Chapter 9 - THE BROTHER I COULD NOT SAVE
The crypt smelled like stone and candle wax.
Matteo stood ten feet away.
Black coat.
Gun against Marco.
Ledger tucked beneath one arm.
His face looked exhausted.
Not insane.
Not wild.
That almost made it worse.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
“Let Marco go.”
Matteo smiled.
“Still protecting everyone.”
“Let him go.”
“You couldn’t save Dad.”
My jaw tightened.
“You couldn’t save Mateo.”
Marco closed his eyes.
Matteo continued.
“You didn’t even save the dog. A toddler did.”
He wanted anger.
I gave him none.
“What do you want?”
His smile faded slightly.
“Transfer authority.”
“You have the ledger.”
“I need access.”
“To?”
“Founder accounts.”
“They’ve been frozen.”
“Unfreeze them.”
“No.”
Gun pressed harder against Marco.
“Careful.”
Marco spoke:
“Don’t.”
Matteo hit him with the gun.
Blood.
My body tensed.
Agents were positioned outside the crypt but had no clean shot.
Matteo knew.
He chose the angle well.
“Why Marco?” I asked.
“He followed me.”
Marco gave me an apologetic look.
Of course he did.
Suspended from command.
Still acting.
Another man deciding alone.
If we survived, we would discuss that.
Matteo laughed.
“You collect loyal idiots.”
“Apparently.”
“Dad did too.”
“Did you kill him?”
Silence.
Cameras hidden on agents recorded.
Matteo’s face changed.
“You keep asking.”
“Because you keep avoiding.”
He looked toward Sebastian’s stone memorial.
“Dad had already decided I was a mistake.”
“He planned accountability.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I’m trying.”
Matteo laughed bitterly.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Five years too late.”
“Probably.”
That stopped him.
He expected defense.
I continued.
“I protected you when I should have held you responsible.”
His expression tightened.
“I told Dad not to cut you out.”
“You want applause?”
“No.”
“I kept rescuing you.”
“You liked being the savior.”
That one landed.
Maybe partly true.
Protection had made me feel like I was honoring our mother.
Matteo continued:
“You got to be strong.”
“And you got to hate being protected.”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”
I looked at him.
“But none of that put the gun in your hand.”
His face hardened.
“You killed Dad.”
“He was going to erase me.”
“He was going to remove you from a company after you stole and sold security information.”
“He was going to give you everything.”
“No.”
“You already had everything!”
His shout echoed.
There it was.
Years of resentment compressed into one sentence.
I spoke quietly.
“I had responsibility.”
“You had respect.”
“Yes.”
He flinched.
I continued.
“You wanted respect.”
“I wanted what was mine.”
“You wanted what was mine.”
His eyes flashed.
“You think birth order makes you worthy?”
“No.”
That surprised him.
“I think being born first gave me opportunities you didn’t have.”
Silence.
“I think Dad trusted me more.”
His face twisted.
“And I think he had reasons to stop trusting you.”
The gun shifted.
Marco breathed.
I continued quickly but calmly.
“You were not less loved because you were held accountable.”
Matteo stared.
“Don’t.”
“You were not less loved because Mom asked me to protect you.”
“Shut up.”
“She was dying.”
“Shut up.”
“She was scared for her younger son.”
“SHUT UP!”
His gun moved away from Marco for half a second.
Sniper?
No shot.
Wrong angle.
Matteo regained control.
I breathed.
“Okay.”
Silence.
He looked confused.
I stopped pushing the wound.
“What do you want me to sign?”
He tossed documents onto stone.
Emergency transfer authorization.
Founder accounts.
Old shell assets.
All to Lake Meridian.
Even now.
Money as escape.
“I sign and Marco leaves?”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“You walk out.”
“You?”
“I disappear.”
“With names in the ledger.”
“Yes.”
“You’ll blackmail half Chicago.”
“If necessary.”
“No.”
His face hardened.
“You care about politicians now?”
“I care about everyone you threaten.”
He laughed.
“Saint Alessio.”
“No.”
I thought of my own history.
“I’m not a saint.”
My voice remained steady.
“I’ve done things I’m not proud of.”
Matteo smiled.
“Finally.”
“That’s why the ledger goes to investigators.”
His face changed.
“No.”
“It ends.”
“Dad built protection with those names.”
“Dad was trying to dismantle it.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Mateo’s notes say he was.”
Matteo froze.
Tiny.
There.
He did not know everything Mateo copied.
I continued:
“We have the collar file.”
His face drained.
“Full copy.”
“No.”
“Dad’s route.”
His grip tightened.
“Payments.”
Marco looked at him.
Matteo whispered:
“Mateo was a janitor with tools.”
Sienna’s husband.
Reduced to nothing.
I felt anger.
“He was an engineer.”
“Maintenance.”
“He was smarter than you.”
The words landed.
Dangerous.
Matteo lifted the gun toward me.
Good.
Away from Marco.
Agents shifted outside.
I held still.
“You think this is funny?”
“No.”
“You think you won?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“I think you lost years ago.”
He stared.
“The first time someone loved you enough to forgive you and you decided forgiveness meant permission.”
Silence.
Maybe I was speaking to myself too.
Matteo’s eyes filled unexpectedly.
“Dad should have chosen me once.”
“He did.”
“No.”
“He gave you twelve chances.”
That was from Sebastian’s final voicemail.
Matteo stopped breathing.
“You heard it.”
“Yes.”
His face collapsed for half a second.
“Dad said that?”
“He said he gave you twelve.”
A tear slipped down Matteo’s cheek.
I had not expected that.
Neither had he.
Then rage returned.
“He still cut me out.”
“After twelve.”
The crypt went silent.
Matteo looked toward our father’s memorial.
Then at me.
The gun lowered slightly.
Marco moved.
Too soon.
Matteo reacted.
Shot.
Sound exploded.
Marco fell.
I shouted.
Agents entered.
Matteo turned the gun.
Shots.
Stone chips.
I dropped behind a column.
Agents commanded.
“DROP THE WEAPON!”
Matteo fired once toward the ceiling.
Then ran toward the old clergy passage.
An agent tackled him at the entrance.
The ledger skidded across stone.
Gun fell.
Matteo fought.
Screamed.
Not words at first.
Then:
“THAT WAS MINE!”
Cuffs.
Blood.
Chaos.
I crawled toward Marco.
He was conscious.
Bullet through upper shoulder.
Not chest.
“Idiot.”
He laughed weakly.
“You’re welcome.”
“You moved.”
“Bad habit.”
Paramedics entered.
Marco survived.
Matteo was arrested.
Alive.
That mattered.
I wanted a trial.
A record.
No disappearing.
No family justice.
No myth.
When agents lifted him, Matteo looked at me.
For the first time, he looked younger than thirty-one.
“Alessio.”
I stood.
He waited.
Maybe for forgiveness.
Maybe hatred.
I had neither ready.
“I loved you.”
His face broke.
Then he whispered:
“Not enough.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
A pause.
“You didn’t let it be enough.”
Agents took him.
The founder ledger remained on the floor.
I picked it up.
Names.
Hundreds.
Old corruption.
Old crimes.
Old debts.
A map of how my family survived by owning silence.
I handed it to Lena Torres.
“All of it.”
She stared.
“You understand what this may expose.”
“Yes.”
“Your family.”
“Yes.”
“You?”
Maybe.
I thought about Elsie asking me not to lie.
“Yes.”
Lena accepted the book.
That moment cost me more power than any rival had ever taken.
It also made me feel lighter than I had in years.
The Romano empire, as my father built it, was about to change permanently.
May you like
Good.
Some inheritances deserved to end.
