Chapter 3 - The Secret Hidden in Her Florence Letters
We did not rescue Jenna that night.
By the time we reached her apartment, the front window was broken, the back door hung open, and both she and Noah were gone.
A child’s toothbrush lay in the hallway.
A cartoon played on the television.
One of Matteo’s men found blood near the kitchen, but there was not enough to indicate a serious injury.
“It could belong to the attacker,” Matteo said.
“Or Jenna.”
“We will know soon.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because panic will not help her.”
“Neither will standing in her apartment while your men photograph the walls.”
Matteo faced me. “Then tell me what you suggest.”
“Call the police.”
“DeLuca has people in the department.”
“You have people there too.”
“Yes.”
“That is not the defense you think it is.”
Rocco entered the room carrying a small evidence bag.
“Found this under the radiator.”
Inside was a black cuff link engraved with a silver lion.
Matteo’s expression changed.
“Who does it belong to?” I asked.
He did not answer immediately.
Rocco did.
“Salvatore Moretti.”
“Your relative?”
“My uncle,” Matteo said.
“The traitor?”
“We do not know.”
“You recognized his cuff link at a kidnapping scene.”
“Many men in my family wear the lion.”
“Convenient.”
Matteo took the evidence bag.
“Salvatore manages security at Pier 19.”
I stared at him.
“The exact place DeLuca told me to go.”
“Yes.”
“And you still don’t know?”
“Evidence placed where it can easily be found is sometimes meant to be found.”
“Or guilty men make mistakes.”
“We will consider both.”
Noah’s small backpack rested beside the couch. I picked it up.
A dinosaur key chain hung from the zipper.
Jenna had worked double shifts for four months to pay for his birthday trip to the science museum.
“This is my fault.”
Matteo stepped nearer. “No.”
“I took her table.”
“DeLuca would have used anyone connected to you.”
“He only knew she mattered because I called her from your house.”
“We must assume he already knew.”
“That does not make me feel better.”
“It should stop you from making decisions based on guilt.”
I looked at him. “Do you ever make decisions based on guilt?”
His expression closed.
“Every day.”
Before I could ask what he meant, his phone rang.
One of his men had located a traffic camera image of the kidnappers’ van heading south toward the docks.
Matteo ordered road teams to follow discreetly.
“Why discreetly?” I asked.
“If they feel trapped, they may kill the hostages.”
“So we wait until noon?”
“We prepare until noon.”
Back at Vittorio’s estate, Matteo turned the library into a command room. Maps, photographs, and security feeds covered the long table.
I sat with Noah’s backpack at my feet.
At two in the morning, a woman entered carrying a laptop and a stack of files.
She looked about forty, with sharp eyes and dark hair cut at her jaw.
“This is Lucia Moretti,” Matteo said.
Lucia set down the files. “His cousin, attorney, and the only member of this family who understands that subpoenas are not invitations.”
“Comforting,” I said.
She studied me. “You really corrected him in public?”
“Yes.”
“In Neapolitan?”
“Yes.”
Lucia looked at Matteo. “I like her.”
“We are not here for your approval.”
“Your personality continues to explain why you are unmarried.”
Matteo ignored her.
Lucia opened the laptop.
“Pier 19 has three entrances, two underground maintenance corridors, and one river access point. Salvatore controls the official security system, which means we assume every camera is compromised.”
“Can you disable them?” I asked.
“I can make the cameras repeat old footage for eleven minutes.”
“Why eleven?”
“Because twelve would look suspicious.”
I nodded as if that made sense.
Lucia slid a photograph toward me.
A broad-shouldered man with gray hair stood beside Matteo at a charity event.
“Salvatore?” I asked.
“Yes,” Matteo said. “My father’s younger brother.”
“What does he say about the cuff link?”
“He does not know we found it.”
“Have you asked where he was tonight?”
“He claims he was at a private card game.”
“With witnesses?”
“Men paid to agree with him.”
Lucia leaned back. “Salvatore has always believed Matteo should cooperate with DeLuca instead of fighting him.”
“Cooperate how?”
“Divide the city,” Matteo said. “DeLuca controls gambling and narcotics. We control docks and construction.”
“And you refused?”
“We do not move narcotics.”
I gave him a skeptical look.
“You expect applause?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“We do many things you would condemn. But drugs destroy the neighborhoods that protect us. My father learned that too late.”
