Chapter 3 - The Man Who Died Twice

Belini finally spoke after everyone else had stopped.

“I was not there for him.”

Luca looked at the recovered photo.

“You were standing ten feet away.”

“I was in Prague for business.”

“At the same café?”

“Yes.”

“At the exact moment my dead father met Emma?”

Belini’s answer took too long.

Luca noticed.

Emma did too.

Carlo tried to interrupt.

“Luca, you are assuming—”

“Stop.”

The single word silenced him.

Luca turned to Emma.

“Did you see Belini that day?”

“No.”

“Did Alexander ever mention her?”

“No.”

“Carlo?”

“No.”

“Me?”

Emma hesitated.

“Yes.”

Luca became still.

“What did he say?”

Emma searched her memory.

Six years ago.

Cold Prague rain.

Alexander stirring coffee he never drank.

A quiet voice.

He had asked whether she trusted institutions.

She had laughed.

He had said she should not.

Then something else.

“He said if anything happened to him, I should never contact Luca Moretti directly.”

Luca’s expression changed.

“Why?”

“He said you were being watched.”

Carlo shifted in his chair.

Emma continued.

“He said anyone approaching you with his name would either be used or killed.”

Belini whispered, “Enough.”

Luca turned.

“Why?”

Belini’s face hardened.

“This is private family history. She is an outsider.”

Emma almost stepped back.

Luca did not.

“She stopped me from drinking that champagne.”

His voice stayed calm.

“She is currently more inside this than you are.”

Belini flinched.

Matteo placed another phone on the table.

Carlo’s.

“Recovered a hidden archive.”

Carlo stood.

Two guards pushed him back into the chair.

Luca looked at Matteo.

“Show me.”

Matteo opened an old message thread.

No names.

Only initials.

B.

C.

A.

Emma watched Luca read.

His expression darkened.

One message was dated six years ago.

B: Prague sighting confirmed.

C: Then the funeral was for nothing.

B: Not nothing. It bought twelve years.

Emma felt cold.

Luca read it again.

Then looked at Carlo.

“Whose funeral?”

Carlo said nothing.

Belini closed her eyes.

Luca’s voice dropped.

“My father’s?”

No answer.

Matteo scrolled.

Another message.

C: If Alessandro reaches the accountant, the old structure is finished.

B: He already reached her.

C: Then remove the file. Not the girl. Yet.

Emma stopped breathing.

Luca looked at her.

Not the girl.

Yet.

Belini spoke quickly.

“Those initials prove nothing.”

Luca looked at Matteo.

“Metadata?”

“Original device backups. Carlo’s phone.”

Carlo’s face lost color.

Luca leaned forward.

“Who is B?”

Carlo looked at Belini.

She stared back.

Luca followed the glance.

“Belini.”

She shook her head.

“Who is C?”

Carlo laughed once.

No humor.

“You know.”

Luca’s eyes hardened.

“Say it.”

Carlo did not.

Emma looked at the thread.

A.

There was one message from that initial.

A: Luca still believes I died in Palermo. Keep it that way.

Luca stopped moving.

The entire room seemed to disappear around him.

Emma looked at his face.

Shock.

Then anger.

Then something worse.

Hope.

Matteo whispered, “Boss.”

Luca read the line again.

A.

Alessandro.

Alive.

Six years ago.

And apparently communicating with the same people who had hidden him.

Luca looked at Belini.

“Where is my father?”

Belini’s composure finally broke.

“I don’t know.”

Carlo laughed again.

This time bitterly.

“That is the first true thing she has said tonight.”

Luca turned to him.

Carlo’s eyes were tired now.

“Your father did die, Luca.”

Silence.

“Just not twelve years ago.”

Luca’s hand closed around the edge of the table.

“When?”

Carlo looked at Emma.

Then at the photograph.

“Six years ago.”

Emma felt her stomach drop.

“After Prague?”

Carlo nodded.

And Luca understood.

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The man in the photograph had not escaped death.

He had delayed it.