Chapter 7 - The Son He Stole Twice
I called the mansion before anyone could speak.
“What happened?”
My security chief sounded furious with himself.
“Power failure.”
“Twenty-eight seconds.”
“Someone used the old ventilation access behind the medical floor.”
“Nico?”
“Gone.”
My vision narrowed.
“Any guards injured?”
“Two.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Find my son.”
“We are already moving.”
I looked at Elena.
“Where would Matteo take him?”
She thought for half a second.
“The winery.”
Valentina shook her head.
“No.”
Elena turned.
“Yes.”
“The tunnels beneath the original Rossi vineyard.”
“Matteo used them for private meetings.”
Valentina looked away.
That was enough.
We left immediately.
The Rossi vineyard sat nine miles from the estate.
My grandfather had built the underground cellars during the war.
Matteo and I played there as children.
Or at least I thought we had.
Now every memory with him felt contaminated.
We entered through the west tunnel.
Nobody was there.
But we found Nico’s shoe near a rusted gate.
I picked it up.
One lace was torn.
My son had fought.
A guard found a phone beneath an empty barrel.
It rang as soon as he touched it.
I answered.
Matteo’s voice filled the cellar.
“You always were predictable.”
My hand tightened.
“Where is he?”
“Safe.”
“If you hurt him—”
“You think I want to hurt children?”
I looked at the abandoned shoe.
“You left a newborn in a trash shed.”
Silence.
Then Matteo laughed once.
“Valentina told you that?”
“She didn’t have to.”
“You still don’t understand her.”
“I understand enough.”
“No.”
“You understand what she wants you to understand.”
My anger sharpened.
“Bring my son back.”
“Sign the transfer documents.”
“No.”
“Then perhaps twelve years was not long enough to teach you what loss feels like.”
The line went dead.
I almost crushed the phone.
Elena touched my arm.
“He wants you angry.”
“He has my son.”
“He wants you to stop thinking.”
I forced myself to breathe.
Then Sophia’s voice came through my radio.
“Sir?”
I turned.
“Sophia?”
She had remained at the estate under guard.
“How did you get this channel?”
“My mom taught me.”
Of course she had.
“What is it?”
“I found something in Nico’s room.”
“What?”
“A train ticket.”
My pulse jumped.
“To where?”
“It doesn’t say.”
“What do you mean?”
“It has numbers.”
She read them.
Elena’s face changed immediately.
“That’s not a train ticket.”
“What is it?”
“A locker receipt.”
“From where?”
“The old central station.”
We were moving before she finished the sentence.
Locker 214 opened with the code printed on the receipt.
Inside was a backpack.
Clothes.
Cash.
A photograph of Elena and two twelve-year-old boys.
Nico.
And another boy with lighter hair.
Marco.
Under the photograph was an envelope.
FOR NICO’S FATHER.
I opened it.
The handwriting belonged to a child.
If you found this, Elena was right.
My name is Marco.
Matteo is looking for me.
I have the part Isabella hid.
I will not give it to him.
He thinks I saw nothing that night.
He is wrong.
I read the next line twice.
I saw who carried Nico out of the hospital.
It was not Matteo.
My stomach tightened.
The letter continued.
It was Valentina.
I looked at my wife.
She had followed us into the station.
Her eyes filled with panic.
“No.”
I held up the letter.
“You carried my son out.”
She backed away.
“I can explain.”
“Then explain.”
She began shaking.
“Matteo said the fire would only destroy records.”
“He said Nico would be taken somewhere safe.”
“You handed my newborn son to Elena?”
“No.”
“I carried him downstairs.”
“Then Matteo came.”
“What happened?”
“He took the baby from me.”
Elena stared at her.
“That is not what you told me.”
Valentina looked trapped.
“Because I was ashamed.”
“Of what?”
She looked at me.
“I changed my mind.”
I said nothing.
“I took Nico away from Matteo.”
“I gave him to Elena.”
My anger faltered.
“For twelve years, you knew he lived.”
Tears fell down her face.
“For twelve years, I believed Elena had taken him out of the country.”
“You could have told me.”
“Matteo said he would kill Nico if I did.”
I moved closer.
“So you chose silence.”
“I chose his life.”
“No.”
I stared at her.
“You chose your own fear.”
A voice behind us interrupted.
“You’re both wasting time.”
We turned.
A teenage boy stood at the end of the station corridor.
Thin.
Dirty jacket.
Lighter hair.
He held a metal box against his chest.
Marco.
He looked at Valentina with hatred.
May you like
Then at me.
“If you want your son back, I know where Matteo took him.”
