry."
"That's your explanation?"
"No."
He looked at me.
"It's the ugliest truth I have."
He told me everything.
After Antonio died, Luca became head of the family.
Marco had spent years living in his brother's shadow.
Everyone called Luca disciplined.
Marco reckless.
Luca capable.
Marco spoiled.
Matteo fed the resentment.
Small favors became confidential documents.
Confidential documents became schedules.
Schedules became leverage.
Then Marco found an old payment.
Two hundred thousand dollars.
Vincent Caruso.
Two days before their father's death.
He confronted Matteo.
Matteo laughed.
That was when Marco realized the man cultivating his resentment might have helped murder their father.
"So you turned against him," I said.
"Eventually."
"Eventually?"
"I kept pretending."
"For how long?"
"Eighteen months."
"And when I heard you?"
"Panic."
He swallowed painfully.
"I thought you'd run to Luca. Matteo would know I'd been playing him. Everything would disappear."
"So you threatened me."
"Yes."
"Because protecting your investigation mattered more than whether I was terrified."
His eyes filled.
"Yes."
I appreciated that he didn't lie.
Didn't say he grabbed me gently.
Didn't say he only meant to scare me a little.
He had harmed me.
He knew it.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
I stood there for several seconds.
"I believe you're sorry."
Hope entered his eyes.
"I don't forgive you."
The hope faded.
"But maybe someday I will."
He nodded.
"That's more than I deserve."
"Probably."
He almost smiled.
Then he reached toward the bedside table.
A nurse had placed his belongings in a plastic bag.
"My phone."
I handed it to him.
He unlocked a hidden folder.
"There are messages between Matteo and me."
"Give them to Luca."
"I will."
He scrolled.
"One is different."
He showed me.
A scheduled meeting.
Tonight.
Pier 17.
11:30 p.m.
Matteo had apparently believed Marco was still playing both sides.
"He doesn't know you're alive?"
"He knows I'm in surgery."
"Why meet?"
"The last trust documents."
Marco breathed carefully.
"Matteo needs my signature as a family beneficiary if he wants to challenge Luca's control."
"You won't be there."
"No."
"Then he'll run."
"Unless someone else goes."
I looked at him.
"No."
He smiled faintly.
"I didn't say you."
"You were thinking it."
"I was thinking Luca."
That evening, Luca refused.
"No."
Marco, connected by video from the hospital, rolled his eyes.
"You always were stubborn."
"You were shot twelve hours ago."
"And you're still annoying twelve hours later."
"We're not using you as bait."
"You don't need me physically. Matteo thinks you're desperate enough to bargain."
Luca paced.
I sat nearby.
The trust transfer happened at noon tomorrow.
Thirteen hours.
Matteo was running out of time.
That made him dangerous.
Finally, Luca agreed to the meeting.
Not alone.
Not unprepared.
I stayed behind.
For exactly twenty minutes.
Then I found Isabella putting on a coat.
"Where are you going?"
"To stop my sons from destroying what's left of this family."
"I'm coming."
She looked at me.
"Luca will hate that."
"He's had a difficult week."
Isabella smiled for the first time.
We arrived near Pier 17 at 11:41.
Too late.
Cars blocked the street.
Luca's men were searching the waterfront.
Matteo wasn't there.
Instead, he'd left a phone.
On it was a video.
Marco.
In his hospital bed.
Except the bed was empty.
I stared.
"Where is he?"
Luca's face changed.
He called the hospital.
Security had been breached twenty minutes earlier.
Marco was gone.
Matteo had taken his wounded nephew.
Luca almost threw the phone into the river.
Then another message arrived.
MIDNIGHT.
OLD BROOKLYN TERMINAL.
COME ALONE.
THIS TIME I WANT THE GIRL TOO.
Luca looked at me.
"No."
I read the message again.
"He wants me because of my father."
"I don't care."
"I do."
"Elena."
"We keep reacting."
He stared at me.
"We wait for Matteo to choose the location. Choose the threat. Choose the leverage."
I stepped closer.
"Let him think he chose me."
Luca's face hardened.
"Absolutely not."
"I wear a wire."
"No."
"You put people around the building."
"No."
"We get him talking."
"No."
"Luca—"
"I said no."
I stared at him.
Then I asked quietly, "Do you trust me?"
His mouth closed.
"That's not fair."
"Neither is locking me out of my own father's story."
Silence.
Isabella stood several feet away.
She said nothing.
Finally Luca whispered, "I trust you."
"Then let me choose."
He looked at me for a long time.
"One condition."
"What?"
"If anything changes, you leave."
"Agreed."
"No arguing."
"I'll try."
"Elena."
"Agreed."
At 12:17 a.m., I entered the abandoned Brooklyn terminal beside Luca.
Matteo stood beneath a single hanging light.
Marco was tied to a chair.
Pale.
Conscious.
Furious.
"You're late," Matteo said.
Luca stepped forward.
"Let him go."
Matteo looked at me.
"Thomas had your eyes."
My pulse jumped.
"You knew my father."
"Oh, yes."
"Then tell me what happened."
Luca's eyes flicked toward me.
The wire beneath my dress transmitted every word.
Matteo smiled.
"Your father made the same mistake you did."
"What mistake?"
"Believing a DeSantis man would save him."
I forced myself not to react.
"Antonio tried."
"Antonio chose himself."
Marco said weakly, "He's lying."
Matteo slapped him.
Luca moved.
A gun appeared in Matteo's hand.
"Stay there."
He pointed it at Marco.
Then looked at me.
"Ask Luca why your father's body was never found."
I swallowed.
"Why?"
"Because there was no construction accident."
"I know."
"No."
Matteo smiled.
"You still don't understand."
He walked closer.
"Thomas Marlowe died in the same car as Antonio DeSantis."
The room seemed to tilt.
"And the person who put them in that car..."
May you like
Matteo looked at Luca.
"...was someone your precious Luca has been protecting this entire time."
