Chapter 7 - THE SECOND DEVICEThe cargo drone struck the terminal roof at 8:02 a.m.
It did not explode.
That saved hundreds of lives.
What happened instead was almost worse.
A metal canister detached from its undercarriage, smashed through a glass panel, and landed in the concourse.
Every federal agent raised a weapon.
“BACK!”
White smoke poured from the canister.
People screamed.
I dragged Dad behind a concrete bench.
Luca grabbed Elena.
Marco pulled two hostages away.
Agents wearing tactical masks rushed forward.
For ten terrifying seconds, I thought we were about to be poisoned.
Then the smoke changed.
Red.
Thick crimson clouds rolled through the terminal.
A distraction.
Raffaele shouted from somewhere near the exit.
An engine roared.
When the smoke cleared enough to see, the prisoner transport position was empty.
So was Raffaele.
“He escaped?” I yelled.
Luca ran outside.
Agents followed.
I stayed with Dad.
He was losing blood.
“Ambulance!”
A medic reached us.
The bullet had passed through his shoulder.
Painful.
Dangerous.
But not immediately fatal.
The medic began wrapping him.
Dad grabbed my sleeve.
“Luca’s jacket.”
“What about it?”
“Take it off him.”
“Why?”
“The tracker.”
“We know.”
“No.”
His eyes were urgent.
“Antonio?” the medic said. “Stay still.”
Dad ignored him.
“The tracker casing.”
“What?”
“I made those housings years ago for secure beacon systems.”
“I know.”
“You don’t.”
He grimaced.
“The copper strip in the cuff isn’t an antenna.”
My stomach dropped.
“What is it?”
“A bridge.”
“For what?”
“If the tracker receives the coded trigger, it completes a circuit.”
My mind flashed through the jacket construction.
Copper running around the sleeve.
Into the chest canvas.
I had followed the wire while repairing it.
It disappeared near the inner pocket.
I thought it was extended antenna material.
Dad whispered, “It activates whatever they hid in the chest.”
I ran.
Luca was outside shouting at agents.
“JACKET OFF!”
He turned.
“What?”
“Take it off!”
The urgency in my face was enough.
He tore open the buttons.
I grabbed the jacket and placed it on the pavement.
“Everyone back.”
Marco approached.
“What now?”
I took out my scissors.
Dad emerged behind us supported by the medic.
“Left chest.”
I cut.
Canvas.
Padding.
Horsehair.
Then something metallic.
A thin ceramic strip.
Marco cursed.
“Explosive?”
Dad shook his head.
“Probably not.”
“That’s reassuring.”
I opened the cavity.
Inside was a flat electronic module.
Luca stared.
“What does it do?”
Dad’s expression went dark.
“Biometric capture.”
Nobody understood.
He explained.
“It reads heart rhythm through conductive fibers.”
I stared at the copper line.
“A medical sensor?”
“More sophisticated.”
“What would Raffaele want with Luca’s heartbeat?”
Dad looked at Luca.
“To imitate proof of life.”
Marco stopped breathing.
Dad continued.
“Modern high-security Moretti accounts probably use biometric verification.”
Luca’s face changed.
Marco swore.
The family financial system.
Of course.
The wedding wasn’t ultimately about killing Luca.
It was about stealing his identity while making everyone believe he was alive.
Luca grabbed his phone.
“Freeze all biometric authorizations.”
Marco was already calling.
Dad pointed to the module.
“If it recorded enough data, they may already have what they need.”
“How long?”
“Was the jacket fitted previously?”
I nodded.
“Three times.”
Luca looked at me.
“When did the red thread appear?”
“Not until yesterday.”
Dad frowned.
“Then someone installed the module earlier and added the tracker later.”
Bastien.
No.
He confessed only to the tracker.
Meaning someone else had modified the jacket before him.
We needed workshop logs.
Marco finished his call.
“All biometric channels locked.”
Luca exhaled.
