Chapter 3 - The Woman at the Funeral
Sofia was staying at the Bellmont Hotel under another name.
Naturally.
People with nothing to hide rarely registered as Claire Bennett.
Dominic and I took the private elevator to the seventeenth floor.
Two men waited at opposite ends of the corridor.
Not hotel security.
Armed.
Dominic noticed them at the same time I did.
“Friends of hers?” he murmured.
“We’ll ask.”
We never got the chance.
The first man reached inside his jacket.
Dominic moved faster.
He grabbed the man’s wrist, slammed him into the wall, and removed the weapon before the second guard could react.
I drew mine.
“Don’t.”
The second man froze.
“Hands.”
He lifted them.
Within seconds, both were disarmed.
Dominic searched them.
“No identification.”
“Who hired you?” I asked.
Silence.
I pressed the barrel of my gun against the first man’s chest.
Dominic sighed.
“He asked politely.”
The man swallowed.
“Woman inside.”
“Sofia?”
“No names.”
“What were your instructions?”
“To make sure nobody disturbed her.”
“Anyone specifically?”
He looked at me.
“You.”
Interesting.
I knocked.
No answer.
“Sofia.”
Nothing.
I tried the handle.
Unlocked.
That worried me more.
I entered.
The suite was dark except for a lamp near the window.
Sofia sat in a chair.
Three years had changed her.
She was thinner.
Her blonde hair shorter.
Her face looked older than thirty-two.
But her eyes were exactly the same.
Green.
Sharp.
Afraid.
She held a glass of wine in one hand.
No weapon.
“You came quickly,” she said.
I closed the door.
“Were you expecting me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Mateo was going to find you eventually.”
Hearing her say his name nearly broke my composure.
“You knew he was alive.”
“Yes.”
Three years of grief condensed into a single second.
I crossed the room.
Dominic stayed near the door.
Sofia did not move.
“You watched me bury an empty coffin.”
“Yes.”
“You stood beside me.”
“Yes.”
“You let me believe my son was dead.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I did.”
I grabbed the edge of the table.
Not her throat.
Progress.
“Why?”
“Because if you knew he was alive, you would have searched for him.”
“Of course I would have.”
“And they would have followed you.”
“Who?”
She looked toward Dominic.
“He can stay.”
“He was family before you were.”
That hurt her.
Good.
She set down her wine.
“The night of the crash, Mateo wasn’t supposed to be in that car.”
“Elena told me.”
Sofia stared.
“Elena?”
“She’s alive.”
Relief crossed her face.
“And Mateo?”
I stepped closer.
“Alive.”
Her lips trembled.
“You’ve seen him?”
“Yes.”
She covered her face.
A sob escaped.
For one confusing moment, I wanted to hate her less.
Then I remembered the grave.
“Explain.”
She lowered her hands.
“The attack was meant for you.”
“I wasn’t in the car.”
“You were supposed to be.”
That caught me.
“What?”
“You had a meeting that evening. Your driver was bringing you from the south warehouse.”
I remembered.
“The meeting was canceled.”
“Exactly.”
“Who knew my route?”
“Your father.”
Silence.
Dominic’s face hardened.
“My father arranged the attack?”
“No.”
Sofia shook her head.
“He was trying to stop it.”
“Then who?”
“Your uncle Vittorio.”
The name landed like something rotten.
Vittorio Moretti.
My father’s younger brother.
My godfather.
The man who had stood beside me at Mateo’s funeral.
He had died eighteen months later from a heart attack.
Or so I had been told.
“You’re lying.”
“I wish.”
“Why would Vittorio kill me?”
“Because your father planned to hand you control of everything.”
“He did.”
“And Vittorio believed it belonged to him.”
Old family resentment.
Power.
Money.
The most boring motives in history had destroyed more lives than hatred ever could.
Sofia continued.
“Vittorio bribed one of your mechanics to damage the brakes. The car assigned to you was switched at the last minute.”
“And Mateo’s nanny took it.”
“Yes.”
“With my son.”
“Yes.”
Her voice broke.
“The crash happened before anyone could stop it.”
“What happened afterward?”
“Your father realized what Vittorio had done.”
I stared.
“My father knew?”
“Yes.”
“And instead of telling me—”
“He believed Vittorio would try again.”
“So he stole my son?”
“He hid him.”
“From me.”
“To keep Vittorio from using Mateo against you.”
My laugh was bitter.
“You expect me to believe my father protected my son by making me bury him?”
“No.”
Sofia leaned forward.
“I expect you to understand that your father was terrified.”
“My father was never terrified.”
“You didn’t know him as well as you think.”
I stepped closer.
“You don’t get to tell me what I knew.”
She flinched.
Good.
“Who created the fake death certificate?”
“Romano.”
“Who arranged the coffin?”
“Your father’s attorney, Carlo Bianchi.”
Another familiar name.
Bianchi had handled Moretti family business for decades.
He was still alive.
Still working for me.
Still came to dinner twice a month.
My stomach turned.
“How many people?”
“Five originally.”
“Names.”
“Your father. Romano. Bianchi. Me. And Elena, though Elena only knew pieces.”
“What about Vittorio?”
“He believed Mateo died.”
“So why not tell me after Vittorio died?”