“That sounds like a criminal’s version of ethics.”
“It is.”
His honesty left me with no easy response.
Lucia opened another file.
“We found something else. Elena sent seven letters from Philadelphia to Florence during the last year of her life.”
“To whom?”
“A retired professor named Sofia Bianchi.”
I knew the name.
“She taught me.”
Matteo looked at me. “You never mentioned her.”
“You never asked for a list of my professors.”
“What did she teach?”
“Renaissance literature and archival studies.”
Lucia pushed copies across the table.
The envelopes had been photographed but not opened.
“How did you get these?”
“Professor Bianchi contacted Vittorio after Elena died,” Lucia said. “She said she would release the letters only to you.”
“Where are they now?”
“In Florence.”
“So the box and letters are connected.”
“Probably.”
A video call opened on the laptop.
An elderly woman appeared.
Her silver hair was tied at the nape of her neck. Thick books covered the wall behind her.
“Tessa,” she said.
For the first time that night, my defenses cracked.
“Professor Bianchi.”
“You look tired.”
“I’m being hunted by criminals.”
“Yes. Your mother feared this might happen.”
“You knew?”
“I knew parts.”
“Everyone knew parts except me.”
Sofia sighed.
“Elena believed ignorance would protect you.”
“It didn’t.”
“No.”
I leaned toward the screen.
“What is in the letters?”
“Instructions.”
“For the safe-deposit box?”
“For understanding what is inside it.”
“Tell me.”
“I cannot.”
“Professor—”
“The calls may be monitored.”
Matteo said, “This line is encrypted.”
Sofia’s eyes sharpened. “Men have been saying that since codes were written on parchment. Every encryption fails eventually.”
Lucia smiled slightly.
Sofia continued. “You must come to Florence. Bring the key and the copy of Dante your mother gave you.”
I frowned.
“She gave me three copies.”
“The damaged one.”
My breath stopped.
A month before she died, my mother had asked me to take an old copy of The Divine Comedy from her apartment.
Its cover was cracked. Several pages contained notes in her handwriting.
I had placed it in a storage box and never opened it.
“Why that book?”
“Because Daniel trusted poetry more than locks.”
Matteo leaned toward the screen. “Professor, DeLuca has taken two hostages.”
Sofia went pale.
“Then he knows more than Elena expected.”
“We need the evidence before he moves it.”
“It cannot be moved.”
“Why?”
“The box is protected by more than a key.”
“What does that mean?”
Sofia looked at me.
“Tessa, your father designed a chain of proof. Each item verifies the next. Without the book, the letters are meaningless. Without the letters, the deposit box contains only fragments. Without you, nobody can authenticate Daniel’s work.”
“I was a baby when he died.”
“You are also the legal heir named in his sealed declaration.”
Matteo and Lucia exchanged a glance.
“What declaration?” I asked.
“It will be released when you arrive.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Professor, my friend and her son may be killed at noon.”
“Then rescue them.”
“That is the plan.”
“And afterward, come immediately.”
The screen went dark.
I looked at Matteo.
“You arranged a passport?”
“By sunrise.”
“That is alarmingly efficient.”
“So is international crime.”
Lucia closed the laptop.
“Before Florence, we need Pier 19.”
At five in the morning, Matteo’s men captured one of DeLuca’s drivers near a gas station.
They brought him to the estate garage.
I expected violence.
Instead, Lucia entered with a legal pad.
The driver was nineteen.
His name was Dominic. He had a split lip and terrified eyes.
“You have two choices,” Lucia told him. “You tell us where the hostages are, or we give you to DeLuca and tell him you cooperated.”
Dominic shook his head. “I didn’t.”
“He will not believe you.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I am an attorney. I can phrase anything persuasively.”
Matteo stood against the wall.
I remained near the door.
Dominic looked at me. “You’re the waitress.”
“My name is Tessa.”
“I didn’t touch the woman or the kid.”
“Then help them.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“They’ll kill my brother.”
“Who has your brother?” Matteo asked.
“DeLuca. He recruits us by giving loans, then he says the debt belongs to the family.”
Matteo glanced at Rocco.
“Find the brother.”
Dominic laughed nervously. “You think it’s that easy?”
“For him, often,” Lucia said.
Matteo approached.
“If your brother is alive, we remove him from DeLuca’s reach. In return, you tell us everything.”
