Chapter 7 - The Price of a Mother
Carlo refused to take me.
I went anyway.
This time, I did not argue.
I simply climbed into Matteo’s second SUV while Carlo was shouting orders.
When he opened the door and found me sitting there, his expression could have cracked stone.
“Get out.”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“Your mother is being held because of the ledger my father hid.”
“This is not negotiable.”
“Good. Then stop negotiating.”
Matteo coughed to hide a laugh.
Carlo glared at him.
“You’re fired.”
“You fire me twice a month.”
“Eventually it will become permanent.”
We drove toward the marina.
The ledger itself remained safe.
Matteo had duplicated it and sent encrypted copies to attorneys in Rome with instructions to release everything if Carlo failed to check in.
That was my idea.
Carlo had looked almost proud.
Almost.
Giulio waited inside an abandoned shipyard.
Lucia sat in the center of the warehouse.
Three armed men surrounded her.
Giulio smiled when we entered.
“My nephew.”
Carlo’s face was expressionless.
“Release her.”
“Ledger.”
“Mother first.”
Giulio laughed.
“You were always sentimental. Your father hated that.”
“My father trusted you.”
“Yes.”
“And Alessandro?”
Giulio’s smile faded.
“Your brother asked too many questions.”
Carlo took one step forward.
Every gun lifted.
I grabbed his wrist.
He stopped.
Barely.
Giulio noticed.
Then his attention settled on me.
“Elena Bennett.”
“You killed my father.”
“No.”
The answer stunned me.
“What?”
“I ordered many deaths. Daniel Bennett wasn’t one of them.”
“Liar.”
“Your father survived the boat.”
The room disappeared.
“What did you say?”
Carlo turned sharply.
Giulio smiled.
“Daniel survived.”
“Where is he?”
“Dead now, certainly.”
I could barely breathe.
Giulio continued.
“Santoro kept him alive because Daniel was the only person who knew where the ledger was hidden. Your father never told him.”
“For how long?”
“Years.”
My knees weakened.
“He was alive?”
“Until 8 years ago.”
I thought I might vomit.
My father had been alive while I graduated high school.
Alive when I went to college.
Alive when I spent birthdays wishing he could see me.
Carlo moved closer to me.
Not touching.
Just there.
Giulio looked at him.
“That is your weakness, Carlo.”
“What?”
“Her.”
Carlo said nothing.
“Alessandro had the same problem. He believed people mattered more than power.”
“And you believed the opposite.”
“I survived.”
Carlo’s eyes turned cold.
“Did you?”
Something changed outside.
Sirens.
Giulio looked toward the doors.
Carlo smiled.
“You brought police?”
“Not exactly.”
The warehouse doors burst open.
Men in tactical uniforms flooded the space.
Carabinieri.
Financial investigators.
Anti-mafia prosecutors.
Giulio’s face went white.
Carlo had not brought the ledger.
He had brought evidence.
Everything was recorded.
Every confession.
Every threat.
Giulio grabbed Lucia.
His weapon pressed against her throat.
Carlo froze.
“Let her go.”
“Give me the drive.”
“No.”
Giulio cocked the weapon.
I saw Lucia’s eyes.
She was not looking at Carlo.
She was looking at me.
Then she stomped backward onto Giulio’s foot.
Hard.
He cursed.
Lucia dropped.
Carlo moved.
A shot exploded.
Giulio fell.
For one terrible second, nobody moved.
Then Lucia sat up.
“I hate that man,” she announced.
I laughed.
I could not help it.
Carlo reached her and dropped to his knees.
His mother slapped him.
Again.
“You took too long.”
“Mama.”
Then she hugged him.
Carlo closed his eyes.
I looked away because the moment felt private.
Hours later, Giulio was alive and under arrest.
The ledger was in the hands of investigators.
Santoro disappeared.
But the nightmare was not over.
Carlo found me outside the police station before sunrise.
“You should go home.”
I looked at him.
“Are you breaking up with me?”
“We’re not together.”
“That was surprisingly insulting.”
His mouth almost moved.
Then he became serious.
“Santoro is still out there.”
“So?”
“So Giulio was right.”
“About what?”
“You’re my weakness.”
The words hurt more than they should have.
“I’m not a weakness.”
“You are if losing you can control me.”
“That sounds like your problem.”
“It is.”
He stepped closer.
“I spent years building walls around everyone I cared about.”
“And?”
“You walked through them because of a parking spot.”
“Technically, I drove through them.”
He almost smiled.
Then he touched my cheek.
“This ends now.”
My throat tightened.
“You don’t get to decide that alone.”
“I do if it keeps you alive.”
“No, Carlo.”
He kissed my forehead.
Then walked away.
I watched him get into the Maserati.
For the first time since meeting him, I did not fight.
Because I knew something he apparently had not learned yet.
Carlo Ferretti could own 40% of Centro Storico.
He could command men with a glance.
He could terrify criminals.
But he could not decide my life for me.
May you like
And he had made one enormous mistake.
He had left his car keys in my hand.
