Chapter 3 - The Photograph in the Safe
"I am not getting into your car."
Alessandro stood beside a black sedan outside Vetro Nero.
Rain struck the pavement.
"You are."
"No."
"Camila."
"Stop saying my name like it's an order."
His driver looked straight ahead, clearly pretending not to hear us.
Alessandro lowered his voice.
"Someone made calls after hearing your surname."
"Maybe they're old friends."
"They aren't."
"How do you know?"
"Old friends call you. Frightened men call each other."
That shut me up.
Almost.
"Where are we going?"
"My house."
I laughed.
"Definitely not."
"Then yours."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because powerful strangers generally aren't invited to discover where women live."
He stared at me.
"Fair."
That surprised me.
"Joseph's apartment," I said.
Joseph, standing under the awning, immediately objected.
"Absolutely not."
I looked at him.
"You said you were staying."
"Emotionally. I didn't mean geographically."
Twenty minutes later, all three of us were inside Joseph's apartment.
He poured coffee.
Alessandro refused his.
I took mine.
"Tell me everything," I said.
Alessandro removed a photograph from his wallet.
He placed it on the table.
My father stood in the picture.
Younger.
Smiling.
Beside him was a teenage Alessandro.
I picked it up carefully.
"Where did you get this?"
"My father's safe."
My hands trembled.
On the back was handwriting.
I recognized it instantly.
Control the breath. Control the fear.
I sat down.
"That's his handwriting."
"I know."
"You kept this?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Alessandro looked uncomfortable for the first time all night.
"Because Matteo saved my life."
I looked up.
He continued.
"I was sixteen. I made a stupid decision. Got into a car with people I shouldn't have trusted. Matteo found me before my father did."
"What happened?"
"He brought me home."
"That's it?"
"No."
His expression darkened.
"But that's enough."
I accepted that.
For now.
Joseph sat opposite us.
"Who framed Matteo?"
"Vincent Carbone."
The name meant nothing to me.
Apparently, it meant plenty to Joseph.
He went still.
"Carbone is still alive?"
"Very."
"Still with you?"
"He's vice chairman of Moretti Maritime."
I stared.
"You think your father's adviser was framed by a man who now works for you?"
"I didn't say I think it."
"You didn't need to."
Alessandro paced toward the window.
"After my father died, I reviewed old records. Carbone benefited more than anyone from Matteo's disappearance."
"Then why haven't you done anything?"
"Because suspicion isn't proof."
"You're a billionaire."
"That doesn't make evidence appear."
Joseph muttered, "Usually it helps."
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
We all looked at it.
"Don't answer," Alessandro said.
I answered.
"Hello?"
Silence.
Then a man's voice.
"Camila?"
My heart stopped.
Nobody had said my name like that in years.
Not since I was twelve.
"Who is this?"
The man breathed slowly.
Once.
Twice.
Then three short breaths.
A pattern.
My father's pattern.
I stood so fast the chair fell behind me.
"Dad?"
Alessandro crossed the room.
The voice continued.
"You shouldn't have sung."
My eyes filled.
"Dad?"
"Listen carefully."
"Where are you?"
"Camila—"
"Where are you?"
A pause.
Then:
"Don't trust Alessandro Moretti."
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone.
Alessandro stood two feet away.
He had heard everything.
Neither of us moved.
Joseph finally whispered, "Well."
I looked at Alessandro.
His face had become completely unreadable.
"Was that him?" he asked.
"Yes."
"You're certain?"
"I know my father's voice."
"After eighteen years?"
"I know my father's voice."
Alessandro nodded slowly.
Then he reached for his phone.
I stepped backward.
"Who are you calling?"
"My security."
"No."
"Camila—"
"He told me not to trust you."
"And yet he called the phone of a woman currently standing beside me."
That stopped me.
Alessandro's eyes narrowed.
"He knew exactly where you were."
I looked at my phone.
Joseph stood.
"Meaning?"
Alessandro answered.
"Meaning Matteo isn't only hiding."
He looked toward the windows.
May you like
"He's watching."
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