Chapter 7 - The Cousin Who Sold Him Out

The morning after I kissed Matteo Conti, I discovered there were few things more humiliating than eating scrambled eggs across from a man whose mouth I had spent half the night remembering.

He was perfectly normal.

That made it worse.

“Salt?” he asked.

“No.”

“You usually use salt.”

“You have known me for three days.”

“Long enough to know you attack eggs aggressively.”

I put down my fork.

“Are we discussing breakfast because you’re afraid to discuss anything else?”

His eyes lifted.

“No.”

“Liar.”

A slow breath left him.

“Fine.”

He set down his coffee.

“The kiss changes nothing about your safety.”

“Good.”

“I won’t use it to make decisions for you.”

“Also good.”

“And if you regret it—”

“I don’t.”

That stopped him.

I took another bite of eggs.

His mouth moved.

“Are you enjoying this?”

“Deeply.”

The door opened before he could answer.

Detective Walsh entered with Leo behind her.

Neither looked amused.

The warmth vanished from the kitchen.

Walsh sat at the table.

“We found Luca.”

Matteo stood.

“Where?”

“At his attorney’s office.”

I blinked.

“He turned himself in?”

“Not exactly. His attorney called us after Luca showed up bleeding and demanding protection.”

Matteo’s face hardened.

“The blood in the car?”

“Preliminary match says it’s his.”

“Who hurt him?”

“He says men working for Greco.”

“Do you believe him?”

Walsh’s expression stayed flat.

“I believe his face met something hard.”

That was not an answer, and Matteo knew it.

She continued.

“Luca has a cut scalp, bruised ribs, and a fractured finger. Nothing life-threatening.”

I watched Matteo absorb that.

Relief came first.

Then anger.

He sat again.

“What did he give you?”

Walsh looked at me.

“Some of this concerns an active investigation.”

“I’m the reason half of it is active.”

“You’re also a civilian witness.”

“I’m getting tired of that phrase.”

“I know.”

She opened a folder.

“What I can tell you is this: financial records support that Luca moved money from a discretionary company account to a consulting firm controlled by a Greco associate.”

Matteo went still.

“How much?”

“Enough to be interesting.”

“Erin.”

“Don’t Erin me.”

I almost smiled.

Almost.

Walsh went on.

“We also recovered messages between Luca and Peter Nolan.”

My stomach tightened.

“The man who visited my mother.”

“Yes.”

“About me?”

“About security schedules. Vehicle access. Staff names.”

My hands went cold.

“Did Luca give him my mother’s information?”

“We’re still establishing that.”

Matteo’s voice was quiet.

“He had access.”

“Yes.”

Walsh looked at him directly.

“Luca claims he gave Greco information about your movements because Greco promised to support him in a business dispute. He says he believed there would be intimidation, not a shooting.”

Matteo laughed once.

There was no humor in it.

“He thought Salvatore Greco wanted my dinner reservations for social reasons?”

“He’s minimizing. That’s what people do when they realize conspiracy charges are real.”

“Did he know Pike would be armed?”

“He says no.”

“And you?”

“I don’t care what he says. I care what I can prove.”

That sentence settled over the table.

I thought about Luca in the Velvet Room.

The navy suit.

The green cuff links.

The quick denial that he had been there.

“What about what I saw?”

Walsh turned to me.

“I need another formal statement. This time I’ll ask specifically about the mezzanine, the cuff links, and when you remember seeing him.”

“I can do that.”

Matteo looked at me.

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Mara—”

“No.”

His jaw tightened.

I leaned toward him.

“You told me yesterday that your father controlled people because he believed control solved problems. Don’t become him because the problem hurts.”

The words landed hard.

Leo looked at the floor.

Walsh studied me with what might have been approval.

Matteo said nothing for several seconds.

Then he nodded.

“You’re right.”

It still surprised me every time.

Walsh left after arranging my statement for later that afternoon.

Leo stayed.

“There’s another issue.”

“Of course there is,” I said.

He put a photograph on the table.

It showed the loading entrance behind Harbor Pines.

My mother’s building.

The picture had been taken from across the street.

“When?” I asked.

“Yesterday.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Luca’s phone.”

My pulse climbed.

Matteo picked up the photo.

“Why did he have this?”

“Walsh says it was sent by Nolan.”

“What did the message say?”

Leo looked at me.

I hated that pause.

“Tell me.”

“He asked whether the service entrance was still the easiest way in.”

