Chapter 3 - The Man Alessandro Trusted
Alessandro stared at Marco’s name on the screen.
He did not answer.
Sophia watched him.
“You trust him.”
It was not a question.
Alessandro slipped the phone into his pocket.
“Yes.”
Vittorio’s expression darkened.
“Then your father made the same mistake I did.”
Alessandro turned.
“What does that mean?”
“Marco’s father worked for me.”
Sophia looked between them.
Vittorio continued.
“Giuseppe Santoro.”
Alessandro knew the name.
Barely.
An old financial adviser.
Dead for years.
“He disappeared after Elena’s death,” Vittorio said.
“Disappeared?”
“Until we learned he had moved to America.”
Alessandro’s jaw tightened.
“And his son later worked for my father.”
“Yes.”
Sophia looked down at the handwritten list.
“Why would Marco want me removed?”
Vittorio answered carefully.
“Perhaps he didn’t. He would have been young.”
“How young?”
“Fourteen.”
Sophia frowned.
“Then Marco couldn’t have arranged anything.”
“No.”
Vittorio pointed to the page.
“But the handwriting does not say Marco arranged it twenty-one years ago.”
Sophia read the line again.
PERSON WHO ARRANGED SOPHIA’S REMOVAL — MARCO SANTORO.
Her skin chilled.
Alessandro noticed.
“This list may have been written later.”
“How much later?”
“We need to authenticate the ink.”
Sophia shook her head.
“No.”
Alessandro looked at her.
“No what?”
“No laboratories yet. No people from your company.”
“Sophia—”
“If Marco is involved and he runs your security, he’ll know the moment we start moving things around.”
Alessandro almost looked impressed.
Vittorio certainly did.
“She thinks like Elena.”
Sophia turned.
“Please don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Compare everything I say to a woman I met through a photograph twenty minutes ago.”
Vittorio lowered his eyes.
“You’re right.”
Alessandro’s phone vibrated again.
This time a message appeared.
Marco: We have a security problem. Need to speak privately.
Alessandro typed a reply.
Where?
Marco answered immediately.
Your office. Urgent.
Sophia read over Alessandro’s shoulder.
“You’re going back?”
“Yes.”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
She stared at him.
“No?”
“If Marco is involved, he doesn’t know we know.”
“Then why leave me here?”
“Because if something goes wrong, I want you somewhere secure.”
Sophia folded her arms.
“I spent eleven months working six feet outside your office. Suddenly you discover I have an Italian grandfather and now I’m fragile?”
“That is not what I said.”
“It’s what you’re doing.”
Vittorio looked almost amused again.
Alessandro exhaled slowly.
“You have an extraordinary ability to argue at the worst possible time.”
“I learned from my boss.”
That almost earned the half-smile again.
Almost.
“Fine,” Alessandro said. “You come. You stay behind me.”
Sophia stared.
“I’m not six.”
“No. If you were six, this conversation would be shorter.”
Vittorio laughed once.
It was the first warm sound in the room.
Sophia glared at both men.
Within forty minutes, Alessandro and Sophia returned to Moretti headquarters.
Marco stood in Alessandro’s office.
Tall.
Forty-two.
Perfectly tailored dark suit.
Calm eyes.
He had been part of Alessandro’s life for fifteen years.
Sophia had seen him nearly every day for eleven months.
He always remembered which elevators were under maintenance.
He knew when Alessandro skipped lunch.
He had once walked Sophia to a taxi during a snowstorm without speaking more than four words.
Now she saw him differently.
Marco turned as they entered.
“Mr. Moretti.”
His eyes moved to Sophia.
“Miss Bellini.”
No visible reaction.
Alessandro closed the door.
“You said there was a problem.”
Marco placed a tablet on the desk.
“Someone accessed archived personnel files last night.”
Sophia felt a chill.
“Whose?” Alessandro asked.
Marco tapped the screen.
“Sophia’s.”
Alessandro did not look at her.
“From where?”
“External terminal.”
“Can you identify it?”
“I’m tracing it.”
Marco paused.
“There’s more.”
He brought up security footage.
A man wearing a maintenance uniform entered the records floor at 2:14 a.m.
The face was partially hidden.
“He accessed Miss Bellini’s file for seven minutes.”
Sophia stared.
“What did he take?”
“We don’t know.”
Marco looked at her.
“Have you received any unusual calls?”
“No.”
“Messages?”
“No.”
“Anyone following you?”
Sophia thought of Vittorio.
She said nothing.
Marco noticed.
“Something happened?”
Alessandro stepped in.
“That’s enough.”
Marco’s eyes moved to him.
“Sir?”
“I’ll handle Sophia’s security personally.”
The faintest pause.
Then Marco nodded.
“Of course.”
Alessandro watched him.
“Where were you at 2:14 this morning?”
Marco did not blink.
“At home.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Can anyone confirm?”
Marco’s eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“Routine.”
“We both know that isn’t routine.”
The room changed.
Marco slowly straightened.
“Have I done something to concern you?”
Alessandro held his gaze.
“Should I be concerned?”
Silence.
Sophia watched both men.
Marco gave a short exhale.
“No.”
“Then answer the question.”
“I was home.”
His expression hardened.
“And if you’re asking whether I accessed Sophia’s file, I did not.”
Sophia’s stomach tightened.
They had not told him whose file had been accessed in a way that implied suspicion of him.
But perhaps he was only defending himself.
Or perhaps—
Marco looked directly at Sophia.
“What is happening?”
Sophia said nothing.
He noticed the locket at her throat.
For one second, his face changed.
