Chapter 4 - SOMEONE INSIDE MY EMPIRE HAD PUT SOPHIA’S FAMILY UNDER SURVEILLANCE
I did not tell Sophia about Vincent the night her mother died.
There are truths people deserve immediately.
There are also moments when forcing information into grief is not honesty.
It is selfishness disguised as urgency.
I waited until morning.
Henry was arranging the funeral.
Emma and Daniel had canceled their honeymoon.
Lily sat at Margaret’s kitchen table drawing angels with purple wings because, according to her, heaven “needed better decorations.”
Sophia stood near the sink.
I said:
“I need to tell you something.”
She looked at my face.
“This sounds bad.”
“Yes.”
We went onto the back porch.
Cold air.
No child listening.
I showed her the photograph.
Black SUV.
Vincent visible behind the wheel.
Sophia’s face changed.
“Who is he?”
“One of my security supervisors.”
“You brought more guards?”
“No.”
“Then why was he here?”
“I don’t know.”
Her eyes hardened.
“Dominic.”
“I did not authorize him.”
“Does Marco know?”
“He does now.”
“What did Vincent say?”
“We haven’t approached him.”
“Why?”
“To see where he goes.”
She stared at me.
“You’re following the man who followed us.”
“Yes.”
“This is your normal?”
“Unfortunately.”
Sophia crossed her arms tightly.
I remembered Margaret.
Protection is not the same as peace.
“I’m sorry.”
Sophia blinked.
“What?”
“I brought this here.”
“You don’t know that.”
“He followed me.”
“Yes.”
“So I brought it.”
She looked toward the kitchen window.
Lily was showing Henry a purple angel.
Sophia’s expression changed.
“Do they know about Lily?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then find out.”
No pleading.
No fear.
A mother.
I understood orders from that tone.
“I will.”
“Without hurting anyone.”
I looked at her.
“Your mother got to you.”
“She made me promise.”
“What?”
“Nothing involving you.”
Sophia almost smiled.
Then didn’t.
“Good.”
Marco called at noon.
Vincent had returned to New York.
Not home.
Not office.
He entered a private club in Brooklyn owned by my uncle Vittorio Moretti.
My father’s older brother.
Sixty-one.
Silver-haired.
Elegant.
The man who taught me how to calculate interest before I learned algebra.
The man who sat beside my hospital bed after I was shot at twenty-six.
The man who advised me when my father died and the organization became mine.
Vittorio had never wanted the top position.
At least that was what I believed.
“Did Vincent meet him?”
I asked.
“Yes.”
“Proof?”
“Photographs.”
“How long?”
“Forty minutes.”
“Then?”
“Vincent left with an envelope.”
My jaw tightened.
“Bring him in?”
Marco asked.
“No.”
Pause.
“You sure?”
“No.”
But I remembered Margaret.
Old Dominic would have dragged Vincent into a basement.
Questioned him until his memory improved.
Instead:
“Run financials first.”
“Phones?”
“Lawful access where we have corporate authority.”
“Personal?”
“No.”
Marco went quiet.
“You’re changing.”
“Do your job.”
He laughed softly.
“Yes, boss.”
I stayed in Pennsylvania through Margaret’s funeral.
That surprised everyone.
Sophia tried to send me home twice.
“I know you have work.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t need to stay.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you still here?”
I looked toward Lily.
She was arranging wildflowers beside Margaret’s photograph.
“Because leaving right now feels wrong.”
Sophia looked at me for a long time.
Then nodded.
Henry remained suspicious.
At the cemetery, after everyone else walked away, he stood beside me.
“You loved your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Good woman?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know what losing one does.”
“I do.”
He stared at Margaret’s grave.
“Sophia pretends she doesn’t need people.”
“I noticed.”
“She gets that from me.”
“I noticed that too.”
Henry almost smiled.
Then:
“You hurt her, I’ll kill you.”
“Margaret mentioned that.”
His head turned.
“She did?”
“Yes.”
“Smart woman.”
“The smartest.”
Henry nodded.
We stood in silence.
