Chapter 7 - A Dinner With the Duca Family
Riley did not enter the tunnel that night.
Patrick refused.
Matteo refused.
Even Connor, whose relationship with caution was normally theoretical, refused.
For once, everyone agreed.
If Daniel Whitmore had deliberately triggered a structural inspection, rushing underground without engineers would be exactly the kind of reckless decision their enemy expected.
So Riley did something almost as alarming.
She accepted Matteo’s dinner invitation.
Not because Connor spent the morning grinning.
Not because Sofia sent her a message promising she would “make sure Matteo behaves like a civilian.”
And definitely not because Riley had found herself thinking about the way Matteo smiled.
She went because Sofia had the photograph.
That was what she told herself.
At 7:27 the next evening, Riley parked outside a small Italian restaurant in Bridgeport.
No velvet rope.
No valet.
No photographers.
A faded sign read CASA LUCA.
Riley checked the address twice.
Matteo was waiting outside.
No suit.
Dark jeans.
Black sweater.
He somehow looked even more dangerous dressed casually.
“You came,” he said.
“Your sister has evidence.”
“That is the least romantic answer available.”
“This isn’t a date.”
“Of course.”
He opened the door.
Riley stopped.
“Did you just agree with me?”
“I’m experimenting.”
“With what?”
“Self-preservation.”
Inside, the restaurant was warm and crowded.
Families occupied most tables.
Children ran between chairs.
An elderly woman behind the counter saw Matteo and immediately shouted something in Italian.
Matteo winced.
Riley smiled.
“Trouble?”
“My aunt.”
The woman approached.
She was under five feet tall.
She grabbed Matteo’s face with both hands, kissed both cheeks, then looked at Riley.
Her eyes widened.
“Finally.”
Matteo closed his eyes.
“Aunt Teresa.”
“What?”
“You promised.”
“I promised nothing.”
She took Riley’s hands.
“You are beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“You hungry?”
“Yes.”
“Good. He forgets to eat.”
“Aunt Teresa.”
“He works. Works. Works. Then acts surprised he has no wife.”
Riley bit the inside of her cheek.
Matteo looked upward as if seeking divine intervention.
None came.
Sofia arrived from the back room.
She was thirty-four, elegant without trying, with the same dark eyes as her brother.
She hugged Matteo.
Then surprised Riley by hugging her too.
“The hero of the family.”
Riley laughed.
“I towed one car.”
“You have no idea how many conversations that video improved.”
Matteo pulled out a chair.
“Can we discuss something else?”
“No,” Sofia and Riley said together.
They looked at one another.
Then laughed.
Matteo sat.
“Excellent. There are two of you.”
Dinner was unlike anything Riley expected.
Nobody behaved afraid of Matteo.
His aunt ordered him to carry boxes.
His sister stole food from his plate.
A seven-year-old cousin climbed onto his lap and demanded help with a math worksheet.
Matteo complied without complaint.
Riley watched him explain fractions with the seriousness of a corporate negotiation.
Something in her chest shifted.
The terrifying Matteo Duca everyone whispered about did not seem to exist here.
Or perhaps he existed alongside this man.
People were complicated.
That was more unsettling than rumors.
After dinner Sofia brought the photograph.
Riley recognized Ellen immediately.
Her mother stood between Salvatore Duca and Thomas Bell.
All three looked serious.
On the back was the handwritten message.
Ellen has the original.
Thomas has the copy.
If anything happens to me, trust Ellen.
Matteo studied Bell’s face.
“He knew.”
Sofia touched her brother’s shoulder.
“Maybe he was protecting you.”
“For twenty years?”
“Maybe.”
Matteo shook his head.
“He told me to stay away from Morgan Towing.”
Riley looked at the photograph.
“Maybe that was protection too.”
Matteo looked at her.
“You’re defending him?”
“No. I’m saying we don’t know enough.”
“That’s unusually reasonable.”
“I can leave.”
“There she is.”
Sofia smiled.
“I see why you like her.”
Matteo nearly choked on his water.
Riley looked at Sofia.
“He doesn’t.”
Sofia looked at Matteo.
Matteo suddenly became fascinated by the photograph.
Riley felt heat rise to her face.
Wonderful.
Sofia saved him.
“The property atlas is upstairs.”
They moved into an apartment above the restaurant that had once belonged to Matteo’s grandparents.
The atlas lay on a table.
Riley opened the marked page.
A red line traced the old tunnel.
Morgan Towing.
Three blocks northeast.
Midwest Continental Bank.
Then beneath the bank, Salvatore had written:
ARCHIVE ACCESS — B2.
Riley looked up.
“Archive.”
Matteo nodded.
“Banks kept physical loan records underground.”
“Would records from twenty years ago still exist?”
“The building was converted into offices.”
Sofia said, “The basement has been closed since a flood.”
Riley almost laughed.
“Of course it has.”
Matteo traced the tunnel line.
“The entrance from your side was sealed.”
“So was the bank side.”
“Maybe.”
Riley studied him.
“You think somebody has been using it?”
“I think Daniel Whitmore is willing to pay six million dollars for land that gives him legal control over the tunnel.”
Sofia added quietly, “And someone stole Box 314 using Patrick’s identity.”
Riley understood.
“They were searching for the same records.”