Barely.
But Sophia saw it.
Recognition.
Alessandro saw it too.
Marco recovered immediately.
“Where did you get that necklace?”
Sophia’s pulse jumped.
“I’ve always had it.”
Marco stepped toward her.
Alessandro moved between them.
Marco stopped.
“I’ve seen that crest.”
“Where?” Alessandro asked.
Marco’s face closed.
“In old files.”
“Which files?”
“My father’s.”
The silence became absolute.
Alessandro’s voice dropped.
“Your father worked for Vittorio De Luca.”
Marco looked sharply at him.
Now there was no hiding the reaction.
“How do you know that?”
“Answer me.”
Marco stared.
Then he walked to the window.
“My father was an accountant for the De Lucas.”
“For how long?”
“Sixteen years.”
“What happened?”
Marco looked at Sophia.
“He betrayed them.”
Sophia’s chest tightened.
“How?”
“He sold information to a rival family.”
Vittorio had suspected an insider.
Marco continued.
“My father arranged financial transfers. Safe houses. travel documents.”
“Did he arrange my parents’ route out of Sicily?” Sophia asked.
Marco looked at her.
“Yes.”
“And the attack?”
“I believe he gave someone the route.”
Sophia gripped the edge of the desk.
Alessandro stepped closer.
“You knew who Sophia was.”
Marco’s eyes moved to the locket.
“I suspected.”
“For how long?”
“Three months.”
Sophia felt betrayed in a way she had not expected.
“You saw me every day.”
“Yes.”
“You knew I might have family.”
“I knew you might be connected to the De Lucas.”
“And you said nothing.”
“I had no proof.”
“You could have asked.”
Marco looked tired suddenly.
“You have no idea what that name can do to a life.”
Sophia laughed bitterly.
“Apparently neither do I.”
Alessandro’s voice remained cold.
“What did your father do with Sophia?”
Marco looked at him.
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I was fourteen.”
“The document names you.”
Marco froze.
“What document?”
Alessandro did not answer.
Marco turned pale.
“What document?”
Sophia watched him carefully.
“A list my mother left.”
Marco shook his head.
“No.”
“You haven’t seen it.”
“I don’t need to.”
“Why?”
“Because if Elena De Luca left a list naming me, someone added my name later.”
Alessandro stepped forward.
“Who?”
Marco swallowed.
“My father.”
Sophia stared.
“Why?”
“He used people as shields his entire life.”
Marco rubbed a hand over his face.
“When I was sixteen, he told me something while he was drunk.”
“What?” Sophia asked.
“He said the Bellini child had survived.”
Sophia’s breath caught.
“He knew?”
“Yes.”
“Where was I?”
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
Marco looked ashamed.
“I spent years trying to find you.”
Sophia stared.
“Why?”
“Because I knew my father had destroyed your family.”
“And you wanted to fix it?”
“I wanted to know whether you were alive.”
Alessandro’s suspicion did not soften.
“You found her.”
Marco nodded.
“Three months ago.”
“And did nothing.”
“I watched.”
Sophia’s eyes narrowed.
“You watched me?”
“To make sure nobody else had found you.”
“That is not comforting.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
Alessandro stood between them.
“Who accessed her file last night?”
Marco shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
“Then find out.”
“I’m trying.”
Alessandro looked at him.
“You have one hour.”
Marco hesitated.
Then he pulled a small flash drive from his pocket.
“I was going to give you this tonight.”
“What is it?”
“My father’s private records.”
Sophia stared.
“You had them?”
“I found them after he died.”
“When?”
“Eight years ago.”
“And you kept them?”
“I didn’t understand most of it.”
Alessandro took the drive.
“Why now?”
“Because last week someone broke into my apartment.”
Sophia’s stomach dropped.
“What were they looking for?”
“This.”
Marco pointed to the drive.
“And because yesterday I received a message.”
He handed Alessandro his phone.
A photograph appeared.
Sophia leaving her apartment that morning.
Taken from across the street.
Underneath were six words.
THE DE LUCA GIRL SHOULD STAY DEAD.
Alessandro’s face became terrifyingly calm.
Sophia felt all the air leave her lungs.
Marco continued.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“The message came from a number used by my father.”
Alessandro stared.
“Your father is dead.”
“I know.”
“How long?”
“Twelve years.”
Sophia looked at Marco.
“Then who sent it?”
Marco’s answer was almost a whisper.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Alessandro inserted the flash drive into an isolated laptop.
Folders filled the screen.
Financial ledgers.
Travel records.
Photographs.
Scanned letters.
One folder carried only a date.
Twenty-one years earlier.
The night Sophia disappeared.
Alessandro opened it.
Inside was a passenger manifest for a private flight from Rome to Boston two days after the attack.
Three passengers.
Giuseppe Santoro.
A woman named Nora Hale.
And a six-year-old child listed under the name Sarah Hale.
Sophia’s knees weakened.
“That was me.”
Marco nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
Another document showed a bank transfer.
Five hundred thousand dollars.
Paid to Nora Hale.
Sophia recognized the name.
Her first social worker in Boston.
The woman who had told her both parents were dead and there were no relatives.
Alessandro opened the final scanned page.
A handwritten instruction.
Deliver the child to Boston. Change the name if necessary. No contact with De Luca or Moretti. Keep her alive.
Sophia stared at the signature.
Marco’s face drained of color.
Alessandro leaned closer.
Because the signature did not belong to Giuseppe Santoro.
It belonged to someone else.
Someone Alessandro had known his entire life.
May you like
His own father.
Carlo Moretti.
