chapterone

Chapter 7 - The House with Blue Shutters

Landon’s first instinct was to return to New York.

Immediately.

Private plane.

Full security.

Leo somewhere he could personally see him.

It was instinct, not strategy.

And Santino’s recorded voice echoed inside his head.

Do not retaliate blindly.

Protect Leo.

Serena watched Landon pace through the old living room.

“They want you afraid.”

“I am not afraid.”

She gave him a look.

“For Leo?”

Landon stopped.

That was different.

Yes.

He was terrified.

Not the shaking kind.

The colder kind.

The fear that created lists of names and routes and doors and weaknesses.

“The photograph was taken yesterday,” Dominic said. “Before the restaurant.”

“So someone knew where Serena was before I did.”

“Looks that way.”

Serena stared at the photo.

“Then why wait?”

“To see what you would do,” Landon said.

She looked toward him.

“They were watching the restaurant.”

“Yes.”

“Which means when Leo disappeared—”

Landon went still.

The possibility was unbearable.

“Was his disappearance intentional?”

Dominic’s expression hardened.

“We assumed he wandered away.”

“What if somebody guided him?”

“To Serena?” she asked.

“No. Maybe toward an exit.”

Serena looked sick.

“And he hid instead.”

The service alcove.

Leo frightened between a cart and wall.

Had someone approached him?

Had he run?

Had Sara accidentally prevented an abduction simply by finding him first?

Landon called Isabella.

She answered on the first ring.

“Is Leo with you?”

“Yes.”

“Move him.”

“What?”

“Now.”

Her voice sharpened.

“What happened?”

“Take him to the secure residence on East Seventy-First. Dominic’s people will meet you.”

“Landon—”

“Do exactly what I’m saying.”

A pause.

Then Isabella surprised him.

“No.”

His jaw tightened.

“What?”

“I will move him. But you will tell me why.”

Fair.

That word had not mattered much in Landon’s world before.

But Santino’s secrets existed partly because everyone had tried to decide alone what others should know.

So Landon told her.

Someone photographed Leo.

Possible surveillance.

Possible attempted approach.

Isabella became quiet.

Then efficient.

“I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

“Take the rear elevator.”

“I know.”

“Stay away from windows.”

“I know.”

“Isabella—”

“I know.”

The line disconnected.

Serena watched him.

“She’s stronger than you think.”

“I know she’s strong.”

“Then stop talking to her like an employee.”

Landon gave Serena a look.

“Is correcting me your hobby?”

“Recently.”

Despite himself, he almost smiled.

At 11:55, they drove toward Cefalù harbor.

Two vehicles.

Lights off for the final stretch.

The storage building had been abandoned for almost a decade.

Its windows were boarded.

Salt had eaten the metal doors.

Above the main entrance, barely visible in moonlight, was a carved lion.

Dominic looked up.

“Leo remembers that?”

“Children remember strange things,” Serena said.

The cathedral bells began their final sequence.

One.

Two.

Three.

The group waited.

When the twelfth bell faded, the harbor became silent except for water striking stone.

“When the bells stop ringing,” Serena whispered.

“The lion wakes beneath the water,” Landon finished.

They entered.

Inside, old fishing equipment rusted beneath dust.

The floor sloped toward a lower loading area.

Water had flooded part of the basement.

“Beneath the water,” Dominic said.

Landon scanned the stone walls.

A lion symbol had been carved near an old drainage channel.

Serena pointed.

“There.”

They approached.

Beneath several inches of seawater was a metal hatch.

Dominic’s men checked it first.

No wires.

No obvious trap.

The brass key from Serena’s necklace did not fit.

Landon looked around.

“What are we missing?”

Serena remembered the wooden music box.

She had brought it.

She turned it upside down.

Inside the false compartment, beside the paper coordinates, was something she had not noticed.

A narrow silver key.

The hatch opened.

Below was a dry concrete chamber.

A single waterproof crate sat inside.

Landon climbed down first.

Dominic followed.

Serena came last.

The crate contained files.

Hundreds of pages.

Photographs.

Storage drives.

Copies of passports.

Bank records.

A lifetime of hidden evidence.

