Chapter 3 - The Dead Uncle
Carlo Rossi descended the staircase slowly.
“Giovanni.”
Gio did not move.
“You’re dead.”
Carlo smiled.
“According to three newspapers and one very expensive doctor.”
Isadora studied him.
He looked nothing like Vittorio.
Vittorio in photographs had seemed warm despite his intimidating presence.
Carlo’s eyes were colder.
Calculating.
“You sent the photograph,” Isadora said.
“I did.”
“Where is Marco?”
“Alive.”
Her breath caught.
“Where?”
Carlo ignored her.
His attention remained on Gio.
“You grew into your father beautifully.”
“That isn’t a compliment coming from you.”
Carlo laughed.
“No. It isn’t.”
Gio stepped between Carlo and Isadora.
“What do you want?”
“What I’ve always wanted.”
Carlo opened his arms toward the burned hotel.
“My family restored.”
“You stole from the family.”
“I built the family.”
“You hid behind my father.”
“He was sentimental.”
“And you were a coward.”
Carlo’s smile disappeared.
Isadora recognized the shift.
She had seen it in Gio earlier.
Powerful men disliked being accurately described.
Carlo pulled a small device from his coat.
Isadora tensed.
But it was only a phone.
He played a video.
Marco appeared on screen.
Older.
Bearded.
Alive.
“Isa.”
Isadora covered her mouth.
Marco stared directly into the camera.
“If you’re seeing this, don’t trust Carlo.”
The video ended.
Isadora looked at Carlo.
“You made him record that?”
“No.”
“Where is he?”
Carlo smiled.
“He escaped three weeks ago.”
Gio cursed quietly.
“So you don’t have him.”
“No.”
“You brought us here because you want us to find him.”
Carlo’s smile widened.
Vittorio had underestimated his son, but apparently Carlo had not.
“Marco possesses the final ledger.”
“What ledger?” Isadora asked.
“The book your brother stole from beneath this hotel six years ago.”
Carlo approached.
Gio blocked him.
Carlo stopped.
“That ledger contains enough information to destroy politicians, judges, businessmen—and several people your Giovanni currently considers loyal.”
Isadora glanced at Gio.
“Your people?”
“Some of them.”
Carlo continued.
“Marco disappeared with it. Vittorio helped him.”
“Then why did Vittorio die?”
Carlo’s eyes hardened.
“He made a mistake.”
The words hung in the air.
Gio stepped forward.
“What mistake?”
“He chose Marco over me.”
Gio grabbed Carlo by the coat.
Luca immediately moved closer.
Carlo didn’t resist.
“You killed him,” Gio whispered.
“I didn’t need to.”
Gio tightened his grip.
“My brother died because he trusted the wrong doctors, the wrong advisers, and the wrong family.”
Isadora heard something behind them.
A small click.
Then another.
She looked toward the broken windows.
Red dots appeared across Gio’s jacket.
“Giovanni.”
He saw them.
Carlo smiled.
“You should release me.”
Gio did.
“Good boy.”
Carlo straightened his coat.
“You have seventy-two hours.”
“For what?”
“Find Marco.”
“And if I refuse?”
Carlo looked at Isadora.
“The Marino family has lost enough people.”
Gio moved instantly.
Carlo raised a hand.
“Think.”
He glanced toward the unseen shooters.
“You cannot protect her from everyone.”
Then he walked into the rain.
No one stopped him.
Thirty seconds later, headlights vanished along the coastal road.
Isadora looked at Gio.
“You knew your family was dangerous.”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t know this.”
“No.”
She stared at the recorder in his hand.
“Your father died protecting my brother.”
“Maybe.”
“You heard him.”
“I also heard a recording that someone conveniently placed here tonight.”
Isadora understood.
“You don’t trust your own father’s voice?”
“I trust evidence.”
“Fine.”
She looked around.
“Then let’s find some.”
At 2:14 a.m., they returned to La Corona.
Emilio was gone.
His apron lay folded beside the stove.
On top of it sat a note.
I’M SORRY, ISA.
Underneath were three words:
ASK YOUR MOTHER.
Isadora stared.
“My mother is dead.”
Gio picked up the note.
“Then either Emilio has lost his mind…”
His eyes moved toward her silver locket.
May you like
“…or someone lied to you about that too.”
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