Chapter 2 - Why Matteo Moretti Knew My Mother’s Name
The SUV accelerated before I had fully reached the seat.
Another gunshot cracked through the rain.
The rear window splintered but did not break.
“Down,” Matteo ordered.
He pulled me across the leather seat just as a third bullet struck the vehicle.
One of his men fired through a narrow opening in the front passenger window. Tires screamed behind us. The gray sedan followed for half a block before a second Moretti SUV cut it off at an intersection.
I pushed Matteo’s hand away.
“Let go of me.”
“You were nearly shot.”
“I noticed.”
“Then stop trying to sit in front of the glass.”
“I don’t take survival advice from men who whistle at waitresses.”
His jaw tightened.
Even in the middle of a gunfight, insulting him felt strangely satisfying.
The SUV turned hard enough to throw me against the door.
Matteo braced one hand beside my shoulder.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Check.”
“I know whether I’ve been shot.”
“Adrenaline can hide pain.”
“So can arrogance, apparently.”
He stared at me.
“What?”
“You sound exactly like Elena.”
“You knew her well enough to recognize her sarcasm?”
“My father did.”
“Your father is alive?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t he come to Bellaforte?”
“He suffered a stroke four months ago.”
The answer came without hesitation.
“Can he speak?”
“Some days.”
“And tonight?”
“We will find out.”
I looked through the cracked window. “Where are you taking me?”
“To my father’s house.”
“The mansion on the card?”
“No. That address was a decoy.”
“Of course it was.”
“We needed to see whether anyone followed you.”
“You used me as bait?”
“I gave you a choice.”
“You gave me an address you knew was dangerous.”
“I knew it was being watched. I did not know they would shoot outside a crowded restaurant.”
“That distinction will comfort the people whose window was destroyed.”
Matteo looked toward the driver. “Have someone repair Bellaforte tonight.”
“I’m sure a new window will erase the trauma.”
“No. But it will keep rain out.”
I almost responded, then stopped.
The practical answer irritated me more than defensiveness would have.
The SUV crossed the Schuylkill and headed west. Buildings thinned. Streetlights became farther apart.
I opened my purse.
Matteo’s gaze dropped.
“Do not reach for anything quickly.”
“I have a wallet, two pens, and half a granola bar.”
“You also have the key.”
I pulled out my phone instead.
No signal.
“You blocked it?”
“The vehicle blocks tracking.”
“Convenient.”
“It has kept me alive.”
“It also keeps kidnapping victims from calling police.”
“You entered voluntarily.”
“Because someone was shooting at me.”
“That still qualifies.”
“Not morally.”
The driver hid a smile.
Matteo saw it in the mirror.
“Something amusing, Rocco?”
“No, sir.”
“Good.”
The SUV passed through iron gates and stopped outside a stone estate hidden by tall trees. It was not the glittering city mansion I expected. The building looked old, private, and heavily guarded.
Two men opened the rear doors.
I did not move.
Matteo stepped out and waited.
“Where is the shooter?” I asked.
“Being found.”
“Alive?”
“If possible.”
“That did not sound reassuring.”
“It was not meant to.”
I climbed out.
Inside, the house was quieter than Bellaforte. Dark wood covered the walls. Family photographs stood beside paintings that probably cost more than my apartment building.
Matteo led me upstairs.
A nurse waited outside a bedroom.
“He’s awake,” she said. “But tired.”
“Has he spoken?”
“A few words.”
Matteo nodded toward me. “This is Tessa Romano.”
The nurse’s expression changed immediately.
“Oh.”
I stopped. “You know my name too?”
“Mr. Moretti has been asking for you.”
“Which Mr. Moretti?”
A weak voice came from inside the room.
“Elena’s girl.”
Matteo opened the door.
An elderly man lay in a hospital bed facing the windows. Oxygen tubes rested beneath his nose. One side of his face drooped slightly, but his eyes were clear.
He stared at me.
For a moment, the room felt too small for all the history I did not understand.
“Come closer,” he said.
His voice was rough but intelligible.
I stayed near the door.
“You are Vittorio Moretti?”
“Yes.”
“My mother knew you.”
A faint smile appeared.
“Your mother frightened half of Naples.”
“That sounds more believable than anything your son has said.”
Matteo closed the door behind us.
Vittorio looked at him. “You insulted her?”
Matteo’s shoulders stiffened. “Who told you?”
“Your face.”
I turned to Matteo. “Even after a stroke, he can see guilt.”
Vittorio pointed weakly toward a chair. “Sit, Tessa.”
“I’d rather stand.”
“Elena also stood when angry.”
“She had good instincts.”
His smile faded.
“She had more courage than all the men around her.”
I took the chair but kept my purse in my lap.
“Tell me about my father.”
Vittorio glanced toward Matteo.
“No secrets,” I said. “Not now.”
Matteo moved to the window.
Vittorio inhaled carefully.
