The fire could be seen from the highway.
By the time we reached Port Newark, flames were pushing through the roof of Warehouse Fourteen.
Fire engines screamed toward the docks.
Vittorio’s men had arrived before us, but he ordered them to stay back.
“If Bellini has someone inside my security network, we assume every movement is being reported.”
“What about Matteo?” I asked.
Vittorio looked toward the burning warehouse.
“If they wanted him dead, he wouldn’t have been allowed to call you.”
That was the only hope I had.
We approached from the south side.
Smoke rolled across the loading yard.
A side door stood open.
Inside, sprinklers had activated, but the fire was concentrated near the administrative offices.
“Accelerant,” Gabriel said.
“They’re destroying records,” Vittorio replied.
I followed them inside.
Vittorio turned.
“I told you to stay in the car.”
“And I ignored you.”
“This is not a negotiation.”
“It stopped being one when my brother called.”
He looked furious.
Then another explosion shook the building.
He grabbed me and pulled me behind a concrete pillar as glass shattered nearby.
“You still want to argue?”
“Yes.”
Gabriel stared at me.
Vittorio exhaled.
“Stay between us.”
We moved deeper.
Then I heard banging.
“Wait.”
Vittorio stopped.
Again.
Three knocks.
Pause.
Three more.
“Matteo?”
I ran toward the sound.
“Elena!”
It came from a locked storage room.
“Matteo!”
“Elena?”
I nearly collapsed.
Vittorio shot the lock.
We pulled the door open.
My brother fell into my arms.
His face was bruised. His lip was split. His shirt was stained with blood.
But he was alive.
I held him so tightly he gasped.
“Sorry.”
“No. Don’t ever apologize for that.”
Then Matteo saw Vittorio.
Fear crossed his face.
“No.”
“He helped me.”
“You don’t understand.”
Vittorio crouched.
“Then explain.”
Matteo stared at him.
“Lorenzo isn’t just stealing from you.”
“I know.”
“He’s replacing you.”
That landed differently.
Matteo struggled upright.
“He’s built his own network inside yours. Security. Accounting. Dock supervisors. Drivers. Dominic was one of them.”
“Who else?”
“I don’t know everyone.”
“You said someone close to him,” I reminded him.
Matteo looked at Gabriel.
Gabriel’s hand moved toward his weapon.
“No,” Matteo said. “Not him.”
Vittorio’s gaze narrowed.
“Then who?”
Matteo whispered a name.
“Marco Santini.”
Vittorio’s face changed.
I had not heard the name before.
Gabriel had.
“Impossible.”
“Who is Marco?” I asked.
Vittorio answered slowly.
“My godbrother.”
Matteo pulled something from inside his torn jacket.
A tiny memory card.
“This proves it.”
Then gunfire erupted outside.
Vittorio shoved us down.
“Move!”
We escaped through the loading bay while smoke swallowed the warehouse.
Matteo could barely walk.
I supported one side.
Vittorio took the other.
For several minutes there was no mafia boss, no frightened sister, no hidden criminal empire.
There were only three people trying to get out alive.
We reached a service tunnel connecting the warehouse to an old maintenance building.
Gabriel locked the steel door behind us.
Matteo collapsed.
“We need a hospital,” I said.
“No hospital,” he whispered.
“He needs stitches.”
“And if Bellini controls people inside your network,” Gabriel said, “a hospital registration puts his location into a system.”
I looked at Vittorio.
“Then find a doctor you trust.”
He did.
An hour later we were inside a private apartment owned by an elderly physician named Dr. Russo.
Matteo had two cracked ribs, dehydration, and a deep cut above his eyebrow.
But nothing life-threatening.
I sat beside him until he woke.
“You idiot,” I whispered.
He smiled weakly.
“Hi, Elena.”
I slapped his shoulder lightly.
Then hugged him.
“You scared me.”
“I know.”
“You lied to me.”
“I know.”
“I’m still angry.”
“I know.”
I started crying.
He did too.
Across the room, Vittorio quietly turned away.
Later, we watched the files from Matteo’s memory card.
The evidence was devastating.
Lorenzo Bellini and Marco Santini had spent almost two years using Marquetti infrastructure to move stolen cargo, narcotics, and eventually trafficked migrants.
Vittorio watched every file without speaking.
Then an audio recording played.