Matteo nodded.
“Probably.”
The apartment buzzer sounded.
Aunt Teresa answered downstairs.
Moments later footsteps climbed the stairs.
Adrian entered.
His expression was serious.
“Matteo.”
“What?”
“Thomas Bell is here.”
Matteo stood.
“Here?”
“He insisted.”
Thomas appeared behind Adrian.
The older attorney looked exhausted.
His expensive suit was wrinkled.
His normally perfect silver hair was disordered.
His eyes landed on the photograph.
He closed the door.
“You found it.”
Matteo stepped forward.
“You’re going to explain everything.”
Thomas looked at Riley.
“You shouldn’t be involved.”
“My mother was involved.”
“That’s exactly why.”
Riley crossed her arms.
“Try again.”
Thomas sighed.
“Salvatore discovered Richard Whitmore was falsifying redevelopment loans through Midwest Continental. He used shell companies to purchase properties and then borrowed against inflated valuations.”
Riley nodded.
“We know.”
“You don’t know the important part.”
“What?”
“He was not working alone.”
Matteo’s eyes narrowed.
“Who?”
Thomas looked at him.
“Someone inside Duca Holdings.”
The room became silent.
“Name,” Matteo said.
“I never learned it.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Your father didn’t tell me. He became suspicious of everyone.”
“Even you?”
“Yes.”
Thomas looked at Riley.
“Ellen Morgan had original towing receipts showing vehicles moving documents between shell offices and the bank. Salvatore had bank records. Together, they could prove the transactions.”
“What happened to the evidence?” Riley asked.
“Ellen hid the originals. I had copies.”
“Had?”
Thomas’s face tightened.
“Someone broke into my office the night Salvatore died.”
Matteo’s jaw flexed.
“And you never told me.”
“You were seventeen.”
“That excuse is becoming popular.”
“Your father was dead. Your mother had collapsed. Sofia was thirteen. What exactly would you have done with the information?”
Matteo had no answer.
Thomas continued.
“I spent years trying to identify the Duca insider.”
“Did you?”
“I thought I had.”
“Who?”
Thomas looked toward the window.
Before he answered, a car horn sounded outside.
Then another.
Adrian moved to the curtain.
His face changed.
“We have company.”
Two black SUVs had stopped across the street.
Men stepped out.
Not police.
Not customers.
Matteo immediately moved Riley and Sofia away from the window.
Riley glared.
“I can move myself.”
“Humor me.”
A phone rang.
Thomas looked at his screen.
Daniel Whitmore.
Matteo said, “Answer it.”
Thomas did.
“Daniel.”
Whitmore’s voice was loud enough to hear.
“You should have stayed home tonight, Thomas.”
Thomas went pale.
“How do you know where I am?”
Whitmore laughed softly.
“You still don’t understand, do you?”
Matteo took the phone.
“Daniel.”
A pause.
Then Whitmore said, “Matteo.”
“You seem very interested in my dinner plans.”
“I’m interested in preventing old men from making new mistakes.”
Matteo’s voice remained calm.
“Threatening my lawyer is a poor strategy.”
“He stopped being your lawyer the moment he decided to betray your family.”
Matteo’s eyes sharpened.
“What does that mean?”
Whitmore ignored the question.
“Tell Ms. Morgan the offer is now eight million.”
Riley stepped closer.
“Tell him no.”
Matteo almost smiled.
“She said no.”
“I heard her.”
Riley raised her voice.
“Good.”
Whitmore sighed.
“You’re making this harder than necessary.”
“That’s something I’ve been accused of.”
“You have twenty-four hours.”
“For what?”
“To sell.”
“And if I don’t?”
A pause.
Then Whitmore said quietly:
“Ask Patrick what happened the last time Ellen Morgan said no.”
The line disconnected.
Riley stared at Thomas.
“What did he mean?”
Thomas looked devastated.
“Riley—”
“What happened to my mother?”
Thomas lowered his eyes.
And when he answered, the entire room changed.
“Her cancer wasn’t the reason she stopped investigating.”
Riley’s heart pounded.
“What was?”
Thomas looked at her.
“Someone tried to run her car off the road.”
Matteo stepped forward.
“When?”
“Six months before Salvatore died.”
Riley could barely speak.
“My mother never told us.”
“She was trying to protect you.”
The phrase Riley had heard too many times.
Protect you.
Hide it.
Stay away.
Sell.
Twenty years of adults making choices for children who were no longer children.
Riley picked up the atlas.
“No more.”
Matteo looked at her.
“What are you doing?”
“Tomorrow we inspect the tunnel.”
Thomas shook his head.
“Absolutely not.”
Riley looked directly at him.
“My mother spent the last years of her life protecting evidence somebody is still afraid of.”
She closed the book.
“I’m done running from something nobody will explain.”
Matteo studied her.
Then nodded.
“I’ll arrange an engineer.”
“You don’t have to come.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
He met her eyes.
“Because my father died carrying the other half of your mother’s secret.”
The room went quiet.
And somewhere beneath Chicago, behind concrete that had not been disturbed in decades, a locked steel door waited in darkness.
On the other side of it were records someone had been willing to threaten two families to keep hidden.
Tomorrow, Riley and Matteo were going underground.
May you like
And someone already knew they were coming.
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