“Your father’s name was Daniel Romano.”
“I know that.”
“He was not an accountant.”
“That was his job.”
“That was his cover.”
My fingers tightened around the purse strap.
“What was he?”
“A federal customs investigator.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
“He worked with an international task force investigating stolen art, weapons shipments, and public corruption between Naples, New York, and Philadelphia.”
“My father hated police.”
“He pretended to.”
“He died when I was one.”
“Yes.”
“In a highway accident.”
Vittorio looked ashamed.
“His brakes were cut.”
The words entered the room and seemed to remain suspended between us.
“Who killed him?”
“A man named Carlo DeLuca.”
Matteo turned from the window.
I knew the name.
Every person in Philadelphia did.
Carlo DeLuca owned casinos, trucking companies, and several city councilmen. Newspapers called him a businessman. People in South Philadelphia called him untouchable.
“He is your rival,” I said.
“He is everyone’s enemy,” Matteo answered.
“That is not proof.”
“No,” Vittorio said. “Your mother had proof.”
I opened my purse and removed the small brass key.
Both Moretti men looked at it.
Vittorio closed his eyes.
“She kept it.”
“What does it open?”
“A safe-deposit box in Florence.”
I laughed once, without humor.
“My mother gave a broke waitress in Philadelphia a key to a box in Italy?”
“She expected you to return there.”
“She knew I couldn’t afford a flight.”
“She also knew Matteo would pay.”
I looked at him.
Matteo remained expressionless.
“I’m not taking his money.”
“It is not charity,” Vittorio said. “It is repayment.”
“For what?”
He shifted against the pillows.
“In 1998, I was not the man I became. I was a dock supervisor working for Carlo DeLuca’s father. I knew shipments were illegal. I told myself I never opened the crates, so I was innocent.”
“You weren’t.”
“No.”
“At least we agree.”
“One night, your father came to me. He knew I had copied ledgers proving judges, police officers, and customs officials had been bribed. He asked me to testify.”
“And did you?”
“I agreed. Then Carlo discovered the plan.”
Vittorio’s eyes darkened with memory.
“They took me to a warehouse. They broke three ribs and put a gun in my mouth. Your mother entered through a side door wearing a nurse’s uniform.”
“My mother?”
“She had been helping Daniel.”
I shook my head. “She treated cancer patients and argued with pharmacists.”
“She also carried a pistol in her medical bag.”
Matteo’s mouth almost moved.
I looked at him. “Do not smile.”
“I did not.”
“You considered it.”
Vittorio continued. “Elena shot the light above Carlo’s men, pulled me through a loading corridor, and drove me to a church where Daniel was waiting.”
I tried to picture my mother doing any of it.
The woman who saved grocery coupons.
The woman who cried when a squirrel died on our porch.
“She never told me.”
“She wanted you outside this life.”
“What happened to the ledgers?”
“Daniel photographed them. The originals disappeared. He hid copies and evidence collected during the investigation.”
“In Florence?”
“Yes.”
“And Carlo killed him before he could use it.”
Vittorio nodded.
“Your mother fled Italy with you. I came to Philadelphia two years later and built my own organization.”
“You became the same kind of man.”
Silence followed.
Matteo looked at his father, but Vittorio did not deny it.
“Yes,” he said. “At first I told myself power would protect us from Carlo. Then power became an excuse for everything.”
“So this is a confession?”
“It is the truth.”
“Why did my mother stay in contact with you?”
“Because I sent her money.”
“She never had money.”
“She refused most of it.”
“That sounds like her.”
“But when she became ill, she called me. Not for herself. For you.”
The anger beneath my ribs shifted.
“What did she ask?”
“That I make sure you received the box after her death. She believed Carlo had forgotten it.”
“But he didn’t.”
“No. Someone told him she had contacted me.”
“Who?”
“We do not know.”
Matteo moved closer.
“Three weeks ago, one of DeLuca’s men was seen outside your mother’s former apartment. Six days ago, the gray sedan appeared near yours.”
I looked down at the key in my palm.
“What is inside the box?”
Vittorio struggled to answer.
“Names. Accounts. Photographs. Recordings.”
“Enough to destroy Carlo?”
“Enough to destroy many people.”
“Including you?”
Vittorio met my eyes.
“Yes.”
Matteo’s head turned sharply. “Father.”
“She deserves the whole truth.”
“What crimes?” I asked.
Vittorio’s breathing became shallow.
“Bribery. Smuggling. Violence.”
“Murder?”
He looked away.
My stomach turned.
Matteo answered for him. “Possibly.”
“Possibly?”
“I was young when some of it happened.”
“But you know.”
“I know enough.”
I stood.
“You brought me here to retrieve evidence that could send both families to prison.”
“I brought you here so DeLuca does not kill you for it,” Matteo said.
“And after we get the box?”
“That depends on what it contains.”
“No. It depends on what I decide.”
“You cannot walk into a federal office with twenty-seven-year-old evidence and expect protection.”
