Chapter 3 - THE BROTHER AT MY TABLE
Matteo Moretti had smiled at me through funerals.
Through arrests.
Through war.
He smiled when our father died.
He smiled when rival crews disappeared.
He smiled when reporters called us monsters and when politicians called us friends.
But the smile he wore as he walked into the restaurant kitchen that night felt different.
Because forty seconds earlier, Gabriel Santoro had accused someone inside my family of destroying everything.
And Matteo was the only blood family I had left.
“Quite a mess outside,” he said.
His eyes moved past me.
They landed on Sofia.
Then on the silver locket hanging from her fist.
His smile vanished.
Only for half a second.
Most people would have missed it.
I did not.
Neither did Luca.
Matteo looked at the dog.
“Where did you find the kid?”
“The alley.”
He nodded as if that explained anything.
“Police scanners are already talking about gunfire. We should move.”
We.
He always used that word.
We built this.
We own this.
We decide.
The truth was simpler.
I built it.
Matteo benefited from being my brother.
I slipped Gabriel’s phone into my coat.
“Sofia is coming with me.”
Matteo raised an eyebrow.
“To the house?”
“Yes.”
“That seems reckless.”
“Why?”
He shrugged.
“We don’t know who she is.”
Sofia pressed closer to Bear.
I watched Matteo watch her.
He was trying too hard not to recognize her.
That was when I knew he had seen her before.
Perhaps not in person.
Perhaps in a photograph.
But he knew something.
“Luca,” I said.
“Yes?”
“Take Sofia through the rear entrance. Use the armored car.”
Matteo frowned.
“Why the armored car?”
“Because someone just brought seven shooters to collect her.”
His gaze sharpened.
“Collect her?”
“Those were their words.”
“Any survivors?”
“One.”
Matteo looked toward the door leading to the alley.
Too quickly.
There it was.
Concern.
Not for us.
For the man we captured.
“Where is he?”
“Alive.”
I lied smoothly.
“He hasn’t talked.”
Another small relaxation in Matteo’s shoulders.
He believed the threat was contained.
It was not.
The surviving gunman was already in the basement beneath the restaurant with two of my most trusted soldiers.
Only Luca and I knew.
Sofia tugged my sleeve.
“What about Bear?”
“He rides with you.”
The dog seemed to understand his name.
Matteo laughed lightly.
“You’re bringing a stray dog into your house now?”
I looked at him.
“The dog showed more loyalty tonight than most men I know.”
His smile faded.
Luca led Sofia away.
Before she disappeared through the door, she looked back.
Not at Matteo.
At me.
There was fear in her face.
But something else too.
Hope.
It terrified me.
For twenty years, men had depended on me to survive.
That was different.
Men understood the rules.
Children should never have needed rules for survival.
Matteo waited until Sofia was gone.
“Who is she?”
“You tell me.”
His expression did not change.
“Why would I know?”
“Because you looked at the necklace like you’d seen a ghost.”
He chuckled.
“Nico, half the jewelry in this city looks the same.”
“No.”
I moved closer.
“That one doesn’t.”
For the first time, his hand twitched toward his coat.
Not enough to reach a gun.
Enough for instinct.
Our father taught us that.
Fear made the hand move before the mind could stop it.
“You’re tired,” Matteo said.
“I’m wide awake.”
“Then tell me what this is about.”
I considered killing him there.
A decade ago, I would have.
But rage is useful only when controlled.
I needed truth more than blood.
“For now,” I said, “nothing.”
Matteo studied me.
He knew I was lying.
I knew he knew.
That was how families like ours communicated.
Not with words.
With what we refused to say.
“I’ll follow you home,” he said.
“No.”
“Why?”
“I need you to handle the police.”
His face tightened.
It was the perfect assignment because he could not refuse without revealing suspicion.
“Fine.”
He turned toward the dining room.
Then stopped.
“Nico?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful with that girl.”
I looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
He smiled again.
“Strays bite.”
He walked away.
I waited ten seconds.
Then I went downstairs.
The captured gunman was tied to a metal chair in the wine cellar.
He was maybe thirty-five, with a shaved head and a broken nose. Blood ran from his left ear where Luca had struck him.
Carlo stood beside him.
“Name?” I asked.
The prisoner smiled.
Carlo handed me his wallet.
Fake identification.
Fake license.
Nothing useful.
I pulled a chair across from him.
“You came for a child.”
Silence.
“You fired at my men.”
Silence.
“You entered my territory.”
Still nothing.
I leaned back.
“That means either you’re very brave or someone promised you I wouldn’t survive long enough to punish you.”
His eyes changed.
There.
Fear.
“So,” I continued, “who told you I would die?”
