Chapter 8 - The Choice at the Grave
Nia dropped beside Matteo.
The bullet had struck high in his shoulder.
He was conscious.
Barely.
“Don’t move.”
“Nia…”
“Don’t.”
Carlo emerged between the trees.
He held a rifle.
Two armed men accompanied him.
Enzo had taken cover behind a stone monument, but Carlo’s men had the angle.
“Notebook,” Carlo said.
Nia pressed one hand against Matteo’s wound.
“You’re insane.”
“No. I’m tired.”
“You poisoned your cousin for a formula that doesn’t exist.”
Carlo’s expression changed.
“What?”
Nia laughed bitterly.
“Grandma destroyed it.”
“You’re lying.”
She held up Ruth’s notebook.
“She burned the final formula years ago.”
Carlo aimed at Matteo.
“Then perhaps you’ll remember better when he’s dying.”
Nia looked down.
Matteo’s face had gone pale.
Again.
She hated that color.
She hated seeing him reduced to a body fighting to remain alive.
But this time she understood something she had not understood when she first smelled foxglove.
She could not save everyone alone.
And she did not have to.
She looked at Enzo’s position.
Then toward the road.
Federal agents had been following at a distance.
They had to have heard the shot.
Nia needed time.
“Why Elena?” she asked.
Carlo blinked.
“What?”
“Why kill Matteo’s mother?”
Matteo’s eyes opened.
Carlo smiled.
“She was sentimental.”
“You murdered her because she found out about Eden?”
“I murdered her because she threatened to expose me.”
Matteo stared at him.
Nia continued.
“And Vittorio?”
“Same problem.”
Matteo’s breathing stopped for a second.
“You killed my father too.”
Carlo shrugged.
“He never recovered from Elena. Increasing his medication was embarrassingly easy.”
Nia wanted to attack him.
Instead, she kept him talking.
“Then why poison Matteo slowly?”
“Because a dead boss creates questions. A sick boss creates sympathy.”
Carlo stepped closer.
“I would have inherited stability.”
Matteo whispered, “You would have inherited nothing.”
Carlo looked down.
“You’re still talking?”
“Unfortunately for you.”
Carlo smiled and raised the rifle.
Nia moved in front of Matteo.
“Stop.”
“Move.”
“No.”
“Nia.”
“No.”
Carlo stared at her.
“You would die for him?”
Nia’s voice shook.
“I’m standing between a wounded man and a coward with a rifle. Don’t make it romantic.”
Matteo almost laughed despite the blood loss.
Carlo’s expression twisted.
Then sirens sounded.
His men turned.
Enzo fired.
Chaos exploded.
Nia threw herself over Matteo as bullets struck stone.
Federal agents rushed from the tree line.
One of Carlo’s men surrendered.
The other ran.
Carlo bolted toward the woods.
Matteo grabbed Nia’s wrist.
“Let them.”
She understood.
Do not chase him.
Choose life.
Nia stayed.
Paramedics reached Matteo within minutes.
As they loaded him onto a stretcher, he caught Nia’s hand.
“Again.”
“What?”
“You saved me again.”
“You’re becoming expensive.”
His eyes closed.
“Nia?”
“Yes?”
“If I survive…”
“You will.”
“If I survive, remind me to fire you.”
She laughed through tears.
“Why?”
“You’re terrible at housekeeping.”
Then he lost consciousness.
Matteo underwent surgery.
Nia waited for 5 hours.
Enzo sat beside her in the hospital corridor.
Neither spoke much.
At 4:32 p.m., the surgeon appeared.
“He’ll recover.”
Nia covered her face.
Enzo leaned backward and exhaled.
“Thank God.”
Then his phone rang.
Carlo had been captured 7 miles from the cemetery.
Alive.
He had confessed on Nia’s recording too.
She had activated her phone before stepping from behind the gravestone.
Enzo stared at her.
“You recorded him?”
“My grandmother taught me not to keep everything important in one place.”
Enzo smiled.
“I liked your grandmother.”
“You would have terrified her.”
“She sounds terrifying.”
“That too.”
Matteo woke that night.
Nia sat beside him.
Hospital light spilled across the sheets.
For once, there were no armed men in the room.
No tea.
No poison.
No conspiracy.
Just 2 exhausted people.
“You stayed,” he whispered.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You’re starting to repeat yourself.”
“Humor the wounded man.”
Nia looked at him.
“Because I wanted to.”
Matteo reached for her hand.
“What happens now?”
“Carlo goes to trial.”
“I meant us.”
Nia became quiet.
Matteo did not pressure her.
Finally, she said, “You still have consequences coming.”
“I know.”
“Cooperating doesn’t erase what you did.”
“I know.”
“You may go to prison.”
“I know.”
She squeezed his hand.
“And I’m not waiting around like some tragic woman whose entire life becomes loving a dangerous man.”
Matteo smiled.
“I would hate that woman.”
“So would I.”
“What do you want?”
Nia considered it.
“Nursing school.”
His eyebrows rose.
“You wanted to be a nurse?”
“Before my mother got sick.”
“Then go.”
“I can’t afford—”
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“I was about to offer money.”
“Absolutely not.”
“See? This is why I need practice.”
She laughed.
Matteo looked at her with an expression so open it frightened her.
“I want to become someone you can choose without betraying yourself.”
Nia’s smile faded.
“That may take time.”
“I have time.”
“You almost didn’t.”
“I know.”
He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles.
Three weeks later, Matteo entered a guilty plea on several federal charges connected to financial crimes and conspiracy.
He provided evidence that dismantled significant portions of his own organization.
The newspapers called it betrayal.
Enzo called it survival.
Nia called it choice.
The judge scheduled sentencing for winter.
Matteo faced years behind bars.
And on the morning before his sentencing hearing, Nia received a letter.
Not from Matteo.
From Carlo.
May you like
It contained only one sentence:
YOU STILL DON’T KNOW WHY YOUR MOTHER DIED.
