Chapter 9 - WHAT THE DEAD COULD NOT SAY
The safe was opened by a locksmith at eight the next morning.
I knew that because Detective Ortiz called to tell me, not because anyone had summoned Matteo to stand beside it. Vincent's message had been a performance. The steel box required a specialized tool, a warrant, and someone who knew what they were doing. No blood oath, no hidden family ritual, no two Romanos speaking a secret word.
"He wanted Matteo to come in person," Ortiz said. "When that didn't happen, he lost control of the story."
I sat on the hotel bed, my notebook balanced on my knees. Sophie was at the table working on a biology assignment. The ordinary sight steadied me.
"What did you find?" I asked.
"Original cashbooks, bank receipts, contracts, and a letter from Giuseppe addressed to his son. Also a second watch case, empty."
"Why two cases?"
"It appears Vincent had the original repaired after the fire and kept the discarded back plate. We're checking whether it links the watch to the warehouse."
"And Bianca?"
"She's being examined by a doctor. Her father left her locked in the office after an argument. She has asked to provide another statement."
I closed my eyes. Bianca had hit me hard enough to damage my hearing; I'd never forget the sound of her ring against my face. But Vincent had locked his own daughter in an office while threatening her life. There was no victory in that.
"Can I ask her something?" I said.
"You can put questions in a written statement. Direct contact isn't advisable right now."
I opened my notebook and wrote one sentence: Why did you choose to hurt me when you knew how it felt to be afraid?
I didn't know whether I would ever send it. The question was for me as much as her. I wanted to understand how pain became permission to cause more pain, and how people learned to stop.
At ten, Matteo arrived at the hotel. He was wearing the same charcoal coat he'd worn to the police office, but he'd shaved and brushed his hair. His face looked leaner, the confidence that usually surrounded him reduced to something quieter and harder earned.
"Ortiz says you have a copy of the letter," I said.
He nodded. "She gave it to my attorney. There's a passage about your mother. I thought you might want to hear it."
"Only if she agreed to it."
"Miriam says Evelyn would have wanted you to know."
We sat in the lounge where we'd spoken a few nights earlier. A waiter brought tea and left us alone. Matteo unfolded two pages of yellowing paper.
"My son," he read, voice uneven. "If you're reading this, then I failed to come home. I can't ask you to be proud of me. I allowed men to move money through businesses I claimed to control. I accepted explanations that were easier than questions. When Evelyn Cole showed me what the payments meant, I knew we had harmed people whose faces we never bothered to learn."
Matteo stopped and swallowed.
"Do you want me to finish?" I asked.
"No. I need to."
He continued. "Vincent says the warehouse has to burn to save the rest of us. I signed a transfer agreement because I convinced myself he meant to empty the building first. Now I know he plans to leave workers inside. I have told Evelyn and Miriam everything I can. Tomorrow I'll stop the closure, cancel the agreement, and turn over the records. If I am too late, let the truth cost me my good name. Don't let it cost you your conscience."
The letter ended with a line written much smaller than the rest.
"I love you, Matteo. Not because you'll be a Romano, but because you can be better than I was."
Matteo folded the pages carefully. Tears ran down his face, and he made no attempt to hide them.
"I spent six years thinking he was perfect," he whispered. "Now I know he wasn't. But he tried."
"Yes," I said. "He tried too late to save himself. Maybe not too late to help you choose."
For a long while we watched the river traffic beyond the window. I wanted to reach for his hand. Instead I asked whether he was sleeping, whether he had eaten, whether his attorney was helping him through the investigation. He answered honestly. He had slept four hours. He'd forgotten breakfast. He was cooperating with a federal review of his companies. It might take years to untangle the money.
"I may not have a mansion when it's over," he said.
"You never needed one to make tea," I replied.
He laughed, a surprised sound that made me smile for the first time all morning.