Serena whispered, “He did it.”

Landon opened the nearest folder.

Names.

Dates.

Payments.

Some belonged to strangers.

Others did not.

Judges.

Customs officers.

Corporate executives.

Politicians.

And men who had once sat at Landon’s dinner table.

“This could destroy half the people we know,” Dominic said.

“Good,” Serena replied.

Landon said nothing.

Then he found a folder marked V.S.

Victor Saye.

There were photographs.

A younger Victor beside Dominic during military contracting work.

The resemblance was extraordinary.

Not identical.

But close enough from a distance.

Same build.

Similar hair.

Scar deliberately added near one eyebrow.

“He copied you,” Landon said.

Dominic stared.

“I knew him for eight months.”

“What happened?”

“He got fired.”

“For?”

“Stealing credentials.”

Serena looked at him.

“When?”

“Seven years ago.”

“Who hired him afterward?”

Dominic hesitated.

“I don’t know.”

Landon opened another page.

A payment record answered.

RINALDI CONSULTING SERVICES.

Matteo.

The pattern became clear.

Victor impersonated Dominic when useful.

Entered restricted locations.

Appeared on cameras.

Created suspicion.

If Santino discovered the wrong thing, evidence could point back toward Landon’s own security chief.

An elegant trap.

Serena opened another folder.

Her name was printed on it.

She stopped.

Inside were surveillance photographs.

Serena in Milan.

Serena in Sicily.

Serena meeting Santino.

Serena boarding trains.

Serena at her grandmother’s funeral.

Years of observation.

Her hands began trembling.

“They knew me before Santino did.”

Landon moved closer.

“What?”

“The first photograph is five years old.”

Before she met his brother.

“Why?”

She turned the page.

Then froze.

A photograph showed Serena as a teenager beside an older man.

Her father.

Landon recognized the surname from one of the banking documents.

Bellandi.

“Your father was involved?”

“No.”

Serena shook her head.

“He was an accountant.”

“For whom?”

“A shipping company.”

“Which?”

She stared at the logo behind him.

A company later acquired by the Morettis.

“My father died when I was seventeen.”

“How?”

“Heart attack.”

Her voice changed.

“At least that’s what I was told.”

Landon opened the next page.

A report in Italian.

Dominic translated quickly.

Serena Bellandi’s father had discovered irregular transfers connected to the same network.

He had planned to report them.

Two days later, he died.

Serena sat down hard on a crate.

“Santino knew?”

“I don’t know.”

She looked betrayed.

“He never told me.”

Landon understood the feeling.

“Maybe he was protecting you.”

Serena laughed bitterly.

“Now you understand why that excuse isn’t comforting.”

Fair.

Landon continued searching.

At the bottom of the crate was a sealed envelope.

Not addressed to Landon.

Not Serena.

Not Isabella.

It read:

TO THE PERSON WHO FINDS THIS AFTER ME.

Inside was a single page.

If this evidence is discovered, assume Matteo knows.

Do not bring it to New York.

Do not trust the family offices.

There is one honest federal prosecutor whose name is inside the red file.

Give it to her.

If I’m alive, I’ll explain.

If I’m dead, then I was right.

Santino Moretti.

Dominic found the red file.

Inside was a name.

Assistant U.S. Attorney Evelyn Cross.

Landon knew her reputation.

Aggressive.

Unbribable.

The kind of prosecutor Moretti attorneys advised avoiding.

Serena looked at him.

“You know what Santino wanted.”

Landon did.

Turn over everything.

Expose the network.

Possibly expose Moretti businesses along with it.

Years of power could disappear.

Partners would turn.

Enemies would circle.

His family name could be dragged through every newspaper in America.

And yet the decision seemed strangely simple.

“If Santino died for this,” Landon said, “we finish it.”

Dominic nodded.

Serena stared at him as if reevaluating everything she believed.

Then a sound came from above.

Footsteps.

Dominic killed the flashlight.

Everyone froze.

More footsteps.

Multiple.

A man’s voice echoed through the warehouse.

“Mr. Moretti.”

Landon recognized the voice.

Matteo Rinaldi.

May you like

“Let’s stop making your brother’s mistake.”

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