Chapter 7 - Matteo’s Last Warning
Nobody slept.
By four in the morning, Gabriele had been moved back to the estate under medical supervision.
Federica sat in the library with Rosa beside her.
Rosa drank tea.
Federica stared at Matteo’s frozen face on a laptop.
“You like him,” Rosa said.
Federica did not look away.
“Matteo?”
“The living one.”
Federica sighed.
“You were kidnapped twelve hours ago.”
“I had time to observe.”
“That is deeply concerning.”
Rosa sipped tea.
“He likes you too.”
“Gabriele likes control.”
“Same thing for men like him.”
“No.”
“Close enough.”
Federica closed the laptop.
“Aunt Rosa.”
“Yes?”
“This family is connected to organized crime.”
“I noticed the guards.”
“You are remarkably calm.”
“I’m seventy.”
“That does not explain anything.”
“At seventy you learn that dangerous people mostly wear better shoes.”
Federica laughed despite herself.
Then the library door opened.
Gabriele entered.
Rosa smiled.
“Speaking of good shoes.”
Federica wanted to disappear.
Gabriele looked between them.
“What did I interrupt?”
“Nothing,” Federica said.
“My niece is lying.”
“Good night, Aunt Rosa.”
“It is morning.”
“Please leave.”
Rosa stood.
She patted Gabriele’s arm.
“Don’t die again. It upsets her.”
Then she walked out.
Silence.
Federica covered her face.
“I’m moving to another country.”
Gabriele sat opposite her.
“I have properties in several.”
“That was not an invitation.”
“It could be.”
She looked up.
He was still pale.
“You should be resting.”
“So should you.”
“I wasn’t poisoned.”
“You were kidnapped, beaten, chased, and ran down twenty-two floors.”
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“We are equally unreasonable.”
“That is inaccurate.”
“Gabriele.”
He almost smiled.
Then his gaze moved toward the laptop.
“Play it again.”
They watched Matteo’s message.
This time Federica paused every few seconds.
Background.
Desk.
Clock.
Reflection.
Documents.
“What are you doing?” Gabriele asked.
“Looking for what he didn’t say.”
“Why?”
“If he feared someone inside the family, he wouldn’t put everything in one recording.”
She zoomed into the background.
A framed photograph.
Matteo and Gabriele as teenagers.
Another.
Their father.
Then a calendar.
Date circled.
March 18.
“What happened March eighteenth?” Federica asked.
Gabriele frowned.
“Nothing I remember.”
“What year?”
“The video was recorded last January.”
Federica searched corporate records.
March 18.
Board meeting.
Property transfers.
Foundation dinner.
Then one event appeared.
ROMANO FAMILY TRUST—ANNUAL DISTRIBUTION.
“What is that?”
Gabriele leaned closer.
“Old family trust.”
“Who has access?”
“Family members.”
“All?”
“Voting members.”
Federica’s fingers moved.
Seven people.
Gabriele.
Matteo, before his death.
Alessandro.
Two cousins.
Gabriele’s mother, who lived in Florence.
And—
Federica froze.
“Who is Lucia Romano?”
Gabriele’s face changed.
“My aunt.”
“Alessandro’s wife?”
“No.”
“My father’s sister.”
“Where is she?”
“Dead.”
Federica looked up.
“When?”
“Eleven years ago.”
“How?”
“Cancer.”
Federica slowly turned the screen.
A trust withdrawal had occurred under Lucia’s credentials three months ago.
Gabriele stared.
“That’s impossible.”
“No.”
Federica’s voice became quiet.
“It’s fraud.”
She traced access records.
The login originated from an internal Romano network.
Credentials maintained deliberately.
Someone had been using a dead woman’s identity for more than a decade.
Payments through Gray.
Insurance contractors.
Doctors.
Security personnel.
Ravenswood Events.
And each time money moved, somebody in the Romano family suffered.
Federica built a timeline.
Gabriele’s father.
A cousin who died in a boating accident.
A former security chief.
Matteo.
Then the attempt on Leo.
“This person has been eliminating rivals for years,” she whispered.
Gabriele looked at the names.
“Why?”
“Control.”
“Of what?”
Federica examined ownership percentages.
Then understood.
“Romano Holdings.”
Every death changed trust distributions.
Every death shifted voting power.
She created a chart.
When Gabriele’s father died, shares moved.
When the cousin died, shares moved again.
When Matteo died—
Federica stopped.
Gabriele saw it.
“What?”
“If Leo dies before reaching a specific age, Matteo’s trust shares don’t go to you.”
“To whom?”
Federica swallowed.
“Alessandro.”
Silence.
Gabriele’s face closed.
Federica hated the conclusion.
“No.”
“What?”
“It’s too obvious.”
