Chapter 8 - Isabella’s Surviving Son
Marco refused to enter any Rossi vehicle.
“I’m not stupid.”
I looked at the boy.
“Neither am I.”
“Your brother tried to kill my mother.”
“He is not my brother.”
Marco’s expression did not change.
“DNA doesn’t erase twelve years.”
The boy had Isabella’s eyes.
Sharp.
Observant.
Painfully older than twelve.
I handed him the keys to one of the vehicles.
“You choose who drives.”
He stared at them.
Then at me.
“Your woman.”
He pointed to my head of security’s deputy.
“She drives.”
We obeyed.
Marco sat beside Sophia in the back.
The two children hugged without saying anything.
That told me they had known each other longer than anyone realized.
Elena reached for Marco.
He froze.
Then finally let her pull him close.
“You’re alive.”
Marco buried his face against her shoulder.
“So are you.”
For several seconds, he was just a child again.
Then he opened the metal box.
Inside were bank records.
Photographs.
Copies of DNA reports.
And a small digital recorder.
“My mother hid these before the fire.”
I looked at him.
“How did you get them?”
“Elena showed me where.”
“Why did you leave the cottage?”
“Matteo found us.”
He looked at Elena.
“She made me run first.”
Elena lowered her eyes.
“I thought he would follow Marco.”
“He didn’t.”
“He took me instead.”
Marco looked at me.
“I spent six months moving between stations and shelters.”
“You were alone?”
“Yes.”
Something inside me twisted.
Two boys.
Both twelve.
Both living in hiding because adults wanted power.
“Where is Nico?”
Marco tapped the recorder.
“Matteo told Viktor once.”
“He has another place.”
“Where?”
“An unfinished resort near Lake Como.”
My guards immediately started making calls.
Marco shook his head.
“He won’t be there now.”
“Why?”
“Because he knows you found me.”
“Then where?”
Marco looked at the box.
“My mother wrote codes on the photographs.”
He pulled out an old image of St. Helena Hospital.
On the back was a sequence of numbers.
Elena stared at them.
“Coordinates.”
I entered them into my phone.
An address appeared.
A private warehouse near the river.
Owned by a shell company.
My shell company.
Except I had never heard of it.
Marco smiled without humor.
“Your brother has been stealing from you for a long time.”
We arrived after sunrise.
The warehouse was empty.
But Nico had been there.
His jacket lay on the floor.
Beside it was a message written in black marker.
MIDNIGHT.
ROSSI ESTATE BALLROOM.
COME ALONE.
BRING THE SIGNED TRANSFER.
Marco stared at it.
“He’s going back to your house?”
I understood immediately.
“He doesn’t want the house.”
“What does he want?”
“The vault.”
The original Rossi family vault was hidden beneath the ballroom.
Only two people knew the full access code.
Me.
And my father.
My father had died eight years earlier.
Matteo had spent years trying to convince me to modernize the vault.
I refused.
Inside were original trust documents.
Bearer certificates.
Family records.
And enough evidence to determine ownership of nearly half the Rossi empire.
Matteo did not only want my signature.
He wanted history rewritten.
I looked at Valentina.
“Did he know about the vault?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I told him.”
That answer did not surprise me anymore.
Marco opened the recorder.
“There’s something else you need to hear before tonight.”
He pressed play.
Matteo’s voice filled the warehouse.
Older recording.
Calm.
Cold.
“If he ever finds the boy, the empire dies with him.”
Then Valentina’s voice answered.
“No.”
“He won’t.”
My stomach turned.
Matteo continued.
“And Isabella’s surviving child?”
Valentina answered.
“Elena has both.”
Silence.
Then Matteo said one sentence.
“Then one day, we may have to burn the house with all of them inside.”
Marco stopped the recording.
Nobody spoke.
I looked toward the distant silhouette of the Rossi estate.
May you like
Matteo was coming home at midnight.
And this time, he intended to finish the fire he had started twelve years ago.
