Chapter 4 - MATTEO'S SECRET

Matteo laughed when he saw the evidence bag.

Not because it was funny.

Because sometimes the truth becomes so ugly your body chooses the wrong reaction.

“You think I’m stupid enough to leave my fingerprints on poison?”

Vincent stood across the library with two armed guards behind him.

“I think desperate people make mistakes.”

Matteo turned toward Dante.

“You believe this?”

Dante sat in a leather chair beside the fireplace.

He looked stronger than he had twelve hours earlier.

Not strong.

Stronger.

There was a difference.

His eyes moved to the vial.

Then to his brother.

“I believe somebody wants me to.”

Vincent looked at him.

“Boss—”

“Get out.”

Vincent’s face tightened.

“We should secure Matteo.”

Dante leaned forward.

“If you ever use the word secure about my brother again, you better be talking about a seat belt.”

Vincent didn’t move.

Neither did Dante.

Finally, Vincent left.

The guards followed.

Leo locked the door behind them.

I turned to Matteo.

“Your fingerprints are on the vial.”

“I heard.”

“How?”

Matteo walked to the bar.

Dante stopped him with one look.

Matteo changed direction and poured water instead.

Then he said, “Because the vial is mine.”

Leo’s hand moved toward his gun.

I raised mine.

“Wait.”

Dante didn’t blink.

“Explain.”

Matteo drank half the water.

“Two months ago, I found Dante unconscious in the upstairs bathroom. Not asleep. Not drunk. On the floor.”

Dante frowned.

“You never told me that.”

“You didn’t remember.”

Matteo looked at me.

“I took residue from his glass that night. Put it in a sample vial. I didn’t know what I was looking for, so I kept it.”

“Where?” I asked.

“In my safe.”

Leo’s expression changed.

“So somebody entered your room.”

Matteo nodded.

“Or someone had my combination.”

Dante’s gaze went toward the locked library door.

“Who?”

Matteo laughed again.

“Half the security system answers to Vincent.”

That was when I saw it.

Not guilt.

Fear.

Matteo Moretti was scared.

Men like him didn’t scare easily.

Which meant he knew more.

“What aren’t you telling us?” I asked.

He looked at me.

“Nothing.”

“That’s a lie.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed.

“Matteo.”

His brother looked away.

I stepped closer.

“You switched the bottle because you were exposed. You collected a sample because you suspected poison. You hid all of it from Dante. Why?”

Matteo’s jaw worked.

Then he reached inside his coat.

Leo drew his gun.

Matteo froze.

“Relax. It’s paper.”

He slowly pulled out a folded document.

Old.

Creased.

Stamped with the Moretti family seal.

Dante stared at it.

“What is that?”

Matteo put it on the desk.

“A continuity order.”

Dante read the first page.

His face changed.

I leaned beside him.

The language was corporate.

Cold.

Clinical.

If Dante Moretti became medically incapacitated or died while Matteo Moretti was under legal exposure or deemed unable to assume operational control, temporary authority over the Moretti organization’s legitimate holdings would transfer to the chief security executive for ninety days.

Chief security executive.

Vincent Santoro.

Leo swore.

Dante looked at Matteo.

“When was this signed?”

“Eight months ago.”

“I never signed this.”

“Your signature is on page four.”

Dante looked down.

It was.

Perfect.

Too perfect.

“I found it in Father’s old legal archive,” Matteo said. “I thought maybe you approved it during the federal investigation.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then somebody forged it.”

I read the next paragraph.

Matteo’s temporary disqualification depended on one condition.

An active felony indictment.

“Are you under indictment?” I asked.

Matteo went still.

Leo looked at him.

“Matteo?”

He took a breath.

“Not yet.”

“What does that mean?” Dante asked.

“It means a federal grand jury has been asking questions about the Cicero warehouse case.”

Dante stood too quickly.

His knees almost folded.

I caught his arm.

He shook me off.

“You knew?”

“For three weeks.”

“And said nothing?”

“I was trying to keep you alive.”

Dante’s voice cracked through the room.

“You don’t get to decide what I know!”

Then he coughed.

Hard.

I grabbed his wrist.

His pulse raced.

“Sit down.”

He ignored me.

“Dante.”

He finally sat.

Matteo looked at him with something worse than fear.

Guilt.

“If you die,” Matteo said quietly, “and I’m indicted, Vincent becomes acting head of everything.”

Leo stared at the forged document.

“For ninety days.”

Matteo shook his head.

“Ninety days is enough to move every account, every contract, every port company, every clean business.”

Dante’s eyes went black.

“He didn’t need my empire forever.”

“No,” I said.

“He only needed it long enough to steal it.”

Then the lights went out.

Every lamp.

Every hallway light.

Every security screen.

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Black.

A second later, gunfire exploded downstairs.