Sofia’s eyes dropped.
That was the question.
“Why?”
“Because Vittorio didn’t die.”
Dominic stopped moving.
I stared at her.
“Say that again.”
“His death was staged.”
I almost laughed.
The entire world had apparently become a cemetery filled with living people.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me—”
“I don’t know.”
She stood now.
“Luca, your father discovered Vittorio had people inside your organization. Police. Banks. Hospitals. Even your house.”
“The listening device.”
Her eyes widened.
“You found one?”
“Yes.”
“Then he knows Mateo is alive.”
I looked at Dominic.
“We have to get back.”
He was already calling the estate.
No answer.
He tried again.
“Come on.”
Nothing.
My blood went cold.
“Elena.”
I called her directly.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
Then she answered.
But it wasn’t Elena’s voice.
A man spoke.
“Hello, nephew.”
Everything inside me froze.
I knew that voice.
Older now.
Rougher.
But unmistakable.
“Vittorio.”
Sofia went white.
The man laughed softly.
“So she told you.”
“Where is my son?”
“Safe.”
I could barely control myself.
“If you touch him—”
“Still threatening before thinking. Just like your father.”
“You murdered my father?”
A pause.
“Eventually.”
Sofia covered her mouth.
I felt the floor shift beneath me.
My father’s stroke.
His sudden death.
Vittorio.
“Where are they?”
“Your house.”
Dominic swore.
“I wouldn’t rush,” Vittorio said. “My men control the gates.”
“You’re in my home?”
“For now.”
“What do you want?”
“What should have been mine thirty years ago.”
“The organization.”
“The Moretti name.”
I looked at Sofia.
She whispered, “Don’t give him anything.”
Vittorio heard.
“Ah. Sofia. Still beautiful?”
Her face twisted.
“You should have stayed dead.”
“So should the boy.”
I went still.
“You said he was safe.”
“He is. As long as you cooperate.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Come alone.”
Dominic shook his head.
Vittorio continued.
“If I see Dominic, if I see police, if I see one vehicle I don’t recognize, Elena dies first.”
“And Mateo?”
A pause.
“Come home, Luca.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone.
Sofia stepped forward.
“You can’t go alone.”
“I have to.”
“That’s what he wants.”
“He has my son.”
Dominic spoke.
“And he wants you angry.”
“I am angry.”
“No.”
Dominic moved closer.
“You’re scared.”
I looked at him.
He was right.
I hated him for it.
I had not been scared of death in years.
But now?
Mateo had returned to me for less than an hour.
And someone was already threatening to take him away again.
Sofia touched my arm.
I pulled away.
“You don’t get to touch me.”
Her hand fell.
“I deserve that.”
“You deserve worse.”
“I know.”
“You lied to me for three years.”
“I know.”
“You let me believe I failed my son.”
“I know.”
Her tears returned.
“I thought I was saving him.”
“You weren’t.”
“No.”
Her voice broke.
“I was saving myself from having to choose between you.”
That stopped me.
“What?”
She looked at me.
“Vittorio told me if I told you Mateo survived, he would kill you.”
Silence.
“He made me choose between your life and your son’s.”
“And you chose—”
“Both.”
She smiled painfully.
“I tried to save both.”
She reached into her purse.
Dominic’s hand went to his weapon.
Sofia slowly removed a small flash drive.
“Your father gave me this before he died.”
“What is it?”
“Everything he discovered about Vittorio.”
“Why didn’t you give it to me?”
“Because Bianchi told me you were compromised.”
“Bianchi is part of this?”
“I don’t know.”
She handed me the drive.
“But your father suspected someone close to you.”
Dominic took it.
“We’ll check it.”
My phone rang again.
This time a video call.
Vittorio.
I answered.
The screen showed my office.
My desk.
My rug.
Elena sat in a chair.
Hands tied.
Mateo was in her arms.
Crying.
Then Vittorio stepped into view.
Gray-haired.
Alive.
Smiling.
“Five minutes,” he said.
The camera shifted.
A man stood behind Elena with a gun.
My heart stopped.
“Touch them and—”
“Five minutes.”
The video ended.
Dominic grabbed my shoulder.
“Listen to me.”
“I’m going.”
“Yes.”
That surprised me.
“But not like he expects.”
He held up Sofia’s flash drive.
“Your father may have left you a weapon.”
Sofia stared at him.
“What?”
Dominic looked toward the laptop on the desk.
“We need three minutes.”
We inserted the drive.
There were dozens of encrypted files.
One folder was labeled:
IF LUCA FINDS MATEO
My entire body went cold.
My father had expected this moment.
Dominic opened it.
A video appeared.
My father filled the screen.
Older.
Tired.
Alive at the time of recording.
He looked directly into the camera.
“Luca, if you are watching this, then Mateo is alive and Vittorio has returned.”
My knees nearly weakened.
My father continued.
“There is something you must know before you face him.”
He paused.
“What happened three years ago was never only about control of the family.”
Another pause.
“Vittorio believes Mateo is his grandson.”
I stared at the screen.
Sofia stopped breathing.
My father’s next words changed everything.
“And there is a reason he believes it.”
May you like
Because the secret hidden inside our family was no longer simply about kidnapping—it was about Mateo’s blood.
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