His jaw tightened.
“You don’t understand what’s happening.”
“Explain.”
“You’re already dead.”
Carlo shifted.
I raised a hand.
The prisoner laughed.
“Your city isn’t yours anymore, Moretti.”
“Whose is it?”
He shook his head.
“Someone smarter.”
“Name.”
“You think this is about territory?”
His smile widened despite the blood on his teeth.
“This is about inheritance.”
My stomach turned cold.
“What inheritance?”
He looked toward the ceiling as though he could see Sofia above us.
“The girl is the key.”
“To what?”
He refused to answer.
I stood.
“Carlo.”
“Yes, boss?”
“Find a doctor.”
The prisoner laughed.
“For me?”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“For you, I’ll find someone who keeps you alive.”
The laugh stopped.
My phone vibrated.
Luca.
I answered.
“We reached the estate,” he said.
“Any trouble?”
“No.”
“How is she?”
“Hungry. Exhausted.”
I closed my eyes for half a second.
“There’s food.”
“She won’t eat.”
“Why?”
“She says she’s waiting for you.”
That sentence hit somewhere I had spent decades pretending no longer existed.
“I’m coming.”
I ended the call.
The prisoner watched me.
“She’ll get you killed.”
I slipped on my gloves.
“Then you better hope she doesn’t.”
At the estate, Sofia was sitting on the kitchen floor beside Bear.
Not at the massive dining table.
Not in the living room.
On the floor.
The chef had placed soup, bread, pasta, and roasted chicken around her.
She had touched none of it.
Bear had eaten half a bowl of meat.
Sofia looked up when I entered.
“You came back.”
Three words.
Simple words.
Yet something in them told me how often people had failed to return.
“Yes.”
She pushed herself to her feet.
“Daddy said you would.”
I took off my coat.
My house had never felt so large.
Or so empty.
“Eat.”
She shook her head.
“Why?”
“I need to know if Daddy is alive.”
I glanced at Luca.
He understood and left.
I crouched in front of her.
“I don’t know.”
“You watched the video.”
“He was alive when he recorded it.”
“Can we find him?”
“I’m going to try.”
“No.”
Her expression became fierce.
“We have to.”
“We will.”
She studied my face.
Then she asked the question I had been avoiding since the alley.
“Was Daddy telling the truth?”
I knew what she meant.
Sofia is your daughter.
I did not know how to answer an eight-year-old child whose entire identity had been shattered in less than an hour.
“I need to verify some things.”
“What things?”
“Grown-up things.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“That’s another lie.”
I almost laughed.
Instead I pulled out a chair.
“Sit.”
She sat.
So did I.
Bear placed his head on her knee.
“Elena,” I said. “Do you know that name?”
Sofia nodded.
“Daddy said it was my mother’s name.”
My throat tightened.
“Did you ever see photographs?”
“One.”
“Where?”
“At our old house.”
“What did she look like?”
Sofia considered.
“Like me.”
Yes.
She did.
“Did Gabriel ever tell you how she died?”
“Car crash.”
Another lie.
“When?”
“When I was a baby.”
“How old?”
“I don’t know.”
She lowered her eyes.
“I asked too many questions once. Daddy got sad.”
I looked at the locket.
“May I see it?”
She hesitated.
Then placed it in my palm.
The metal was warm from her body.
I opened it again.
Elena and me.
The photograph had been taken in Naples thirteen years earlier.
We were younger.
Stupid enough to believe happiness could survive men like us.
I examined the faded writing.
Her father lives.
Not Gabriel.
Her father.
Me.
Someone had written that message for Sofia.
Elena?
Gabriel?
I turned the locket over.
A tiny scratch near the hinge caught my attention.
Not a scratch.
A seam.
I pulled my pocketknife and carefully inserted the blade.
The inner frame popped loose.
Sofia leaned closer.
Hidden behind the photograph was a folded piece of paper no larger than a postage stamp.
I unfolded it.
A series of numbers had been written in Elena’s handwriting.
Account numbers.
Coordinates.
And one sentence.
TRUST NO MORETTI EXCEPT NICO.
My blood turned to ice.
Sofia read over my arm.
“What does it mean?”
I folded the paper.
“It means your mother expected you to find me.”
A crash sounded from the hallway.
Bear jumped up barking.
Luca appeared with his weapon drawn.
“Stay here,” I told Sofia.
I moved toward the door.
One of my guards lay unconscious near the security office.
The monitors had gone black.
A window alarm flashed.
Someone was inside my house.
Then, from behind me, Sofia screamed.
I turned.
The kitchen was empty.
May you like
Bear was barking at an open side door.
And Sofia was gone.
