Chapter 7 - THE REASON GIOVANNI KNEW MY NAME
Giovanni answered my call at 11:14 p.m.
“I need to see you.”
Silence.
Then:
“Where do you choose?”
That irritated me because it was correct.
“Hospital cafeteria.”
“At midnight?”
“Public.”
“Yes.”
He arrived without entourage.
I noticed because I looked.
Black coat.
No tie.
No visible security.
Maybe somewhere outside.
I didn’t ask.
I sat with bad coffee.
He took opposite chair.
“Tyler left voicemail.”
Giovanni’s face changed.
“What did he say?”
“That you knew exactly who I was before wedding.”
“Yes.”
No delay.
Good.
“How?”
He breathed.
Then:
“Tyler has been under private investigation by Fierro counsel for four months.”
“Why?”
“Bellini transaction leaks.”
“Your people searched his family.”
“Yes.”
“Including me.”
“Yes.”
“Lily.”
“Yes.”
My fingers tightened around cup.
“What did you know?”
“Your address.”
“Employment.”
“Custody status.”
“His support history.”
“Your daughter’s school.”
“Stop.”
He stopped.
I swallowed anger.
“Why was that necessary?”
“It wasn’t.”
There.
“Not at that depth.”
“Who ordered?”
“I approved broad family mapping.”
“Meaning you.”
“Yes.”
“Did you read file before wedding?”
“Yes.”
“How long before?”
“Three days.”
“Then you saw me at Table Twelve.”
“Yes.”
“And chose me because you knew Tyler would react.”
Silence.
“Yes.”
My eyes filled.
Not from heartbreak.
From humiliation repeating.
“I was bait.”
“Yes.”
He did not soften.
Good.
I almost hated him for honesty.
“Why?”
“I needed Tyler emotional.”
“So he’d move?”
“Yes.”
“He had been careful for months.”
“Once I approached you, he left Bellini group twice.”
“Called Luca.”
“Then gave us reason to watch parking garage.”
My stomach turned.
Vanessa’s photo.
Board packet.
It worked.
“You got evidence.”
“Yes.”
“Using me.”
“Yes.”
I stood.
Giovanni did too.
“Sit.”
He sat.
Good.
I remained standing.
“You watched my ex tell me I ruined my future.”
“Yes.”
“You knew he abandoned Lily.”
“Yes.”
“You knew he hadn’t seen her.”
“Yes.”
“And instead of thinking maybe this woman has had enough men make decisions for her—”
I laughed.
“You decided she was perfect pressure point.”
“Yes.”
His voice cracked slightly.
That was new.
“I was wrong.”
“You were efficient.”
His face tightened.
Good.
“That’s your favorite word.”
“Not anymore.”
I stared.
He continued.
“I told myself you were safe because ballroom public.”
“I told myself Tyler’s reaction would be limited to embarrassment.”
“I told myself you could walk away in three minutes.”
“I did not account for Bellini custody strategy.”
“Luca accessing security file.”
“Threat.”
“No.”
I shook head.
“Do not apologize because plan had unexpected consequences.”
His eyes held mine.
“I am apologizing because plan required treating you like an instrument even if nothing else happened.”
That stopped me.
Specific.
Better.
“Why did you kiss my hand?”
He looked surprised.
“What?”
“On dance floor.”
“That wasn’t necessary to bait Tyler.”
“No.”
“Why?”
For first time, Giovanni Fierro looked uncertain.
“I liked your smile.”
My chest tightened.
Annoying.
“No.”
“What?”
“Do not make this romantic.”
“I’m answering.”
I sat again because my knees felt unreliable.
He continued.
“The first part was strategy.”
“Then?”
“I stopped thinking about Tyler for several seconds.”
“That is a terrible apology.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He almost smiled.
I pointed.
“No smiling.”
He stopped.
I hated that I wanted laugh.
Then:
“Did you know me before file?”
Giovanni hesitated.
There was more.
“Once.”
I stared.
“Where?”
“St. Catherine’s.”
My mouth opened.
“When?”
“Nine months ago.”
“What happened?”
“My godson Mateo was admitted.”
“Appendicitis.”
I searched memory.
Hundreds children.
Then—
A boy.
Nine.
Terrified of IV.
An uncle? Not father.
Dark-haired man in expensive coat who refused to leave room.
Scar.
Oh.
“You.”
Giovanni nodded.
“You were there.”
“Yes.”
“I held Mateo’s hand.”