On Monday evening, I returned to Manhattan alone.
Sophia remained on the farm with Lily.
She was no longer playing my girlfriend.
There was no audience.
Yet when the plane took off, the empty seat beside me felt wrong.
That annoyed me.
My headquarters felt worse.
Marco had assembled an audit team.
Not my usual accountants.
Independent forensic specialists.
Something Vincent carried from Pennsylvania had been charged to a Moretti corporate expense account.
Hotel.
Gas.
Vehicle.
Surveillance equipment.
Authorization code:
Vittorio Moretti.
I read it twice.
“Maybe he thought he was protecting me.”
Marco did not answer.
“What?”
“You asked me to stop assuming loyalty before evidence.”
“Correct.”
“So I’m not giving Uncle Vittorio a better motive until he earns one.”
Annoying.
Useful.
“What else?”
Marco handed me a folder.
Vincent had accessed employee information before Pennsylvania.
Not mine.
Sophia’s.
Emergency contact.
Family address.
Lily’s pediatric contact.
Henry’s farm.
Emma’s wedding venue.
My body went cold.
“How did he get this?”
“HR archive.”
“Who authorized?”
“Legacy security privilege.”
“Whose?”
Vittorio.
I closed the file.
“Bring Vincent.”
This time, yes.
He arrived an hour later.
No violence.
Conference room.
Attorney offered.
He declined.
Mistake.
“Why did you follow Sophia?”
I asked.
Vincent stared at me.
“Security review.”
“Authorized by?”
“Mr. Vittorio.”
“Why?”
“He said you were traveling with an employee and child.”
“So?”
“He wanted threat assessment.”
“Why not tell Marco?”
Silence.
“Vincent.”
“He said Marco was too close to you.”
Interesting.
“What were you looking for?”
“Anything that could be used.”
My body went still.
“Used by whom?”
“Enemies.”
“Or us?”
Vincent looked down.
There.
“Explain.”
“Mr. Vittorio keeps leverage files.”
Marco swore quietly.
“On whom?”
“Everyone.”
“Employees?”
“Senior staff.”
“Captains.”
“Politicians.”
“Families.”
My hands tightened.
“Sophia?”
“Yes.”
“Lily?”
Vincent hesitated.
“Family members are included.”
My vision narrowed.
A three-year-old existed inside a leverage file.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who maintains it?”
“Mr. Vittorio’s office.”
“Why follow Pennsylvania?”
“He wanted to know whether the relationship was real.”
“What did you report?”
“That you stayed.”
“What else?”
“That Mrs. Carter was dying.”
“That the father disliked you.”
“That Sophia’s sister got married.”
My jaw clenched.
“What about Lily?”
Vincent lowered his eyes.
“She likes you.”
I stood.
The chair moved backward.
Vincent flinched.
Old reputation.
Old expectation.
I did not touch him.
“Get out.”
He stared.
“You’re firing me.”
“Yes.”
“Boss—”
“You surveilled a grieving family and put a toddler into a leverage report.”
“I followed orders.”
“That sentence has buried more cowards than bullets ever did.”
He left.
Marco closed the door.
“What now?”
I looked at the file.
Then Margaret’s promise replayed.
Change the world. Not them.
“Audit everything Vittorio touches.”
“That could mean half the organization.”
“Then start with half.”
“And the leverage files?”
“Find them.”
“What do we do if they exist?”
“Destroy the copies?”
“No.”
Marco looked surprised.
“We preserve evidence.”
“For what?”
I had no answer yet.
Then another file appeared in the audit.
A small one.
Old mortgage purchase.
A shell company called Granite Ridge Holdings had acquired the debt attached to Henry Carter’s farm six months earlier.
I stared.
“Why does a Moretti shell company own Sophia’s father’s mortgage?”
Marco went pale.
“I don’t know.”
I did.
Not exactly.
But I knew enough.
May you like
Vittorio had not begun watching Sophia because I went to Pennsylvania.
He had been collecting leverage on her family long before Lily ever asked me to become her mother’s boyfriend.
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