Chapter 10 - The Photograph Mateo Never Explained
Mateo discovered the camera at sunrise.
He didn’t tell Josephine immediately.
That was his mistake.
She found him standing on a chair removing the smoke detector.
“What are you doing?”
He looked down.
She saw the device in his hand.
Then his face.
“No.”
“Josephine—”
“How long?”
“Unknown.”
She walked closer.
“That’s a camera.”
“Yes.”
“Who put it there?”
“We’re tracing it.”
“Domenico?”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“Nathaniel may also have access.”
She folded her arms.
“And you were going to tell me when?”
“After we knew more.”
“Wrong answer.”
Mateo stepped down.
“You were asleep.”
“I am capable of receiving bad news while tired.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. Because you keep deciding when I receive it.”
He set the device on the counter.
“You’re right.”
Her anger faltered.
“That was fast.”
“I’m learning.”
“Annoyingly.”
“Yes.”
Luca entered carrying a folder.
He paused when he saw them.
“Should I come back?”
“No,” they said together.
Luca placed the folder down.
“The device was installed during building maintenance six weeks ago.”
Josephine frowned.
“Before Nathaniel came back to Chicago.”
“So Domenico,” Mateo said.
“Likely.”
Luca opened the folder.
“We also found an old photograph in Rinaldi’s archived office files.”
Mateo picked it up.
His expression changed.
Josephine noticed immediately.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Mateo.”
He hesitated.
Then handed her the photograph.
Three men stood outside a restaurant twenty-two years earlier.
Young Vittorio Bianchi.
Charles Miller.
Domenico Rinaldi.
Between them stood a woman Josephine recognized from framed pictures at Mateo’s home.
His mother.
Elena Bianchi.
Josephine looked closer.
Elena’s hand rested on Charles Miller’s arm.
Not casually.
Intimately.
“Oh.”
Mateo said nothing.
“Your mother knew Nathaniel’s father.”
“Yes.”
“How well?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does this matter?”
“Everything matters now.”
They visited Richard Hale again.
This time his composure broke the moment he saw the photograph.
“Elena.”
Mateo’s voice hardened.
“You knew my mother.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Richard looked older suddenly.
“We grew up together.”
“That isn’t what the photograph says.”
“No.”
Josephine remained quiet.
Richard finally looked at Mateo.
“I loved her.”
Mateo went still.
“Before my father?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Years.”
“Did he know?”
“Eventually.”
Mateo laughed once without humor.
“So this is what everything was about.”
“No.”
“Don’t lie.”
“It became part of it.”
Richard stood.
“Your father and I were friends first. Business came later. Elena chose Vittorio.”
“Chose?”
“Yes.”
“Or was forced?”
Richard’s face tightened.
“She chose him.”
Mateo looked away.
“Domenico hated me for years afterward,” Richard continued. “He believed I humiliated the family.”
“He was her brother.”
“Yes.”
“So when you cooperated with federal prosecutors—”
“He used it.”
“To get rid of you.”
Richard nodded.
Josephine understood.
“And Nathaniel?”
Richard looked at her.
“Domenico told him a simplified story. Bianchi stole your father’s love, then Bianchi killed him.”
Mateo’s face darkened.
“He manufactured Nathaniel’s revenge.”
“Yes.”
Josephine thought of Nathaniel.
A fourteen-year-old boy told his father died.
A grown man discovering his father lived.
Then encountering the uncle of the woman his father once loved.
Domenico gave him someone to hate.
And Nathaniel chose hatred over truth.
“Why didn’t you tell him everything?” Josephine asked.
“I tried.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“The Lakeshore meeting.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“He refused to believe me.”
Richard’s voice cracked.
“He said I was a coward making excuses.”
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
The simple admission silenced them.
“But I was also telling the truth.”
Richard looked at Mateo.
“Your father didn’t order anyone to kill me.”
“Did he know you were alive?”
“Eventually.”
Mateo’s head snapped up.
“When?”
