Chapter 3 - The Woman He Was Told Not to TrustFor one second, Vincent believed him.
Not because he distrusted Naomi.
Because survival had trained him to believe the most dangerous explanation first.
He looked at her.
Naomi’s face lost color.
Not guilt.
Shock.
At least that was what Vincent wanted to believe.
Carlo stood beyond the hotel door.
“Vincent.”
Silence.
“I have the security footage.”
Naomi whispered, “He’s lying.”
Vincent held up one hand.
Carlo continued.
“Seven twelve last night. Naomi entered your office alone.”
Vincent looked at her.
She nodded once.
“That part is true.”
“What were you doing?”
“Putting your schedule on the desk.”
“You had access to the whiskey?”
“Yes.”
Carlo’s voice carried through the door.
“She opened the decanter.”
Naomi’s eyes widened.
“No.”
Vincent’s grip tightened around the gun.
“Why would footage exist if the camera looped?”
Naomi whispered.
“I don’t know.”
Carlo answered as if he had heard.
“Because whoever looped the official feed missed the mirrored backup.”
Vincent looked toward the room camera above the television.
Hotel security.
Always watching.
He hated being watched.
Carlo knocked again.
“Let me in.”
Naomi whispered, “Don’t.”
Vincent studied her.
“Did you touch the decanter?”
“No.”
“Think.”
“I placed the schedule down. Your glass was beside it.”
“Did you move anything?”
Naomi hesitated.
“I moved the glass.”
“Why?”
“It was on top of a document.”
Vincent’s pulse changed.
“Which document?”
“I don’t know. It was face down.”
Carlo said, “She had ninety seconds alone.”
Naomi’s voice became sharp.
“He knows too much.”
“Yes.”
“He knew where we were.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Vincent looked at the hotel keycard.
Someone expected them here.
Possibly Carlo.
Possibly Daniel’s dead hand leading them into a trap.
Vincent walked toward the door.
Naomi caught his sleeve.
“What are you doing?”
“Finding out.”
“You have one gun.”
“I only need one.”
“That is the most male sentence I’ve heard all week.”
Vincent almost smiled.
He positioned Naomi behind the wall.
Then unlocked the door.
Carlo stood alone.
Hands visible.
No weapon.
Gray coat.
Expensive suit.
Same calm face Vincent had seen beside him for twenty-five years.
Carlo’s eyes moved immediately to the pistol.
“That seems unfriendly.”
“Come in.”
Carlo entered.
Vincent locked the door.
Naomi did not move.
Carlo saw her.
His face hardened.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Naomi crossed her arms.
“I hear that often today.”
Vincent pointed toward a chair.
“Sit.”
Carlo sat.
“Phone.”
Carlo handed it over.
Vincent placed it on the table.
“Now explain why you followed us.”
“I didn’t.”
“You knew where we were.”
“Because Daniel’s phone pinged this hotel before he died.”
Vincent stopped.
“How do you know Daniel?”
Carlo looked at Naomi.
Then Vincent.
“Daniel Reyes worked internal accounting until nine years ago.”
Vincent remembered.
Quiet man.
Transferred to a subsidiary.
Eventually disappeared from payroll.
“Why did nobody tell me he left?”
“Matteo handled accounting then.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
Carlo continued.
“Daniel contacted me six months ago.”
“About?”
“Your uncle.”
“Why not me?”
“Because he didn’t trust you.”
Vincent laughed without humor.
“Everyone is developing that habit.”
Carlo looked at Naomi.
“He trusted her brother once.”
Naomi’s expression changed.
“You knew Evan?”
“No.”
“But you were in the video.”
Carlo froze.
Vincent watched.
“What video?”
“Hotel corridor. Eight years ago.”
Carlo looked toward the flash drive.
Understanding appeared.
“You found it.”
“You knew it existed?”
Carlo exhaled.
“Daniel told me Evan copied something.”
Naomi stepped closer.
“You met Matteo that night.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Carlo looked at Vincent.
“Because I was spying on him.”
Vincent stared.
Carlo laughed softly.
“I knew you wouldn’t believe that.”
“Correct.”
“Your father asked me to.”
Vincent’s face changed.
“My father?”
“Three months before he died.”
The room went quiet.
Carlo leaned forward.
“Antonio suspected Matteo was stealing.”
“Why not tell me?”
“You were already running half the street operations. Your father wanted proof before turning brother against brother.”
Vincent looked away.
“He never trusted me.”
“He was protecting you.”
“Everyone keeps using that word when they mean lying.”
Carlo had no answer.
Naomi pointed toward him.
“Evan recorded that you knew.”
“Yes.”
“Knew what?”
“That Matteo was working with outside interests.”
“Who?”
Carlo looked at Vincent.
“The Romano family.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
The Romanos had been rivals for decades.
Not open war.
Not peace.
Competition.
Ports.
Construction.
Nightlife.
Politicians.
“Matteo sold information?”
“More than that.”
Carlo’s voice lowered.
“He was planning succession.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“He planned to remove my father.”
“Yes.”
“And me?”
“Yes.”
