Chapter 4 - The Name in the Letter
Marco moved before anyone else.
He stepped between Matteo and me.
“Don’t.”
Matteo lifted both hands.
“I haven’t done anything.”
“My mother named you,” I said.
Matteo looked genuinely confused.
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because twenty-six years ago I was six.”
Silence.
I stared at the letter again.
Of course.
Matteo was roughly Marco’s age.
My mother could not possibly have meant him.
Marco took the page.
“Maybe there was another Matteo.”
Sofia looked ill.
“There was.”
Everyone turned.
“My husband’s older brother.”
Marco went still.
“Uncle Matteo?”
Sofia nodded.
Marco’s uncle had died twelve years earlier.
At least, according to what I knew.
“He was Anthony Bellini’s closest friend,” Sofia said.
Ross swore quietly.
Marco looked at him.
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
The pieces shifted.
Older Matteo Ricci had helped Bellini.
He had betrayed Katherine.
And if he had died twelve years ago, perhaps the danger should have died with him.
But somebody had broken into Marco’s office yesterday.
Somebody still wanted the ledger.
We returned inside.
Marco ordered the property secured.
No guests could enter or leave until morning.
That caused immediate family outrage.
Marco ignored it.
We spent hours reading Katherine’s documents.
The ledger contained names, dates, transactions.
Most meant nothing to me.
Marco recognized several.
His expression darkened as he turned pages.
“What?”
“Some of these names are still active.”
“In your businesses?”
“In politics. Real estate. Finance.”
“Could this destroy people?”
“Yes.”
I suddenly understood why somebody might still want it.
Near four in the morning, Sofia insisted we stop.
“You both look exhausted.”
Marco refused.
I didn’t.
I took the letter upstairs.
He followed.
Our fake relationship suddenly seemed absurd.
We had started the weekend worrying about fooling his mother.
Now my dead mother’s secrets sat on the bedside table.
Marco went toward the sofa.
“Don’t.”
He turned.
“You need sleep.”
“So do you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve been awake for almost twenty-four hours.”
“I’ve done worse.”
“That doesn’t make it intelligent.”
He looked at the bed.
Then me.
“This feels dangerous.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
“You’re scared of sharing a mattress?”
“No.”
“Then?”
His eyes held mine.
“You.”
The laugh disappeared.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
Marco looked almost irritated with himself.
“I’ve spent two years not crossing a line.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“What line?”
He said nothing.
I stepped closer.
“The bracelet?”
“Yes.”
“The photograph?”
“Yes.”
“The night in the rain?”
His eyes darkened.
“Yes.”
“Marco.”
“Emily.”
“Did you want this week to be fake?”
He looked away.
And that was enough.
Everything inside me trembled.
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“You worked for me.”
“You said that already.”
“And your history made it complicated.”
“What history?”
“Your mother died because of people connected to my family.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
“That distinction doesn’t matter to me.”
“It matters to me.”
Marco ran a hand through his hair.
“I didn’t want you wondering whether your job depended on how you answered.”
My anger softened.
He continued.
“I didn’t want you questioning whether I protected you because I expected something.”
“You never did.”
“I know.”
“Then why ask me to pretend?”
His expression almost became embarrassed again.
“My mother cornered me.”
I stared.
“The terrifying Marco Ricci was cornered by his seventy-year-old mother?”
“Sixty-nine.”
“For six more days.”
“She asked whether there was anyone I could imagine building a life with.”
My heart stopped.
“And?”
“I said yes before I thought better of it.”
“Who were you thinking about?”
Marco’s silence was unbearable.
I stepped closer.
“Who?”
His gaze dropped to my mouth.
Then returned to my eyes.
“You.”
There it was.
Two years.
Hundreds of mornings.
Thousands of emails.
Every late dinner.
Every quiet look.
I whispered, “I’ve been in love with you for two years.”
Marco didn’t move.
His expression changed so slowly that I could watch disbelief become understanding.
“Say that again.”
“I’m not doing it twice.”
“Emily.”
“I love you.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them, restraint was gone.
Marco stepped toward me.
Then stopped.
Still giving me the choice.
“Can I kiss you?”
Of all the things Marco Ricci could have done, asking nearly broke my heart.
“Yes.”
He kissed me gently.
Not dramatically.
Not desperately.
Like someone confirming something he had secretly believed impossible.
My fingers touched his jaw.
His hand settled at my waist.
The kiss deepened slightly.
Then his phone rang.
Marco pulled away with a curse.
I laughed breathlessly.
“Your timing is terrible.”
He checked the screen.
His smile disappeared.
“What?”
He answered.
I watched his face harden.
“Where?”
Silence.
“When?”
Another silence.
He ended the call.
“Someone left the estate.”
“Who?”
“Ross.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
He immediately called security.
But Ross’s room was empty.
So was his car.
The front gate cameras showed him leaving forty minutes earlier.
“How?” I asked.
Marco looked furious.
“One guard let him through.”
“Why?”
“The guard says I authorized it.”
“You didn’t.”
“No.”
Somebody had imitated Marco’s authorization.
Or somebody inside security was compromised.
We went downstairs.
The ledger remained locked in Marco’s temporary office.
Except when Marco opened the safe—
It was gone.
My mother’s letter was upstairs.
But the ledger had vanished.
Marco checked the safe.
No damage.
Someone had known the code.
“Who knows it?”
“No one.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Apparently not.”
Then Sofia entered.
“What happened?”
Marco turned.
“The ledger is gone.”
Her face paled.
“Oh, God.”
“What?”
Sofia sat down.
“There is something I should have told you.”
Marco’s voice became cold.
“What?”
“Your father changed his will before he died.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“He left ownership of one private company to someone outside the family.”
“Who?”
Sofia looked at me.
“To Katherine Carter.”
I stared at her.
“My mother?”
“She was already dead.”
“Yes.”
“So what happened to the company?”
“It passed according to Katherine’s estate.”
Marco understood first.
His eyes snapped toward me.
“No.”
I looked between them.
“What?”
Sofia whispered, “It passed to you.”
My stomach dropped.
“I own one of Vittorio’s companies?”
“Technically.”
“What company?”
Marco answered.
“Ricci Maritime Holdings.”
I didn’t recognize it.
But his expression frightened me.
“What?”
“That company owns several pieces of property.”
“So?”
“Including the land beneath this estate.”
I stared.
Sofia continued.
“And something else.”
“What?”
“The company has a private vault.”
“Where?”
“Nassau County.”
Marco looked at his mother.
“What’s inside?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who does?”
Sofia swallowed.
“Your father did.”
“Anyone else?”
She nodded.
“Katherine.”
A terrible silence settled.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I opened the message.
A photograph appeared.
Daniel Ross.
Sitting in a chair.
Not injured.
Not visibly restrained.
Simply staring at the camera with fear in his eyes.
Beneath it were eight words.
Bring Emily Carter to the vault tomorrow. Alone.
Marco read it over my shoulder.
“No.”
Then another message appeared.
This one contained a photograph of a document.
A birth certificate.
My name.
My mother’s name.
And beneath Father, a name I had never seen connected to me before.
Not Thomas Carter, the man who raised me.
The document said:
Vittorio Ricci.
I looked at Marco.
Neither of us could speak.
Because if the document was real, the man I had loved for two years might not simply be the son of the family that knew my mother.
May you like
He might be my brother.
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