The room seemed to shrink.

I stood.

“We move her now.”

Matteo stood too.

“Yes.”

My mother disagreed.

Loudly.

“You are not moving me like furniture.”

We were back at Harbor Pines forty minutes later, standing in her room while she glared at all three of us.

“Mom, they photographed the loading entrance.”

“So?”

“So that means somebody was planning how to get inside.”

“People come inside buildings every day.”

I stared at her.

“Please do not become philosophical during a security crisis.”

She folded her arms.

“I have therapy tomorrow.”

“They have therapists at other facilities.”

“I like mine.”

Matteo stepped forward.

“Mrs. Bennett.”

She pointed at him.

“Do not use that voice on me.”

He stopped.

“What voice?”

“The one your father used when he wanted a room to obey.”

I looked at him.

He looked offended.

Mom continued.

“If I have to move, explain why like I’m an adult.”

Matteo’s face changed.

Then he pulled over a chair and sat.

Fair.

Respectful.

No performance.

“We believe Peter Nolan has been helping Salvatore Greco pressure me,” he said. “Your daughter became involved because she witnessed the nightclub attack. Luca gave Nolan access to information about this facility. I don’t know whether they plan to hurt you, frighten Mara, or simply make us believe they can reach you.”

Mom listened.

“What do you recommend?”

“A temporary transfer to a rehabilitation center with controlled access. Police know the location. Your therapist can coordinate records.”

“For how long?”

“Forty-eight hours while Walsh executes warrants on Argent and Greco’s people.”

Mom looked at me.

“You agree?”

“Yes.”

She sighed.

“Fine.”

I almost cried from relief.

Then she added, “But I choose the room.”

“Done,” Matteo said.

“And no men in suits outside the bathroom.”

I pointed at her.

“That was one of my rules.”

“Good rule.”

We packed one small bag.

Sweater.

Toiletries.

Her crossword book.

The blue ceramic mug she insisted coffee tasted better from.

While I folded her nightgown, she watched me.

“You like him.”

I nearly dropped the bag.

“This is not the time.”

“It is never the time when you don’t like the answer.”

“Mom.”

“He looks at you carefully.”

“That is not a reason.”

“No.”

Her voice softened.

“But it is something.”

I zipped the bag.

“He is dangerous.”

“Yes.”

“His life is dangerous.”

“Yes.”

“And you called him anyway.”

She looked toward the hall where Matteo stood speaking with Leo.

“I called the boy I remembered, not the reputation.”

“What if they’re the same person?”

“They are.”

That answer stayed with me.

Not one or the other.

Both.

We arranged the transfer for first thing the next morning. Walsh wanted daylight, a medical transport vehicle, and enough officers nearby to make improvisation difficult.

Until then, Harbor Pines would remain locked down.

Back at the townhouse that night, Matteo stood by the front window.

I joined him.

“You okay?”

“No.”

The honesty surprised me.

He looked out at the street.

“I keep thinking about Luca at twelve. He used to follow me everywhere. If I left for school, he waited by the window until I came back.”

“You can love someone and still hold them responsible.”

“I know.”

“Knowing is easier than doing.”

He turned toward me.

“You learned that from your mother?”

“No. From dating terrible men.”

That earned a quiet laugh.

Then his expression changed.

“I meant what I said this morning.”

“About the kiss?”

“Yes.”

“I know.”

“I also want to do it again.”

My pulse jumped.

“That was less noble.”

“I’m having a lapse.”

I stepped closer.

“Good.”

This kiss was slower.

No panic.

No gunfire echoing in my head.

Just choice.

When we separated, his forehead rested briefly against mine.

Then Leo called from the hall.

“Transport company just confirmed tomorrow’s driver.”

I closed my eyes.

“Does he ever sleep?”

“Rarely.”

Leo continued.

“Seven thirty departure.”

I looked at Matteo.

“Tomorrow my mother moves. Then I give Walsh the statement.”

“And after that?”

I thought about the question.

Three days ago, my future had been next month’s care bill.

Now it included testimony against a Conti, a missing shooter, and a man whose hands were gentler than his reputation.

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“After that,” I said, “we finish what your cousin started.”

I did not mean revenge. I meant the opposite. I wanted the facts in daylight, where nobody could turn fear into another private war. If Luca had chosen Greco, then the consequence had to be something more durable than Matteo’s anger. This time, I intended to choose the ending for myself.