Chapter 8 - Antonio’s Last Letter
Matteo had spent eight years imagining his father’s final thoughts.
None of those imaginings prepared him for the first sentence.
Matteo, if you are reading this, then I failed to come home.
He stopped.
Isabella covered her mouth.
Abigail sat quietly across from them inside the bank’s secure conference room.
Matteo continued.
Antonio explained everything.
He had discovered Richard Sinclair using charitable foundations to conceal kickbacks connected to public construction contracts. Antonio planned to give the evidence to federal investigators.
But he knew Richard suspected him.
So Antonio created two copies.
One remained with him.
The second he entrusted to Caroline Foster.
Abigail stared at the page.
“My mother?”
Antonio had met Caroline through a hospital charity where she worked part-time before becoming ill.
She was ordinary enough to be invisible to men like Richard Sinclair.
Antonio trusted that invisibility.
He had been right.
Richard searched corporations, lawyers, accountants and business partners.
He never imagined a sick single mother had hidden the evidence.
Caroline had protected it until her death.
Matteo reached the final paragraph.
His voice failed.
Isabella took the letter.
She read aloud.
Do not build your lives around avenging mine. If Richard destroys me, do not let him destroy what remains of us. Protect each other. Build something better than the men who taught us power means fear.
Isabella began sobbing.
Matteo looked away.
Abigail reached across the table.
She did not speak.
She simply placed her hand over his.
Matteo turned his palm upward and held it.
For once, neither pretended the gesture meant nothing.
The evidence was enough.
Federal warrants were issued.
Richard Sinclair became one of the most wanted businessmen in America.
His companies froze.
Board members resigned.
Investigators descended on offices across three states.
But Richard remained missing.
Three days passed.
Then four.
Abigail returned to work against nearly everyone’s advice.
Not serving tables.
Matteo had offered her a position with the Romano Foundation.
She refused that too.
Instead, the hotel’s event director offered her paid maternity leave and a training program for management.
A real opportunity.
Earned.
Not gifted.
Abigail accepted.
Matteo pretended not to be pleased.
He failed.
Meanwhile, Vanessa sold several pieces of jewelry and quietly established a fund for hotel workers harmed by her family’s labor practices.
When Abigail heard, she confronted her.
“You don’t have to punish yourself forever.”
Vanessa looked at her.
“I’m not.”
She smiled sadly.
“I’m finally spending my father’s money on something that doesn’t make me ashamed.”
Their friendship was strange.
But real.
Then, at thirty-two weeks pregnant, Abigail’s water broke.
In the middle of the Grand Atoria lobby.
Matteo was twenty feet away.
Abigail looked down.
Then up.
“Matteo.”
He saw the water.
His face turned white.
“Oh.”
Abigail stared.
“Oh?”
“I need Luca.”
“You need Luca?”
“I have people for emergencies.”
“I AM the emergency!”
Hotel employees scattered.
Someone called an ambulance.
Matteo attempted to help Abigail walk.
She grabbed his lapel during a contraction.
“If you tell me to breathe, I will murder you.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good.”
“Should you breathe, though?”
She glared.
“Bad question.”
The ambulance arrived.
Matteo climbed inside.
“You don’t have to come.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
He looked at her.
The answer sat between them.
Because somewhere between the ballroom and the hospital, gratitude had become concern.
Concern had become attachment.
And attachment had become something neither had been brave enough to name.
At the hospital, doctors worked to delay labor.
The baby was early.
Too early.
Abigail shook beneath the blankets.
For the first time since Matteo had met her, she looked terrified.
“What if she can’t breathe?”
“She will.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
He held her hand.
“But you told my sister she would be okay when you didn’t know either.”
Abigail cried.
“That was different.”
“How?”
“I was nineteen and stupid.”
“Then allow me to be thirty-seven and stupid.”
She laughed through tears.
The contractions slowed.
Doctors stabilized her.
For six hours, Matteo stayed.
At 3:11 a.m., Abigail woke and found him asleep in the chair with his hand still around hers.
She watched him.
The dangerous businessman.
The feared Romano heir.
The man who apparently could intimidate executives but panicked at amniotic fluid.
Something warm and frightening moved through her chest.
Then her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A photograph loaded.
Matteo asleep beside her.
Taken from outside the hospital room.
Abigail’s blood froze.
A message followed.
He took my family. Now I’ll take his.
Richard.
She looked toward the hallway.
A nurse passed.
Then another figure appeared.
Male.
Scrubs.
Surgical mask.
But the eyes were wrong.
Abigail reached for Matteo.
May you like
The man entered.
And locked the door.