Marco’s voice.
“When Vittorio finds out?”
Lorenzo answered.
“He won’t. And when the time comes, everyone will believe he authorized it.”
Vittorio stopped the recording.
“Play it again.”
Matteo did.
This time Vittorio closed his eyes.
Betrayal looked different on a man like him.
Not tears.
Not shouting.
Just silence.
“Eighteen years,” he finally said.
“What?” I asked.
“Marco has been beside me for eighteen years.”
Matteo looked at him.
“Then he knew exactly what evidence would hurt you.”
Vittorio nodded.
“They weren’t merely stealing. They were building a case that would make me responsible.”
“Why?” I asked.
“To remove me and inherit what remained.”
I thought of the missing files.
Dominic.
My apartment.
The bullet in Vittorio’s office.
“They were going to kill you.”
“Yes.”
“And frame you first.”
“Yes.”
I looked at Matteo.
“So what do we do?”
Vittorio answered.
“We don’t.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“We take this to federal investigators.”
Even Gabriel looked surprised.
“Boss?”
Vittorio stood.
“This stopped being an internal matter when they started trafficking people.”
“And everything else?” Matteo asked.
Vittorio understood the question.
His own crimes.
His own organization.
His own liability.
“All of it.”
Gabriel stepped closer.
“You know what that means.”
“Yes.”
“You could lose everything.”
Vittorio looked toward me.
“Some things should be lost.”
That was the first moment I saw something beyond the reputation.
Not innocence.
Vittorio Marquetti was not innocent.
But there was a difference between a man pretending he had never crossed a line and a man finally realizing how far his world had drifted beyond the line he thought he controlled.
Matteo nodded toward the files.
“There’s another problem.”
“What?”
“Lorenzo has the decryption key for the master ledger.”
“Can you bypass it?”
“Maybe. But the server will alert him.”
Vittorio considered.
“Then we make him believe he won.”
“How?”
Vittorio looked at me.
“No.”
I already knew.
“No what?” Matteo asked.
“He’s thinking about using me.”
Vittorio said, “I was thinking nothing of the kind.”
“You looked at me.”
“That does not constitute a plan.”
“You’re terrible at lying.”
Gabriel actually coughed to hide a laugh.
Vittorio glared at him.
Then Matteo sat forward.
“Elena could be the only bait Lorenzo believes.”
“Absolutely not,” Vittorio said.
Now it was my turn to stare.
“You were just thinking it.”
“And rejected it.”
“Why?”
“Because Reyes already assaulted you because of my organization.”
“That wasn’t your order.”
“It happened under my name.”
The distinction mattered to him.
I could see that.
I looked at Matteo.
“What would I have to do?”
“Elena—”
“What?”
Matteo explained.
Lorenzo believed I had the phone.
If I contacted him and offered to exchange it for safe passage, he might reveal where he had moved the master server.
Vittorio shook his head.
“No.”
“You don’t get to decide for me.”
“I do when my people created the danger.”
“No, you get to protect me if I ask. You don’t get to own my choices.”
His eyes locked onto mine.
For several seconds neither of us moved.
Finally he said, “You sound exactly like someone else I once knew.”
“Who?”
He glanced toward the facedown photograph he had brought from his office.
“My sister.”
I had not known he had one.
“What happened to her?”
“She died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
That was all he said.
But it explained the photograph.
Maybe even the old silver watch.
The next morning, we contacted a federal prosecutor through Dr. Russo’s attorney.
Everything changed quickly after that.
Evidence was copied.
Statements were recorded.
A controlled operation was proposed.
Lorenzo received my message.
I have Matteo’s phone. I want out.
His reply came four minutes later.
Come alone.
Vittorio read it.
“No.”
I looked at him.
“We’ve already had this argument.”
“We can have it again.”
“We’re wasting time.”
“Elena.”
It was the first time he had used my first name.
I noticed.
So did he.
“I’m going,” I said.
His jaw tightened.
Then he handed me a small transmitter.
“If anything feels wrong, say ‘November.’”
“My mother’s birthday.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“I come get you.”
I almost smiled.
“You and half the federal government?”
“If necessary.”
I closed my fingers around the transmitter.
“Vittorio?”
“Yes?”
“Bring my brother home.”
His expression softened.
“I intend to bring both of you home.”
For reasons I did not yet understand, I believed him.