“His name is on the payments.”
“Yes.”
“He gains from Leo’s death.”
“Yes.”
“He knew where the safe house was.”
“Yes.”
Gabriele’s voice became colder.
“Then why isn’t it obvious enough?”
“Because Matteo said the person was closer than we think.”
“My uncle is close.”
“But Matteo went to Alessandro for help.”
“He could have discovered his betrayal later.”
Federica shook her head.
“Then why leave clues instead of naming him?”
Gabriele had no answer.
She reopened the video.
Frame by frame.
Matteo’s desk.
Calendar.
Family photo.
Coffee cup.
Then she noticed something reflected in the window.
A woman.
Standing behind the camera.
Only part of her visible.
Hand.
Ring.
Federica zoomed.
A large sapphire surrounded by diamonds.
Gabriele went still.
“Do you recognize it?”
He did not answer immediately.
“Gabriele?”
“My mother has one like that.”
Federica stared.
“Your mother?”
“Sofia Romano.”
“Where is she?”
“Florence.”
“How long?”
“Five years.”
“Did she visit Matteo before his death?”
Gabriele’s expression grew distant.
“Yes.”
Federica’s pulse quickened.
“When?”
“January.”
She looked at the video date.
The same week.
“Could that be her?”
“No.”
“You didn’t look long enough.”
“I said no.”
Something in his tone ended the conversation.
Federica leaned back.
“You refuse even to consider it.”
“My mother is not involved.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“How?”
“Because she lost more than anyone.”
“So did Alessandro.”
“That is different.”
“Why?”
Gabriele stood.
“Enough.”
Federica stared at him.
He walked toward the window.
For the first time, she saw not the boss.
Not the feared man.
A son.
A son being asked whether his own mother might have helped murder his father and brother.
Federica softened.
“I’m not accusing her.”
“You are.”
“I’m following numbers.”
He looked back.
“Numbers don’t lie?”
She glanced at her chipped mug, recovered from the office by Marco.
“No.”
“But people interpret them.”
“Yes.”
“And people can be wrong.”
“Yes.”
Gabriele exhaled.
Federica closed the laptop.
“We need proof.”
He nodded.
“Not assumptions.”
“Agreed.”
A knock.
Marco entered.
His expression was grim.
“Alessandro’s gone.”
Gabriele turned.
“What?”
“Left the safe location an hour ago.”
“Where?”
“We don’t know.”
“Track him.”
“Already trying.”
Federica asked, “Did he take anything?”
Marco looked at her.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“The captured attackers.”
Gabriele became still.
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“Alive?”
“We don’t know.”
Federica’s phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Alessandro sitting inside a dark car.
Beside him was Daniel Hargrove.
Below it:
IF YOU WANT THE TRUTH ABOUT MATTEO, COME ALONE.
An address followed.
Federica showed Gabriele.
His expression darkened.
“You’re not going.”
“He sent it to me.”
“Exactly.”
“Why me?”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
“No.”
Federica stood.
“Stop saying no like that ends conversations.”
“It usually does.”
“With me?”
“No.”
“Then learn faster.”
Marco looked at the ceiling.
Federica stepped closer to Gabriele.
“If Alessandro wanted to speak to you, he would contact you. He contacted me because of the ledger.”
“Or because he knows hurting you gets to me.”
The words came out before Gabriele could stop them.
Silence.
Federica looked at him.
“Gets to you?”
Gabriele did not retreat.
“Yes.”
The room felt suddenly smaller.
Marco quietly walked out.
Federica’s voice lowered.
“Why?”
Gabriele stared at her for a long second.
“You know why.”
Her heartbeat accelerated.
She did know.
Maybe she had known since the panic room.
Maybe before.
But there was no time for that conversation.
Her phone buzzed again.
A second message.
FIFTEEN MINUTES.
Federica looked at Gabriele.
“I’m going.”
“So am I.”
“He said alone.”
“I have never been good at instructions.”
She almost smiled.
Then another message arrived.
This one contained a video.
Alessandro sat beside Hargrove.
His face bruised.
A gun pointed at the back of his head.
A masked figure stood behind them.
Alessandro looked directly into the camera.
“Federica,” he said, breathing hard, “do not trust the address.”
The gun pressed harder.
“Tell Gabriele the traitor isn’t me.”
The masked figure struck him.
Before the video ended, Alessandro shouted one final sentence.
“Ask his mother what happened the night his father died!”
The screen went black.
Federica looked up.
Gabriele had gone pale.
Because nine years earlier, Sofia Romano had been the only person in the room when her husband took his final breath.
May you like
And somewhere in Florence, the mother Gabriele trusted absolutely was about to become the most important witness in the Romano family’s blood-soaked history.
---
