Chapter 9 - The Price of Loyalty

Matteo did not speak for almost a minute.

Brooks stopped the recording.

“Mr. Rossi?”

“Play it again.”

She did.

The second time, the words seemed heavier.

Dad ordered the warehouse hit.

Paul Castellano arranged it.

Matteo leaned back and stared at the ceiling.

Natasha watched a twelve-year certainty die inside him.

“What will you do?” she asked.

He looked at her.

“Nothing.”

Brooks raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing illegal,” he clarified.

“That is a useful distinction.”

“I will give you what I have.”

Brooks folded her hands. “Everything?”

“Yes.”

“Financial records?”

“Yes.”

“Names?”

“Yes.”

“Current operations?”

“Yes.”

Matteo’s attorney, who had joined them minutes earlier, nearly dropped his pen.

“Matteo.”

He did not look at him.

“Everything connected to my father.”

“Do you understand what you are saying?”

“Yes.”

“You could expose yourself.”

“Yes.”

“You could expose businesses that have nothing to do with this case.”

“If they are illegal, they are not nothing.”

Natasha studied him.

“You decided fast.”

“No. I decided twelve years late.”

Brooks said, “We can discuss cooperation terms.”

Matteo shook his head. “No promises first. I give you the records. Then we discuss terms.”

His attorney whispered something furious.

Matteo ignored him.

Natasha stood.

“I need air.”

Outside the federal building, Miami sunlight felt offensive.

The world should not have been so bright.

She called Elena.

No answer.

She sent a message.

I’m sorry about Sofia.

Three dots appeared, disappeared, returned.

Finally:

I know you are.

Natasha typed:

You don’t owe anyone anything right now.

Elena replied:

Neither do you.

Natasha read that twice.

Matteo came outside alone.

She said, “Where’s your lawyer?”

“Reconsidering his career.”

“Reasonable.”

He stood six feet away.

Not closer.

“I am sorry about Elena.”

“So am I.”

“I did not know.”

“I believe you.”

That surprised both of them.

Natasha added, “Believing you did not know is not the same as forgiving what your family did.”

“I know.”

“And your records may show things you did.”

“Yes.”

“You keep answering yes.”

“It is becoming a habit.”

“Try not to become proud of basic honesty.”

His mouth twitched.

Then Natasha’s phone rang.

Richard.

She declined it.

It rang again.

She declined again.

A voicemail appeared.

Brooks came through the doors.

“Do not delete it.”

Natasha played it on speaker.

Richard sounded tired.

“Tasha, please. I know Rossi has filled your head with things. I know you found your father’s material. My father made mistakes. My uncle made mistakes. I did things I regret. But you know me.”

Natasha laughed once.

The message continued.

“You know I save people. You know what my work means. If records were adjusted, it was because transplant medicine is not simple. Numbers don’t tell the whole story.”

Brooks’s expression hardened.

Richard went on.

“And whatever happened between us privately has nothing to do with this. Do not destroy my life because you’re angry.”

Natasha stopped the message.

“There.”

Brooks said, “There what?”

“The Richard I know.”

Matteo looked at her.

“He still thinks the crime is me embarrassing him.”

Brooks nodded. “Would you be willing to speak with him while we record?”

Matteo said, “No.”

Natasha turned.

He caught himself.

“Sorry.”

She waited.

He exhaled.

“That was not my decision.”

“No.”

“I know.”

Brooks looked between them. “Ms. Voss?”

Natasha thought about the restaurant.

Smile. People are looking.

She thought about her father’s letter.

Do not let any man make this story about his war.

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll talk to Richard.”

They arranged a controlled call.

Brooks coached her only on legal boundaries. Do not threaten. Do not promise. Let him speak.

Richard answered immediately.

“Tasha.”

“Why did you go to my apartment?”

“I was worried.”

“You ripped apart my father’s music box.”

Silence.

“I panicked.”

“Why?”

“Because Rossi is dangerous.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“You always do this.”

“Do what?”

“Interrogate.”

“You mean ask a second question when you avoid the first?”

He breathed hard.

Brooks pointed to a note.

Natasha said, “Did you know what my father hid?”

“I knew he kept records.”

“How?”

“My father told me.”

“When?”

“Years ago.”

“Before you met me?”

Silence.

Natasha’s chest tightened.

“Richard.”

“Yes.”

The word was small.

Almost nothing.

Six years collapsed inside it.

“So you knew who I was at the charity auction.”

“Yes.”

“You approached me because of my father.”

“At first.”

Matteo looked away.

Natasha pressed a hand to her ribs.

“At first?”

“I fell in love with you.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why you checked my mail?”

“I was protecting us.”

“Is that why you made me quit the museum?”

“That job kept you around people who filled your head with nonsense.”

“Is that why you bruised my wrist?”

“I never meant to hurt you.”

“Is that why you threatened to kill me?”

He went silent.

Then his voice changed.

“You pushed me.”

Brooks’s pen stopped.

Natasha closed her eyes.

There it was.

Not remorse.

Permission.

She opened her eyes again.

“Did my father push you too?”

A long pause.

Then Richard whispered, “Your father should have left things alone.”

Brooks leaned forward.

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Natasha asked, “What happened to him?”

Richard hung up.