Chapter 4 - MATTEO’S LAST MESSAGE
Elena Rossi looked at me before she looked at Giovanni.
That mattered.
She had requested him.
But she evaluated me first.
Hospital room.
Gray afternoon.
Rain along windows.
One police officer outside.
Detective Price inside.
Emilia downstairs with child specialist and Luca, because I refused to let our son roam hospital halls like a junior investigator.
Giovanni stood beside me.
No security inside.
Elena’s face was bruised.
Three stitches near hairline.
One eye swollen.
She held ribs every time she breathed.
Forty-three.
Photograph had not prepared me for how tired she looked.
“Lauren.”
she said.
I stopped.
“You know me.”
“I know of you.”
“How?”
“Matteo.”
Giovanni stiffened.
Elena finally looked at him.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then:
“You got old.”
Giovanni almost laughed.
“You hid my brother.”
“No.”
Her voice sharpened.
“Your brother hid himself.”
The room changed.
Giovanni’s jaw tightened.
“Why?”
“Later.”
“No.”
“Giovanni.”
She knew how to say his name without fear.
That told me something.
“Elena.”
I said.
“Police need to know what happened to you first.”
She looked at Price.
“They took me.”
“Who?”
“Two men.”
“Names?”
“One I know.”
“Who?”
“Anthony Barone.”
Giovanni stopped.
“Salvatore’s son.”
“Yes.”
Anthony would be around fifty.
I remembered photographs from old Moretti events.
Heavyset.
Dark beard.
Always near church functions.
“Other?”
“Unknown.”
“Where?”
“Parking garage near my work.”
“What did they want?”
“The ring.”
“Why?”
“They thought I still had it.”
“You gave to Emilia.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because if they took me, I needed someone to know who.”
Good.
“What else?”
“Matteo’s recording.”
Giovanni’s face changed.
“What recording?”
Elena looked at him.
“The one I promised him I would never give you unless Barone came back.”
“You promised my brother to hide something from me.”
“Yes.”
Rage.
I felt Giovanni physically change beside me.
Not action yet.
Elena saw.
“That.”
she said.
He stared.
“What?”
“That is why.”
“Why what?”
“Why Matteo did not come home.”
Silence.
I looked at Giovanni.
His face went white.
Elena continued:
“He loved you.”
“That was never question.”
“He was terrified of you.”
Giovanni stepped backward as though struck.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I never threatened Matteo.”
“You didn't have to.”
Her eyes filled.
“You were twenty-two.”
“Your father was grooming you to replace him.”
“Matteo had started refusing jobs.”
“Your father called him disloyal.”
“You called him weak.”
Giovanni closed his eyes.
“I know.”
“No.”
Elena’s voice hardened.
“You remember one argument.”
“I lived through what came after.”
She looked at Price.
Then me.
“Matteo met me when I was twenty.”
“He used name Matthew Russo.”
“I thought he worked shipping.”
“For a year, I didn't know.”
“Then?”
“I followed him.”
Bad choice.
“But I saw him meet Barone.”
“I confronted.”
“Matteo told me truth.”
“Not everything.”
“Enough.”
“Were you pregnant?”
“Not then.”
Giovanni frowned.
Timeline.
Matteo supposedly died twenty-three years ago.
Elena would have been twenty.
Emilia born eleven years ago.
Long gap.
Elena continued:
“Your father discovered me.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
“He told Matteo I was leverage.”
There was that word again.
Family diseases repeat.
“Then your father ordered Matteo to leave Chicago.”
Giovanni stared.
“What?”
“He agreed.”
“No.”
“He did.”
“Father told me Matteo had been killed by Romano crew.”
“Elena laughed bitterly.”
“After he helped stage it.”
Silence.
Giovanni sat.
Actually.
Like knees gave out.
“My father.”
“Yes.”
“Why fake death?”
“Because Matteo wanted out.”
“And your father believed public death was cleaner than defection.”
I felt sick.
Old-world logic.
A dead son preserved reputation.