In the afternoon, Adrian Wolfe was arrested after investigators linked the original cashbooks to his personal consultancy. According to Ortiz, he offered information about Vincent in exchange for favorable consideration, though no agreement had been made. His account placed Vincent at the east exit after the alarm system had been disabled and named the contractor who initiated the fire.
The contractor had died years earlier, but the bank records, the video, and the statements of surviving workers gave the police a case built on more than one man's memory.
One survivor, a woman named Teresa March, came forward after the story reached the news. She'd been nineteen when she worked at Harborline. Her injuries had kept her out of work for nearly a year. She told investigators that Giuseppe had tried to free a group of workers from the east corridor before he disappeared into the smoke.
That detail mattered to Matteo more than any praise ever could. His father had made terrible choices, but at the final moment he had not abandoned the people trapped by them.
At five, Ortiz asked me to come to the station. She had located Anthony Bell, the event coordinator who'd appeared outside Sophie's apartment. He'd been hiding with a relative after Vincent's men threatened him. His statement confirmed he'd been paid to collect Sophie and frighten me into silence. He denied intending to kidnap her, but admitted that he had approached our home without our consent and lied about a medical emergency. Investigators were checking every part of his account.
I was relieved to know he'd been found. I was also furious. Our apartment had been the only place in the world where Sophie and I were supposed to be safe. He had treated it like another room in Vincent's house.
"Will we ever be able to go home?" I asked Ortiz.
"We can review the security plan with you. And we'll keep you informed about the threats. You won't need to make that decision blind."
On my way out of the station, I saw Bianca through a glass door. She sat beside her attorney, wearing a plain gray sweater. Her hair was loose, her face washed free of makeup. For a moment she looked like a frightened young woman instead of the person who had towered over me in an emerald gown.
She noticed me and stood. Her attorney touched her sleeve, but she shook her head.
"Hannah," she called through the doorway.
Ortiz stepped beside me. "You don't have to speak to her."
I could have walked away. Perhaps I should have. But I wanted an answer to the question in my notebook.
"Why?" I asked. "Why did you hit me?"
Bianca's mouth trembled. "Because I thought you'd take away everything I had. Daddy told me Matteo would leave if he knew the truth. He said I'd be nothing without this marriage."
"And you thought I was nothing already?"
She looked down. "I did."
The honesty hurt more than an excuse would have.
"My hearing may never be the same," I said. "You made me scared to go to work. You sent people to frighten my sister."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"An apology isn't the same as making it right."
"I know," she repeated. Tears spilled down her cheeks. "I'll tell them everything."
I didn't forgive her. Not then. Maybe not ever. But I nodded once to show I'd heard her, and I walked away.
That evening, the police received a report of Vincent's vehicle near an old ferry landing. A surveillance team confirmed the license plate. The car had been abandoned, but a nearby security camera showed Vincent entering a building owned by a company linked to Wolfe. He was carrying a briefcase and moving with the frantic speed of a man who had finally discovered he wasn't untouchable.
Officers surrounded the building and secured a warrant. Ortiz called Matteo with a short update. I stood beside him in the hotel lobby while he listened.
"They're going in," he said.
I watched his face. The man who had once ordered people to find Vincent was now waiting for the law to reach him.
Minutes later Ortiz called again.
"We have him," she said. "He surrendered after negotiators contacted him. Nobody was injured."
Matteo closed his eyes.
I thought that would be the end. Then Ortiz added one last thing.
"Vincent was carrying a letter for you, Matteo. He claims Giuseppe signed it on the day of the fire. His lawyer says it proves Giuseppe ordered the building burned."
Matteo opened his eyes.
"Another lie?" I whispered.
"Maybe," Ortiz said. "But there's a signature on it, and until we examine the document, we don't know."
May you like
The truth had caught up with Vincent. Still, he was trying to make Giuseppe carry the blame from beyond the grave.
Matteo took a slow breath. "Then examine it," he said. "Whatever it says, I want the truth."