Naomi whispered, “Then why are you alive?”
Carlo smiled bitterly.
“Good question.”
Vincent lowered the weapon slightly.
“Because he thought you were useful.”
“Probably.”
“Or because you were working with him.”
Carlo’s expression tightened.
“I spent eight years collecting evidence.”
“And achieved nothing.”
“I kept you alive.”
Vincent stepped forward.
“Do not claim credit for my pulse.”
Carlo stood.
Vincent raised the gun again.
Carlo stopped.
“I knew someone would move against you when Daniel resurfaced.”
“How?”
“Daniel contacted Matteo two weeks ago.”
Naomi stared.
“Why would he do that?”
“To sell him something.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“Evidence?”
“Yes.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“Daniel contacted me afterward.”
Carlo lowered his voice.
“He said Matteo panicked.”
Vincent looked toward the flash drive.
Carlo continued.
“Last night Daniel called me at six forty.”
Before Vincent drank the whiskey.
“What did he say?”
“That Vincent knows.”
Vincent went still.
“Those exact words?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
“He said, ‘If he remembers by morning, Matteo loses everything.’”
Naomi looked at Vincent.
Carlo continued.
“Then Daniel disappeared.”
“And you didn’t call me?”
“I tried.”
Vincent frowned.
“My phone shows nothing.”
Carlo looked toward Naomi.
She took out Vincent’s secure phone.
“No incoming record.”
“Because someone rerouted the calls.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
Whoever had done this had access to telecommunications.
Security.
His office.
Medical information.
The garage.
This was larger than one poisoner.
“Show me the footage,” Vincent said.
Carlo opened his phone.
Naomi standing in Vincent’s office.
Timestamp 7:11 p.m.
She entered.
Placed papers on desk.
Moved his whiskey glass.
Then she opened the decanter.
Naomi stared.
“I did not do that.”
Vincent watched.
On screen, Naomi unscrewed the top.
Her hand moved over the opening.
Then she replaced it.
She left.
Video ended.
Carlo looked at Vincent.
Vincent replayed it.
Once.
Twice.
Then slower.
Something bothered him.
Naomi stood beside him.
“What?”
Vincent zoomed.
Her left wrist.
A bracelet.
Thin gold chain.
Naomi looked down at her bare wrist.
“I don’t wear bracelets to work.”
Vincent knew.
He had noticed her hands thousands of times.
Signing documents.
Passing him coffee.
Turning pages.
No bracelet.
“Fake,” Vincent said.
Carlo leaned closer.
“Face is hers.”
“Deepfake?”
“Could be.”
Vincent shook his head.
“Body double.”
Naomi looked at him.
“Someone dressed as me?”
“The camera angle never shows her face directly for more than a second.”
Carlo replayed.
Vincent was right.
Hair.
Build.
Suit.
Profile.
Convincing.
Not definitive.
Naomi exhaled shakily.
“Someone wanted footage implicating me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Carlo looked at Vincent.
“To separate you.”
The answer landed differently than either expected.
Vincent’s eyes shifted to Naomi.
She looked away.
Carlo noticed.
Vincent hated that.
“Enough.”
Carlo smiled faintly.
“You’ve been sleeping with her?”
Naomi nearly choked.
Vincent’s voice became ice.
“No.”
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“You reacted faster than she did.”
Naomi looked furious.
Vincent pointed the gun.
“Continue your explanation before you lose the ability.”
Carlo raised both hands.
“Someone knew if you woke up without memory and saw footage of Naomi poisoning your drink, you’d remove her.”
Naomi crossed her arms.
“That assumes Vincent trusts footage more than me.”
Carlo looked at her.
“Doesn’t everyone?”
Vincent said nothing.
Naomi’s expression changed slightly.
That hurt him.
Because she expected the answer.
Evidence over people.
That had always been Vincent.
Except the version of him from last night had written:
Trust Naomi.
Why?
He looked at the photograph taken at the clinic.
Do not confront Matteo until you remember why Naomi was crying.
Vincent turned toward Carlo.
“What do you know about my mother?”
Carlo went pale.
There.
Vincent saw it.
Naomi saw it too.
Carlo whispered, “Why?”
“Answer.”
Carlo sat again.
“I thought she was dead.”
“That’s the public story.”
“I knew she left.”
Vincent’s eyes sharpened.
“Where?”
“I never knew.”
“Daniel had a St. Catherine’s receipt.”
Carlo stopped.
“Dated six years ago.”
Silence.
“Patient initials A.M.”
Carlo’s jaw tightened.
“What?”
Vincent stepped closer.
“You know something.”
Carlo looked toward the door.
Wrong move.
Vincent pressed the gun against his chest.
“Sit.”
Carlo sat.
“Vincent.”
“Tell me.”
Carlo exhaled.
“Your mother contacted me once.”
“When?”
“Six years ago.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“What did she say?”
“She needed money.”
Vincent stared.
“How much?”
“Fifty thousand.”
“And you gave it?”
“Yes.”
“Without telling me?”
“She made me promise.”
Vincent laughed bitterly.
“My family has an impressive tradition of promising everyone secrecy except me.”