“Why not?”
“Because some of the people named in those files may now be federal officials.”
I looked at Vittorio.
“Is he right?”
“Yes.”
A knock sounded at the door.
Rocco entered.
“We found the gray sedan.”
Matteo’s expression hardened. “And the driver?”
“Gone. But he left something.”
Rocco held out a phone.
On the screen was a photograph of Jenna leaving Bellaforte with her son.
A message appeared beneath it.
Bring the key to Pier 19 by noon tomorrow, or the boy disappears.
My blood went cold.
“No.”
Matteo took the phone.
“DeLuca knows Jenna matters to you.”
“She did nothing.”
“He does not care.”
I grabbed Matteo’s arm.
“You need to send men to her apartment.”
“I already have.”
“Call her.”
“She cannot know why. Panic makes people predictable.”
“She has a right to know.”
“She has a right to stay alive.”
I pulled out my phone again. “Remove the signal block.”
“We are inside the house now.”
The bars returned.
I called Jenna.
She answered on the second ring.
“Tessa? Where are you? Carl said someone shot at you.”
“Are you home?”
“Yes.”
“Is Noah with you?”
“He’s brushing his teeth. What happened?”
I looked at Matteo.
He shook his head slightly.
“Lock your doors,” I said. “Do not go outside.”
“What?”
“Jenna, listen to me. Take Noah into the back bedroom and stay away from the windows.”
“Why?”
Before I could answer, glass shattered on her end of the call.
Jenna screamed.
A man shouted.
Then the line went dead.
I dropped the phone.
Matteo was already moving.
“Rocco, vehicles now.”
I followed him.
He blocked the doorway.
“You stay here.”
“No.”
“This is not Bellaforte.”
“She is in danger because of me.”
“She is in danger because of DeLuca.”
“That difference means nothing to her son.”
“Tessa—”
“I’m coming.”
His gaze hardened.
“So you can get shot?”
“So Jenna hears a familiar voice before armed men drag her from her home.”
He stared at me for one long second.
Then he handed me a small bulletproof vest from the hallway cabinet.
“Put this on.”
“That was easier than expected.”
“I am learning that arguing with you wastes time.”
“Your first intelligent sentence tonight.”
We ran downstairs.
Three SUVs waited outside.
As Matteo opened the rear door, his phone rang.
He answered on speaker.
A man laughed softly.
“Matteo,” Carlo DeLuca said. “You found Elena’s daughter.”
Matteo’s face became unreadable.
“What do you want?”
“The key.”
“You shot at her outside a crowded restaurant.”
“A misunderstanding.”
“You took her friend.”
“Borrowed. The mother and child are unharmed.”
I stepped closer to the phone.
“Let me speak to Jenna.”
The line went quiet.
Then Carlo said, “Tessa Romano. You sound like your mother.”
“You never knew her.”
“I knew her long enough to understand why Daniel died.”
Matteo reached for the phone, but I held up a hand.
“Where are Jenna and Noah?”
“Safe, for now.”
“You hurt them and you’ll never see the key.”
Carlo chuckled.
“There she is. Elena’s fire.”
“You have until noon tomorrow,” I said. “After that, I destroy it.”
“You do not know what it opens.”
“I know you’re afraid of it.”
His amusement disappeared.
“Pier 19. Noon. Come alone.”
“No.”
“Tessa—” Matteo warned.
I continued. “Jenna and Noah walk out first. Then we discuss the key.”
Carlo’s voice hardened.
“You are not negotiating from a position of strength.”
“I corrected Matteo Moretti’s grammar in front of five armed men while wearing a shoe held together with electrical tape. I’ve had a difficult evening. Do not test how unreasonable I’m prepared to become.”
Rocco coughed to hide a laugh.
Even Vittorio’s nurse smiled from the staircase.
Carlo remained silent.
“Tomorrow,” he finally said. “Noon.”
The call ended.
Matteo looked at me.
“What?”
“You just threatened Carlo DeLuca with poor judgment.”
“I threatened him with desperation. It’s more dangerous.”
He opened the SUV door.
“You are not going alone.”
“I assumed that part of his demand was unrealistic.”
“We will get your friend back.”
“And then?”
“And then we fly to Florence.”
I climbed inside.
“With what passport? Mine expired.”
Matteo took out his phone. “It will be handled.”
“That sounds illegal.”
“It probably will be.”
For the first time since the shooting began, I smiled.
It vanished when I remembered Jenna’s scream.
As the gates opened, Matteo sat across from me.
“You need to understand something,” he said.
“What?”
“Carlo did not kill your father only because of the evidence.”
“Then why?”
“Daniel Romano was close to exposing a traitor inside the Moretti family.”
“Who?”
“We never learned his name.”
“And you think he’s still alive?”
May you like
Matteo looked toward the dark road ahead.
“I think he is the reason DeLuca knew where to find Jenna tonight.”