Dominic looked at me again.
“Your friend is not at Pier 19.”
My stomach tightened.
“Where is she?”
“An old cold-storage building beside the river. Pier 21.”
“Why did Carlo say Pier 19?”
“He wants the key brought there. The woman and kid are insurance.”
“Who is guarding them?”
“Four men.”
“Names.”
Dominic gave them.
One was Salvatore’s bodyguard.
The room became still.
Matteo’s face showed nothing.
Lucia quietly closed her notebook.
“Now do you believe the cuff link?” I asked.
Matteo looked at Rocco.
“Bring Salvatore here.”
Rocco left.
Dominic leaned forward. “There’s more.”
“What?” I asked.
“DeLuca doesn’t want only the key. He wants you.”
“Why?”
“He said Daniel Romano built the evidence so his bloodline was part of the lock.”
I thought of Professor Bianchi’s words.
Without me, nobody could authenticate the archive.
Matteo said, “DeLuca plans to force her to open it.”
Dominic nodded.
“And then kill her.”
The garage door opened.
Rocco returned alone.
“Salvatore’s house is empty. His phone is off.”
Matteo’s jaw hardened.
“When did he leave?”
“Security footage shows him leaving two hours before the Bellaforte shooting.”
Lucia whispered a curse in Italian.
I folded my arms.
“Your traitor has a name now.”
Matteo picked up his coat.
“No. We have a suspect.”
“Still protecting family?”
“Still refusing to act without certainty.”
“Jenna does not have time for certainty.”
He looked at me.
“You’re right.”
The admission surprised everyone.
Matteo pointed to the map.
“We change the plan. Lucia disables Pier 21 cameras. Rocco takes the river entrance. I enter through the loading bay.”
“And me?”
“You stay in the armored vehicle.”
“No.”
“Tessa.”
“Jenna may panic when your armed men appear. Noah definitely will. I can help get them out.”
“You are DeLuca’s target.”
“That makes me useful as a distraction.”
“No.”
“You used me as bait last night.”
“I will not make the same mistake twice.”
“You didn’t call it a mistake then.”
“I am calling it one now.”
His voice was low.
The room quieted.
I studied his face.
He was not ordering me because he thought I was weak.
He was afraid.
For me.
That realization felt more dangerous than gunfire.
“I’ll stay near the exit,” I said. “With a vest and two guards.”
“No.”
“Matteo.”
“No.”
Lucia interrupted. “She should come.”
He turned. “Whose side are you on?”
“The side that gets the child out alive. Noah knows her. A frightened seven-year-old may hide from armed strangers.”
Matteo looked ready to argue, but Lucia added, “You know I’m right.”
He stared at the floor plan.
Finally, he said, “She stays behind me.”
“I do not take orders well.”
“I noticed.”
“And if Jenna is separated from Noah?”
“You go with Lucia.”
“Agreed.”
Matteo stepped close enough that only I could hear him.
“If anything goes wrong, you run.”
“I’m not leaving them.”
“You run with them.”
“And you?”
“I finish what went wrong.”
Before dawn, we drove toward the river.
Fog hung above the water. Pier 21 rose from the darkness like a rusted skeleton.
Matteo checked the vest beneath my coat.
His fingers paused near the clasp.
“Too tight?” he asked.
“No.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m cold.”
“You are lying.”
“I’m frightened. Is that better?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Fear keeps intelligent people alive.”
I looked at him.
“What keeps arrogant people alive?”
He checked his weapon.
“Usually Rocco.”
The operation began at 6:12 a.m.
At 6:15, the cameras looped.
At 6:17, Rocco entered through the river tunnel.
At 6:18, Matteo broke the side-door lock.
At 6:19, we heard Noah scream.
I forgot every instruction.
I ran.
Matteo caught my arm, but I twisted free and followed the sound through a corridor lined with empty meat hooks.
“Tessa!” he hissed.
A gunshot echoed ahead.
Then another.
We reached the storage room.
Jenna was tied to a chair.
Blood covered one side of her face.
Noah stood behind a man holding a gun to his head.
The gunman wore a silver lion cuff link.
But he was not Salvatore.
He was Carl.
My manager from Bellaforte.
His frightened, apologetic expression was gone.
“You,” I whispered.
May you like
Carl smiled.
“You really should have taken your final paycheck and left.”