Carlo continued.
“She said she was helping someone.”
“Who?”
“A woman named Elena.”
Vincent froze.
The memory returned like a knife.
Hotel room.
Dark-haired woman.
Blood.
She was never supposed to survive.
“Elena,” he whispered.
Naomi stepped closer.
“You know her?”
“I don’t know.”
Carlo looked confused.
Vincent grabbed the edge of the table.
Image.
A woman pointing a gun.
No.
Not at him.
Past him.
Gunfire.
Naomi screaming.
Elena falling.
Then Vincent kneeling beside her.
Her hand gripping his sleeve.
He remembered words.
Your mother told me you’d come.
Vincent’s breathing changed.
Naomi touched his arm.
“What?”
He looked at her.
“Elena knows my mother.”
Carlo stared.
“Who is Elena?”
Vincent closed his eyes.
Another fragment.
The clinic.
His own voice to Naomi:
If I forget her, find room nineteen-oh-eight.
Naomi inhaled.
“Vincent.”
He opened his eyes.
“I didn’t shoot her.”
“How do you know?”
“The gun was hers.”
He remembered.
Elena fired toward the doorway.
Someone returned fire.
She collapsed.
Vincent had grabbed her weapon after.
“Who shot her?”
Vincent forced the memory.
Dark coat.
Silver cufflink.
A symbol.
An M inside a circle.
Not Matteo.
Matteo wore plain gold.
Vincent had seen that symbol elsewhere.
He turned toward Carlo.
“Romano.”
Carlo went still.
Naomi frowned.
“The rival family?”
Vincent nodded.
“Romano men wear silver M-circle cufflinks at formal meetings.”
“M?”
“Michele Romano.”
Carlo stood slowly.
“Matteo and Romano.”
Vincent looked at him.
“What?”
Carlo’s face had drained.
“I thought Matteo was selling them information.”
“And?”
“What if he wasn’t working for them?”
Naomi understood first.
“What if he was working with them?”
Carlo nodded.
Vincent’s mind raced.
His father’s death.
Evan.
Daniel.
The poison.
A woman named Elena.
His missing mother.
A conspiracy stretching more than a decade.
“What choice did I make last night?” Vincent whispered.
Naomi frowned.
“At the clinic?”
“No.”
The memory pushed forward.
He was in the hospital room.
Elena was alive somewhere else.
He had received a call.
A distorted voice.
Bring the card or Naomi dies.
Vincent turned toward her.
Naomi saw his face.
“What?”
“You were threatened.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
Carlo looked between them.
Vincent remembered more.
The service garage.
Naomi leaning over the passenger seat.
Vincent telling her to go upstairs.
Then seeing a laser dot against her coat through the windshield.
A sniper.
He had dragged her down.
That was why she had screamed his name.
Not the warehouse.
Later.
He looked at Naomi.
“You were targeted.”
Her face went pale.
“By who?”
“I don’t know.”
Vincent checked the hotel window instantly.
Curtains.
Closed.
Good.
“Were you ever alone after the clinic?”
Naomi thought.
“Five minutes in the garage.”
The missing jacket.
Vincent’s pulse jumped.
“Someone took it because of the memory card.”
Carlo nodded.
“Yes.”
Vincent looked toward the flash drive on the bed.
“But whoever took my jacket didn’t know about this.”
Naomi suddenly looked at the hotel room door.
“Unless Carlo led them here.”
Carlo’s expression hardened.
“I came alone.”
“You expect us to believe you?”
“No.”
A new sound interrupted them.
A soft click.
Vincent looked toward the ceiling.
Smoke detector.
Tiny red light.
Blinking differently.
He grabbed Naomi.
“Down.”
The window exploded.
Gunfire tore through the room.
Carlo dropped behind the bed.
Vincent pulled Naomi into the bathroom.
Another shot punched through the wall.
“They found us!”
Naomi shouted.
Vincent checked the angle.
“Opposite building.”
Carlo crawled toward them.
“Service stairs!”
Vincent grabbed the flash drive.
Naomi grabbed Evan’s badge.
They moved.
Hotel alarms started.
Guests screamed in the corridor.
Vincent kept Naomi behind him.
Carlo led them toward a laundry stairwell.
Three floors down, they stopped.
Vincent’s phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
He stared.
Naomi whispered, “Don’t.”
Vincent answered.
Silence.
Then a woman’s voice.
Weak.
“You remembered me?”
Vincent stopped breathing.
“Elena?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
She laughed painfully.
“Still alive.”
Vincent gripped the phone.
“Where is my mother?”
A pause.
Then Elena said the sentence that turned every assumption upside down.
“With me.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“My mother is alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“You can’t come yet.”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“Vincent, listen carefully.”
Her voice shook.
“Matteo did not poison you.”
Vincent stared at Carlo.
Naomi listened.
“Then who did?”
Elena inhaled.
“The person who has spent twenty-five years convincing every Moretti man that Matteo was the dangerous brother.”
Vincent’s face changed.
“My father?”
“No.”
Another pause.
May you like
“Your mother.”
The line went dead.
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