Chapter 4 - The Photograph from Palermo
We reached Sicily the next afternoon.
Vincent wanted me surrounded by security.
I refused.
“I am not visiting my dying grandmother with six armed shadows.”
“Three.”
“No.”
“Two.”
“One.”
“Two.”
“One, and he waits outside.”
Vincent stared at me.
“You negotiate everything?”
“Only when people try controlling me.”
That ended the argument.
Vincent accompanied me inside Villa Serena.
Rosa looked smaller than I remembered.
But when she saw Vincent, her eyes sharpened.
“Antonio's boy.”
Vincent approached the bed.
“Mrs. Bellacosta.”
“You have his eyes.”
“So I've been told.”
She reached for my hand.
“You found him.”
“He found me.”
“Unfortunately,” Vincent added.
Rosa laughed weakly.
“Definitely Antonio's son.”
I sat beside her.
“Tell me about Mom.”
Rosa looked toward Vincent.
“He deserves to hear this too.”
She took a slow breath.
“Elena discovered Luca Moretti was stealing money from several families and feeding information to rivals.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“Luca was working with my father.”
“Antonio discovered it too.”
“What happened?”
“They planned to expose him.”
Rosa looked at me.
“Your mother collected evidence. Antonio arranged a safe place for her.”
“But she died.”
“Yes.”
“And Antonio?”
Vincent answered.
“My father was killed eight months later.”
Rosa nodded.
“Luca survived both of them.”
Vincent went silent.
For years, he had apparently believed his father died during an internal conflict.
Now he knew better.
I squeezed Rosa's hand.
“Why didn't you release the evidence?”
“Because Luca threatened you.”
“Me?”
“You were four.”
Her eyes filled.
“He sent me a photograph of you sleeping.”
My stomach turned.
“He promised that if anything surfaced, you would die.”
Vincent looked toward the window.
“So you disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“And the evidence?”
“Palermo Centrale.”
I held up the key.
“Locker?”
“Number 314.”
Vincent stood.
“We get it tonight.”
Rosa caught his wrist.
“No.”
He looked down.
“Why?”
“Because Luca knows Sophia is here.”
The room went silent.
“How?”
Rosa looked at me.
“Someone called this morning asking whether my American granddaughter had arrived.”
Vincent immediately pulled out his phone.
“Carlo.”
He issued instructions in rapid Italian.
When he finished, I asked, “What now?”
“We don't go to the station.”
“We absolutely do.”
“He'll be waiting.”
“Then we make him think I'm somewhere else.”
Vincent stared at me.
“No.”
“You haven't even heard the plan.”
“I recognize that expression.”
“You've known me two days.”
“It has been a very long two days.”
Rosa smiled.
“She has her mother's stubbornness.”
“I'm noticing.”
I leaned closer.
“Moretti expects you to protect me.”
“Yes.”
“So give him exactly what he expects.”
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
Twenty minutes later, we had a plan.
Carlo would drive one of Vincent's SUVs toward the Romano estate with a woman in the back seat wearing my coat.
Vincent and I would leave through the hospice kitchen.
“You're enjoying this,” Vincent said.
“I'm escaping through a kitchen wearing a nurse's sweater. My standards for entertainment have dropped.”
He smiled.
A real smile this time.
It changed his entire face.
I noticed.
Unfortunately, so did he.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You're staring.”
“I'm discovering you have facial muscles.”
His smile vanished.
“There. Much more intimidating.”
We reached Palermo Centrale shortly before midnight.
Locker 314 sat at the end of an old corridor.
My hands shook as I inserted the key.
Vincent stood beside me.
“Ready?”
“No.”
“Good answer.”
I turned it.
Inside was a leather folder.
A flash drive.
Three photographs.
And a sealed letter addressed to me.
Sophia.
I opened it.
My mother's handwriting covered two pages.
I read the first line aloud.
“If you are reading this, then I failed to come home.”
My throat closed.
Vincent waited.
I continued silently.
Elena explained everything.
Luca Moretti had ordered murders, betrayed allies and arranged the attack that killed my grandfather.
She had discovered his network.
Antonio Romano helped her gather proof.
Then came the final paragraph.
I handed the letter to Vincent.
He read it.
His face changed.
“What?”
He showed me.
If anything happens to Antonio or me, do not trust Marco Ricci. He works for Luca.
I stared at the name.
“My manager.”
Vincent pulled out his phone.
At that exact moment, footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Marco appeared.
Four men behind him.
He smiled.
“You always were too curious, Sophia.”
Vincent stepped in front of me.
Marco laughed.
“Still protecting Bellacostas, Vincent? Your father made the same mistake.”
Vincent's voice became dangerously calm.
“You killed my father?”
“Luca gave the order.”
“And you?”
“I gave him Antonio's location.”
Vincent took one step forward.
I grabbed his arm.
“Don't.”
His muscles were rigid.
Marco smiled.
“Listen to the waitress.”
I looked past him.
“You told Ryan where I worked.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He was useful.”
“You used a controlling idiot to keep tabs on me.”
“Exactly.”
I raised my phone.
Marco's smile disappeared.
A recording timer was running.
“You talk too much.”
His men shifted.
Then sirens sounded outside.
Marco turned.
Vincent looked at me.
“You called the police?”
“Before opening the locker.”
“When?”
“When you were busy telling Carlo how brilliant your security plan was.”
For the first time, Vincent looked genuinely impressed.
Marco backed toward the exit.
But Italian police were already entering from both ends of the corridor.
Vincent leaned close to me.
“Remind me never to underestimate a waitress.”
I looked at him.
May you like
“You already did.”
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