Chapter 7 - The King Who Refused to Stay Dead
Matteo did not speak for several seconds.
Clara watched the blood leave his face.
“Say something,” the voice on the phone said.
Matteo finally whispered:
“You’re dead.”
Salvatore Falcone laughed.
“So many people have made that mistake.”
Matteo gripped the phone.
“I saw your body.”
“You saw a body.”
“I identified you.”
“You identified a man with half his face missing.”
The memory returned.
Barbershop.
Gunfire.
Blood.
His father slumped beneath a white sheet.
A damaged face.
A ring.
A watch.
Dental confirmation arranged through a Falcone-controlled pathologist.
Matteo had never questioned it.
Because he had wanted Salvatore dead.
“Where is Thaddeus?”
“Alive.”
“Let him go.”
“You always were sentimental about servants.”
“He’s family.”
“No.”
Salvatore’s voice hardened.
“Family shares blood.”
Matteo looked toward Clara.
He thought of Peter.
Frank.
Thaddeus.
Samuel.
People his father would never consider family because loyalty, to Salvatore, flowed only upward.
“What do you want?”
“My ledger.”
“I don’t have it.”
“No. Victor does.”
Matteo frowned.
“Then call Victor.”
“I would if Victor understood what he stole.”
The line went quiet.
Salvatore continued.
“Your wife was never supposed to be involved.”
Matteo’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t say her name.”
“I always liked Clara.”
“You threatened her.”
“No.”
For the first time, Salvatore sounded offended.
“Victor acted without my permission.”
“Then kill him.”
“I intend to.”
Matteo looked at Clara.
She shook her head slightly.
Do not trust him.
Matteo almost laughed.
Trust was not remotely possible.
“Where have you been?”
“Watching.”
“For seven years?”
“Recovering first.”
Salvatore coughed.
“I was tired, Matteo. Your enemies were becoming my enemies. The government was closing doors. I needed death.”
“So you faked it.”
“I evolved.”
“You abandoned your family.”
“I freed you to prove whether you deserved the name.”
Matteo felt old childhood rage awakening.
Even dead, Salvatore had turned life into a test.
Every beating.
Every humiliation.
Every order.
Always a test.
“How did I do?”
Salvatore laughed.
“Poorly.”
Matteo smiled without humor.
“I built twice what you had.”
“You weakened it.”
“I kept half your soldiers out of prison.”
“You married a woman who makes you question yourself.”
Matteo looked at Clara.
“That may be the only intelligent thing I’ve ever done.”
Clara’s eyes filled.
Salvatore went silent.
Then:
“You really have changed.”
“Yes.”
“That is unfortunate.”
The call ended.
Matteo immediately turned to his security team.
“Trace it.”
A technician shook his head.
“Already trying.”
Clara approached.
“You believe him?”
“That he’s my father?”
“Yes.”
Matteo looked sick.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“His voice.”
“That can be copied.”
“Not what he said.”
Matteo walked to the window.
“He called Thaddeus a servant.”
Clara waited.
“When I was twelve, Thaddeus’s father worked for mine. My father never used their names. Not once.”
His jaw tightened.
“He called everyone beneath him a servant.”
Frank entered.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We checked the cemetery.”
Matteo turned.
Frank looked disturbed.
“Salvatore Falcone’s grave was opened under a court order four years ago.”
“What court order?”
“There isn’t one.”
Matteo stared.
Frank continued.
“The cemetery log was altered. Somebody accessed the crypt.”
“Was the body there?”
“We don’t know.”
Matteo grabbed his coat.
“Now we do.”
Two hours later, under darkness and without publicity, a forensic team opened Salvatore Falcone’s coffin.
Clara refused to stay home.
Matteo argued once.
She looked at him.
He stopped arguing.
The coffin opened.
Inside lay human remains.
The forensic pathologist examined the skull.
Matteo stood beside Clara.
“Well?” he demanded.
The doctor removed his gloves.
“This man suffered extensive facial trauma before death.”
“That matches.”
“Yes.”
“But?”
The doctor looked at Matteo.
“Your father fractured his left femur in a motorcycle accident at age nineteen, correct?”
“Yes.”
“This skeleton has no evidence of a healed femur fracture.”
Matteo stared into the coffin.
Not his father.
For seven years, he had visited a stranger’s grave.
Clara reached for his hand without thinking.
Matteo looked down.
It was the first time she had touched him willingly since returning.
She almost pulled away.
Then didn’t.
His fingers closed gently around hers.
No pressure.
No ownership.
Just contact.
“The war never ended,” he whispered.
Clara looked at the coffin.
“No.”
Matteo’s eyes hardened.
“It was waiting.”
The next morning, Anthony returned with information.
He had disappeared temporarily after Matteo accused him, determined to prove his innocence.
He threw photographs onto the study table.
“Victor Dane owns a company called Mercer Logistics.”
Thaddeus was still missing.
Samuel and Clara stood nearby.
Matteo examined the photographs.
Warehouse permits.
Shipping records.
Political donations.
Anthony pointed.
“Mercer Logistics bought three old Falcone properties after your father died.”
“Which properties?”
“South Branch depot. Joliet storage site.”
He placed down the third.
“And this.”
Matteo stared.
An old limestone mansion near Lake Geneva.
Clara recognized it from family photographs.
“Your mother’s house.”
Matteo’s jaw tightened.
Salvatore had bought the Wisconsin estate for Matteo’s mother, Sofia.
After her death, Matteo thought it had been sold.
Anthony shook his head.
“Victor’s shell company owns it.”
“Since when?”
“Since four months before Uncle Salvatore supposedly died.”
Matteo understood.
His father had prepared the disappearance.
“Get cars.”
Clara immediately said, “I’m coming.”
“No.”
She stared at him.
Matteo paused.
The old answer had left his mouth automatically.
Command first.
Discussion later.
He closed his eyes.
Then corrected himself.
“I don’t want you there.”
“That’s different.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because if my father is there, I don’t know what he’ll do.”
“And if I stay here?”
“I’ll leave enough security to protect you.”
Clara shook her head.
“You still don’t understand.”
Matteo’s frustration rose.
“What don’t I understand?”
“I was kidnapped because your world entered mine whether I agreed or not.”
She stepped closer.
“You don’t get to keep me ignorant anymore and call it protection.”
Matteo said nothing.
“If you want me to have any chance of deciding whether there’s still a marriage here, stop managing me.”
The room went silent.
Matteo looked toward Frank.
Then Anthony.
Old instincts screamed at him.
Protect.
Control.
Command.
But Clara was right.
He had mistaken control for love for too long.
“Fine.”
He looked at her.
“You come.”
Clara nodded.
“But you wear armor.”
She almost smiled.
“That sounds like a request.”
“It is not.”
A tiny laugh escaped her.
The first he had heard since finding her.
Matteo stared.
For one impossible second, the room felt lighter.
Then the phone rang.
Hospital.
Adrian Cole had disappeared.
His bed was empty.
A nurse had been found unconscious.
Security camera footage showed Adrian leaving with a man in medical scrubs.
The man removed his mask while entering an elevator.
Victor Dane.
Samuel nearly collapsed.
Matteo grabbed his keys.
Then a text arrived from Adrian’s stolen phone.
A location pin.
Lake Geneva.
Beneath it:
YOUR FATHER WANTS HIS FAMILY TOGETHER.
Clara read the message.
Then another line appeared.
BRING YOUR WIFE.
Matteo’s face hardened.
Clara whispered, “He knew I’d come.”
“Yes.”
“And now?”
May you like
Matteo reached for his gun.
“Now we stop letting dead men write our lives.”