“Ten years later.”
“What did he do?”
“Nothing.”
Mateo stared.
“My father knew you survived and never told me?”
“He promised me he wouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I had another family.”
Mateo laughed bitterly.
“Everyone protected everyone by lying.”
Josephine murmured, “That sounds familiar.”
Mateo looked at her.
She understood his anger more than she wanted to.
Richard opened a safe.
Removed a second photograph.
This one showed Elena holding a baby.
Mateo.
Charles Miller stood nearby.
Vittorio stood on the other side.
Domenico in the background.
Mateo took it.
His hands shook slightly.
“I’ve never seen this.”
“Your mother sent it to me.”
“When?”
“After you were born.”
Mateo stared at the image.
Josephine watched years of family mythology rearrange behind his eyes.
He whispered, “Why keep this?”
“Because I loved her.”
Mateo looked up.
“And you abandoned your son.”
Richard closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
That sentence ended the conversation.
Outside, snow had begun to fall.
Josephine and Mateo stood beside the car.
Neither got in.
Finally she said, “Are you okay?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He looked at her.
“That was unexpectedly cruel.”
“I meant good that you said no.”
He exhaled.
“Right.”
She stepped closer.
“You don’t have to be composed with me.”
“I’m always composed.”
“Your left hand has been shaking for six minutes.”
Mateo looked at it.
Then laughed.
Josephine smiled.
“Architect.”
“What?”
“I notice structural problems.”
He studied her.
“And when something cracks?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“Whether it’s carrying too much weight.”
His gaze softened.
Josephine’s heart beat harder.
For a moment neither moved.
Then Mateo touched her cheek.
Slowly.
Giving her every opportunity to step back.
She didn’t.
His thumb brushed the edge of her jaw.
“Josephine.”
She knew what the pause meant.
Permission.
The very thing Nathaniel rarely asked for.
She leaned forward.
Mateo kissed her.
Not dramatic.
Not consuming.
Warm.
Careful.
When she pulled back, he didn’t chase.
Josephine looked at him.
“That was probably a bad idea.”
“Yes.”
“Complicated.”
“Extremely.”
“Dangerous.”
“Almost certainly.”
She kissed him again.
This time Mateo smiled against her mouth.
Then her phone rang.
Nathaniel.
Reality returned.
Josephine answered.
His first words were quiet.
“You kissed him.”
Her blood turned cold.
Mateo’s expression changed.
Josephine looked around.
Snow.
Trees.
Empty road.
“How do you know?”
Nathaniel laughed.
“Domenico isn’t the only man who knows how to watch people.”
Mateo began scanning the surrounding properties.
Nathaniel continued.
“Tell Bianchi to enjoy borrowing my wife.”
Josephine’s anger ignited.
“I am not yours.”
“You’ll remember who you belong to tomorrow night.”
“No.”
“I’ll be at Laurent at eleven.”
“What do you want?”
“The drive.”
“And if I don’t bring it?”
Nathaniel paused.
“I release every document with your signature.”
“Forgery.”
“Can you prove that before your reputation is destroyed?”
Josephine looked at Mateo.
“Yes.”
Nathaniel’s voice sharpened.
“Don’t be stupid.”
“For years, you told me intelligence meant agreeing with you.”
She smiled.
“I finally found a second opinion.”
She hung up.
Mateo’s mouth almost curved.
Then Luca called.
His face became serious as he listened.
“What?”
Mateo lowered the phone.
“Domenico moved money.”
“How much?”
“All of it.”
“All of what?”
“His accounts. Overseas.”
Josephine understood.
“He’s leaving.”
“Or preparing for something.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
Mateo looked toward Chicago in the distance.
“The same night Nathaniel wants you at Laurent.”
Josephine’s stomach tightened.
Two men.
Two betrayals.
One restaurant.
And suddenly she understood.
“It isn’t Nathaniel’s meeting.”
Mateo looked at her.
“What?”
May you like
“It’s Domenico’s.”
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