A living son who left threatened authority.
“Body?”
Price asked.
Elena looked at Giovanni.
“Another man.”
“Who?”
“I never knew.”
“Dental?”
“Records changed.”
“Barone handled identification.”
Of course.
“Matteo went where?”
“New Jersey first.”
“Then Maine.”
“Canada.”
“Back.”
“Why back?”
“Me.”
Her eyes filled.
“We tried to stay apart.”
“Didn't.”
“For years he visited.”
“Different names.”
“Different jobs.”
“Then when I was thirty-one, I got pregnant.”
“Emilia.”
“Yes.”
“Did Matteo know?”
“From first test.”
Giovanni covered mouth.
His brother knew daughter.
“Why not contact me then?”
Elena stared.
“Because by then you were worse.”
That landed.
I felt Giovanni flinch.
“What do you mean worse?”
“Your father died.”
“You took over.”
“You survived three assassination attempts in two years.”
“Your name was on television.”
“Men disappeared.”
No elaboration.
Needed none.
“Matteo watched from far away.”
“He said if he came back, you would either drag him into family or kill whoever had helped hide him.”
Giovanni’s eyes filled.
“I would not hurt him.”
Elena softened slightly.
“He knew.”
“Eventually.”
“Then why?”
“Because he thought you would hurt everyone else.”
Truth.
Old Giovanni.
Likely.
I looked away.
Elena continued:
“When Luca’s mother disappeared from New York, Matteo noticed.”
My chest tightened.
Me.
“He knew about me?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Moretti network still existed.”
“He kept contacts.”
“Did he know I was pregnant?”
“No.”
“Later?”
“When Giovanni suddenly started traveling to Boston.”
I almost laughed.
Helicopter apparently hard to conceal.
“He figured out.”
“What did he say?”
Elena smiled faintly.
“He said, ‘Maybe Giovanni finally got one thing he can’t order.’”
Despite tension, I laughed.
Giovanni stared at ceiling.
“Sounds like him.”
Then his face broke.
“What happened when Emilia was five?”
Elena stopped smiling.
“Matteo decided to tell you.”
Silence.
There.
“He wanted Emilia to know family.”
“He had watched you with Luca.”
“Watched?”
Giovanni’s face changed.
“From where?”
“Photos.”
“News.”
“Once in Boston.”
My stomach tightened.
“When?”
“Luca was about two.”
Giovanni whispered:
“He was there?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't he—”
“He almost did.”
Elena looked at me.
“You were at playground.”
“Giovanni came later.”
“Security around.”
“Matteo stood across street.”
“I begged him go.”
My skin prickled.
A man I never met had watched his brother push Luca on a swing.
Then walked away.
“He called Salvatore Barone.”
Giovanni’s jaw tightened.
“Why?”
“Because Barone had helped stage death.”
“He wanted to know if old agreement still mattered.”
“What agreement?”
“No return.”
“No public claim.”
“No speaking about Red Ring business.”
“In exchange, family left us alone.”
“Barone said agreement died if Matteo contacted you.”
Giovanni’s eyes hardened.
“So he threatened.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Matteo decided to come anyway.”
My breath slowed.
“He recorded message.”
“The final one?”
“Yes.”
“For you.”
“Then?”
“He drove toward New York.”
“Never arrived.”
“Police?”
“Not under Matteo Moretti.”
“His legal identity then was Matthew Ross.”
“His car was found in New Jersey.”
“Body?”
“Yes.”
This time real.
“Cause?”
“Single gunshot.”
Giovanni went still.
“Who identified?”
“I did.”
Tears.
“Barone came after.”
“He told me if I spoke, Emilia would disappear.”
I covered mouth.
There it was.
“Why not tell police?”
“I tried once.”
“Detective laughed when I said Matteo Moretti was alive.”
“Officially dead.”
“No identity matching.”
“No proof.”
“I panicked.”
Then:
“I left.”
“Raised Emilia.”
“Kept recording.”
“Why come back now?”
