Chapter 5 - THE FORTY MILLION WAS NEVER THE EMPIRE
“No.”
This time Serafina said it.
Alessandro stared at her.
She stared at Vittorio.
“I do not want your empire.”
Vittorio’s breathing had become shallow.
“Good.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“People who want it should never have it.”
Alessandro laughed without humor.
“At least he insulted both of us.”
Vittorio’s mouth twitched.
Then a coughing fit seized him.
The nurse moved quickly.
Within seconds, machines were beeping and the room filled with controlled motion.
Serafina backed away.
So did Alessandro.
They were pushed into the corridor together.
Neither spoke.
Then Alessandro said, “You are not taking half my company.”
She turned.
“Wonderful. We agree.”
He frowned.
“You just learned you have a claim worth considerably more than forty million euros.”
“And?”
“And people have killed for less.”
“Your people.”
His jaw tightened.
“Some.”
“I don’t want anything built on fear.”
“The holding company owns hotels, shipping terminals, restaurants, construction firms.”
“And those magically became clean because they have letterhead?”
“No.”
He looked tired.
“I have spent eight years trying to separate what can survive daylight from what cannot.”
That surprised her.
“You expect applause?”
“No.”
Another honest answer.
“I expect skepticism.”
“Good.”
Silas emerged from Vittorio’s room.
“He’s stable.”
Alessandro nodded once.
“What about Emilio?”
Silas’s face hardened.
“Already moving.”
“How do you know?”
“Three captains left San Bellagio tonight.”
Serafina crossed her arms.
“Captains?”
Alessandro looked at her.
“Men who control parts of my father’s old organization.”
“How many?”
“Seven.”
Seven shell companies.
Her mind clicked.
“Vincenzo.”
They returned to the villa library.
The accountant had been brought from the Obsidian under guard.
He looked worse than before.
Serafina opened the laptop.
“Why seven companies?”
Vincenzo glanced at Alessandro.
“Answer her.”
The accountant swallowed.
“Because Vittorio told me to divide the trust according to the old council structure.”
Seven captains.
Seven accounts.
“But the money was supposed to be hidden from Emilio.”
“Yes.”
“Then why tie each company to a council seat?”
“So if Emilio forced a transfer from one, we would know which captain had given him access.”
Silas stared.
“You built a loyalty test.”
Vincenzo nodded.
“Vittorio did.”
Serafina scrolled.
Two shell companies showed recent internal access.
Not transfers.
Attempts.
“Which captains?”
Vincenzo gave two names.
Neither meant anything to her.
Both meant something to Alessandro.
“Emilio already has two.”
Silas nodded.
“Possibly three.”
Clara entered carrying tea she had apparently convinced somebody to make.
Nobody had managed to send her home.
Serafina was beginning to accept defeat on that front.
Clara placed a cup in front of Vincenzo.
The accountant stared.
“What?”
“You look like you’re going to faint.”
“I helped conceal forty million euros.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re giving me tea.”
“You still look like you’re going to faint.”
Vincenzo took it.
“Thank you.”
Then Clara noticed the black rosary beside Serafina’s laptop.
“Dad’s case had another compartment.”
Serafina looked at her.
“You are developing a terrible habit of mentioning important things late.”
“I thought you knew.”
“Why would I know?”
“You always knew everything.”
The answer quieted her.
Clara had been fifteen when Gabriel died.
Maybe Serafina had spent three years pretending competence so hard that her sister actually believed it.
“What compartment?”
Clara took the rosary case from her bag.
The velvet lining lifted.
Inside was a narrow paper sleeve.
Serafina removed it.
A photograph slid out.
Gabriel stood beside Silas.
The date stamp was the afternoon he died.
2:08 p.m.
Nine minutes before the watch stopped.
Silas stared at it.
“No.”
Serafina’s blood chilled.
“You said you found him at 2:23.”
“I did.”
“This photograph says you were with him fifteen minutes earlier.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Then who took this?”
Silas grabbed the photograph.
His face changed.
“That isn’t me.”
Everyone stared.
Serafina looked again.
Same height.
Same heavy shoulders.
Same dark suit.
But the man was turned partially away.
Only the jaw visible.
Silas pointed toward the hand resting on Gabriel’s car.
“No scar.”
Silas had a thick scar across his right thumb.
The man in the photograph did not.
“Who looks enough like you to fool someone?”
Alessandro already knew.
“Emilio’s son.”
Silas looked at him.
“Marco Moretti.”
Another Moretti.
Serafina almost groaned.
“Where is Marco?”
“Dead.”
Clara immediately said, “Of course he is.”
Silas looked grim.
“Killed two years ago.”
“By whom?”
Alessandro hesitated.
“That depends who you ask.”
Serafina did not like that answer.
“Who do you say killed him?”
“Me.”
The room went quiet.
She stared.
“You killed your cousin?”
“I ordered him executed.”
Clara put down her tea.
“Your family Christmas parties must be awful.”
Even Alessandro almost smiled.
Serafina did not.
“Why?”
“Marco murdered two dockworkers who discovered weapons in a medical shipment.”
Gabriel’s investigation.
“So Marco worked with Emilio.”
“Yes.”
“Then why would Emilio keep operating after you killed his son?”
Alessandro’s expression hardened.
“Because I made the mistake of believing grief would make him stop.”
Silas placed the photograph down.
Serafina studied Gabriel’s face.
He was not frightened.
That bothered her.
If he believed the man beside him was Marco, why stand calmly?
Unless he didn’t.
On the edge of the photograph, Gabriel was holding something.
A white envelope.
Serafina enlarged the image with her phone.
One word was visible.
OBSIDIAN.
“The restaurant.”
Silas leaned closer.
“Your father had an envelope addressed to the Obsidian.”
“Maybe that’s the proof he was taking to Vittorio.”
Vincenzo shook his head.
“The Obsidian didn’t belong to Vittorio then.”
“Who owned it?”
Nobody answered immediately.
Then Alessandro said, “Emilio.”
Serafina looked toward the window.
Three years ago Gabriel had been photographed beside a man resembling Silas.
Holding an envelope marked with a restaurant Emilio controlled.
Nine minutes later, his watch stopped.
She remembered the first moments of tonight.
The spilled wine.
The napkin.
Vincenzo’s terrified face.
Then another memory surfaced.
Silas had shoved his chair backward before her tray struck the table.
Why?
She looked at him.
“You moved deliberately.”
Silas frowned.
“At dinner.”
His face changed.
“You saw something.”
“I saw Vincenzo pass a card beneath his plate.”
Vincenzo went pale.
Alessandro turned.
“What card?”
The accountant stared at his hands.
“Vincenzo.”
He finally reached into his wallet.
A torn piece of thick white paper came out.
Three years old.
Wine stained along one edge.
Serafina recognized the paper from the photograph.
Gabriel’s envelope.
“You had this?”
Vincenzo’s hands shook.
“Gabriel gave it to me the day he died.”
“Before or after 2:17?”
“After.”
The room froze.
Serafina whispered, “That’s impossible.”
Vincenzo looked at her.
“No.”
His voice cracked.
“Your father’s watch didn’t stop when he died.”
May you like
He slid the card across the table.
“It stopped when he was shot the first time.”