“Yes.”
“You told me to stop telling him he was brave.”
He almost smiled.
“I was trying to help.”
“You were making him feel bad for crying.”
“You said, ‘He doesn’t have to perform courage for adults.’”
I remembered.
His expression.
Offended.
Then quiet.
“You asked my name?”
“From badge.”
“Jessica.”
“Yes.”
“And you remembered.”
“Yes.”
Something shifted.
Not forgiveness.
Context.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because then it would sound like I chose you for sentimental reason.”
“You chose me for both?”
“Yes.”
“Strategy and memory.”
“Yes.”
I hated complicated truth.
Much easier when men were simply terrible.
“Did you investigate me because you recognized me?”
“No.”
“File existed because Tyler.”
“Then I saw your name.”
“And remembered.”
“Yes.”
I breathed.
“None of that excuses.”
“No.”
“Good.”
He groaned softly.
I almost smiled.
Then I became serious.
“Do you care about Tyler’s custody case?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because my actions worsened.”
“That is guilt.”
“Partly.”
“What else?”
He looked directly.
“Because Lily deserves adults who do not use her.”
That hit.
“You don’t know Lily.”
“No.”
“Do not pretend.”
“I’m not.”
Good.
We sat.
Hospital cafeteria at midnight.
Machines humming.
Resident sleeping over laptop.
Normal world around criminal family politics.
I asked:
“What happens at board vote?”
“If independent review approved, Bellini transaction freezes.”
“If not?”
“Caterina may use trust proxy.”
“What about Luca?”
“Removed.”
“Your aunt?”
“If she knew leaks, possibly removed trustee.”
“Do you think she did?”
“I think she knew debt.”
“I don’t know data.”
“What will you do if board refuses investigation?”
“Turn evidence to federal authorities anyway.”
I stared.
“That could destroy your company.”
“It might damage.”
“Why?”
“Because hiding it would make company not worth saving.”
Okay.
That was annoyingly principled.
I stood.
“Jessica.”
“What?”
“I will not contact you again unless necessary for police matter.”
Good.
Then:
“If you ever want to speak for another reason, you decide.”
I nodded.
He did not ask forgiveness.
I left.
Outside, my phone buzzed.
Vanessa.
She was at hospital too.
Obstetric triage.
Contractions.
Thirty-two weeks.
I ran.
Not because she deserved forgiveness.
Because she was pregnant and scared and my cousin.
I found her crying alone.
“Tyler?”
“Won’t answer.”
Of course.
I stayed.
Held hand.
Her contractions stopped after hydration.
Baby okay.
At 3:00 a.m., she said:
“You should hate me.”
“Maybe tomorrow.”
She laughed through tears.
Then:
“I filed separation.”
“Good.”
She looked at me.
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“Even if I’m alone with baby?”
“You won’t disappear.”
“Different.”
She nodded.
Then she whispered:
“Tyler moved money again.”
“What?”
“After Armitage fired.”
“Where?”
“Account in Cayman? No, too cliché and high-level. Maybe Delaware LLC.”
“North Lake to another account.”
“My lawyer froze trust.”
“He tried anyway.”
“Did he succeed?”
“No.”
“He is panicking.”
My stomach tightened.
Panicked Tyler made custody worse.
We told Priya.
Next morning supervised visitation suspended temporarily because Tyler failed sobriety? Wait no evidence. Could be due financial stress not relevant.
Then police called.
They identified photographer.
Not Tyler.
Not Luca.
A private investigator named Dean Mercer—no relation—hired through Bellini consulting subsidiary.
Authorization email signed:
ADRIANA BELLINI
Sofia’s aunt.
She claimed intent was only observation, not threat.
Photographer admitted taking picture.
But denied writing message.
He emailed image to Adriana.
Then someone else sent threat.
Chain continued.
Adriana had access.
So did Alessandro.
Sofia.
Two assistants.
Tyler.
Luca.
Still unresolved.
Board vote proceeded.
Giovanni got independent investigation approved by one vote.
Who cast deciding vote?
Caterina.
Her hand shook.
She looked at Luca across room.
Then voted against her own son.
Maybe late.
Still.
That evening, Luca was formally removed from director role.
He walked out.
At 9:22 p.m., his car was found abandoned near O’Hare.
Passport gone.
May you like
And a note inside:
TELL GIO HE WANTED THE TRUTH. NOW HE CAN HAVE ALL OF IT.
Related Stories