“Barone returned.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“Maybe Matteo left something else.”
“What?”
Elena looked at Giovanni.
“I don't know.”
That answer finally belonged to someone else.
Price asked:
“Recording location?”
Elena hesitated.
“Safe.”
“Where?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Until Emilia is safe.”
“She is.”
Elena looked at Giovanni.
“No child connected to Moretti is ever completely safe.”
My spine stiffened.
Giovanni’s face did too.
Then he nodded.
“You're right.”
Elena looked surprised.
So was I.
He continued:
“That is why you decide where she goes.”
“Not me.”
Silence.
Important.
Elena closed eyes.
Then:
“Lauren.”
“Yes?”
“Will you stay with Emilia tonight?”
“If she wants.”
“She will.”
“Good.”
Only then did Elena tell Detective Price where recording was.
Not hidden safe.
Not bank vault.
A storage locker inside dance studio where Emilia took ballet.
Taped beneath bottom of costume trunk.
Ordinary place.
Police recovered same evening.
Video.
Matteo.
I watched beside Giovanni in private conference room.
Matteo looked like Giovanni.
Older.
Thinner.
Scar near ear.
Same eyes.
He sat in car.
Rain on windshield.
“Gio.”
Giovanni stopped breathing.
Nickname.
No one called him that except family.
“If you're seeing this, I failed to get there.”
Pause.
“Do not start a war.”
Giovanni’s jaw tightened.
Matteo almost smiled at camera.
“I know you.”
“Do not.”
My throat tightened.
He continued:
“Father helped me disappear.”
“Barone made it possible.”
“Then Barone made sure disappearing became permanent.”
“Not because I knew secrets.”
“Everybody knows secrets.”
“Because I knew he was building something Father never authorized.”
Giovanni leaned forward.
“What?”
Matteo continued:
“Barone kept men loyal to Red Ring after Father agreed structure ended.”
“He built his own network inside ours.”
“Police.”
“Dock supervisors.”
“Security.”
“Not to protect Moretti.”
“To replace it.”
Giovanni’s face changed.
Then:
“If something happens to me, don't trust anyone who tells you revenge is loyalty.”
Pause.
“Lauren.”
I froze.
Matteo knew my name.
Giovanni looked at me.
“Your woman left you.”
he said to camera.
Giovanni closed eyes.
“I heard.”
“If she comes back, listen before you protect.”
Tears filled my eyes.
He had seen enough from distance to understand.
Then:
“I have a daughter.”
Giovanni broke.
No sound.
Just tears.
“Her name is Emilia.”
“She likes strawberries.”
“Hates loud toilets.”
“Reads above grade level.”
“Has my feet.”
I laughed through tears.
Then Matteo’s voice cracked.
“If I don't make it to you, do not claim her because she is mine.”
“Earn her.”
There.
Everything.
Family changed into choice.
“Tell her I tried.”
“Tell her I loved her.”
Then:
“And Gio?”
Pause.
“I never hated you.”
“You scared me.”
“But I never hated you.”
Giovanni covered face.
The recording continued.
“The one thing I regret most is letting fear choose every year after the first.”
“Do better than me.”
Screen went black.
Nobody spoke.
Giovanni cried for a long time.
Then he stood.
Went to Elena’s room.
Stopped at doorway.
She looked up.
He said:
“I saw it.”
She nodded.
Then:
“I’m sorry.”
She stared.
“For what?”
“For being the brother he was afraid to come home to.”
Elena’s eyes filled.
“That isn't all yours.”
“No.”
Good.
He had learned.
Then:
“But part is.”
He walked away.
No demand.
No accusation.
No oath of vengeance.
That should have been end of night.
It wasn't.
Detective Price received call before midnight.
Anthony Barone had been found.
Not arrested.
Dead.
Inside motel room near Newark.
And on his right hand—
the finger where a red ring had been worn had been cut away after death.
May you like
Somebody was not only hunting people who knew Matteo’s truth.
They were removing the symbol itself.
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