“For now.”
Dad looked at him.
“Raffaele wanted more than money.”
“What?”
“Control.”
Dad explained Casa Nero’s remaining structure.
It had evolved.
The old trafficking network diversified into shell companies, shipping, extortion, political bribery, data theft.
Most of its hidden assets moved through legitimate fronts.
Moretti businesses overlapped with some of those routes.
If Raffaele could impersonate Luca digitally, he could transfer companies, authorize shipments, open secure warehouses, and drain enormous accounts.
Then Luca could conveniently die during his wedding.
The transactions would appear to have been authorized beforehand.
A dead man couldn’t deny them.
I stared at the white jacket on the ground.
A coffin.
My first instinct had been right.
Luca’s phone rang.
Marco answered.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He listened.
Then looked at Luca.
“We have an unauthorized transfer attempt.”
“How much?”
“Eight hundred forty million.”
Even Luca blinked.
“Blocked?”
“Yes.”
“Origin?”
Marco listened.
Then swore.
“Palazzo Belladonna.”
The palace.
Somebody inside.
Again.
Luca turned toward the SUVs.
“Move.”
Dad called after him.
“Wait.”
Luca stopped.
“You can’t walk into another compromised building.”
“My people are there.”
“And one of your people is doing this.”
Silence.
Dad continued.
“The tracker received its trigger when the drone arrived.”
“Yes.”
“Meaning somebody coordinating the financial theft knew the exact moment you reached Hawthorne.”
“Raffaele.”
“No. Raffaele was standing in front of us.”
“He could have scheduled it.”
“He could.”
Dad looked toward the captured device.
“But the transfer began less than forty seconds after the module activated.”
“So?”
“So someone was watching the biometric stream in real time.”
Marco understood.
“The real operator is at the palace.”
Exactly.
Celeste had disappeared in the smoke too.
I suddenly realized.
“Where is Celeste?”
Agents checked.
Nobody answered.
Gone.
Luca’s expression became lethal.
“She planned the escape.”
Dad nodded.
“She may be the financial operator.”
We drove back toward Palazzo Belladonna.
Dad went to the hospital under federal guard.
I should have gone with him.
He insisted I didn’t.
“Finish this.”
I hated the phrase.
But I understood.
At the palace, security had locked down every wing.
Nobody entered.
Nobody left.
The attempted transfer originated from Luca’s private office.
Only six people knew the biometric backup terminal existed.
Luca.
Marco.
Their attorney.
The security chief.
Their late father’s adviser, Enzo Ricci.
And Celeste.
We found Enzo in the office.
Seventy-two.
Silver-haired.
Perfect suit.
He sat calmly beside the terminal with a glass of wine.
Luca entered first.
“Enzo.”
The old man sighed.
“I wondered how quickly you’d understand.”
Marco’s voice broke.
“You?”
Enzo had apparently raised them after their father died.
The betrayal hit differently.
Luca said nothing.
Enzo looked at him with genuine affection.
“That suit suits you.”
“Did you install the biometric module?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“Celeste.”
“Where is she?”
“Gone.”
“Raffaele?”
“Also gone, I assume.”
“You were working with him.”
“For thirty-one years.”
Marco drew his gun.
Luca pushed it down.
“No.”
“He killed Dad.”
Enzo looked almost bored.
“Your father killed himself the moment he betrayed the family.”
Marco lunged.
Luca restrained him.
Enzo continued.
“Vittorio became weak.”
“He tried to stop children being trafficked.”
“He jeopardized an empire because he developed a conscience too late.”
Luca’s face tightened.
“Where is Raffaele going?”
“Why would I tell you?”
“Because his money is frozen.”
Enzo smiled.
“Not all of it.”
He lifted his wine.
“You keep thinking this wedding was designed around you.”
“Wasn’t it?”
“No.”
Enzo looked at me.
“It was designed around her.”
My blood chilled.
“Me?”
“Antonio Marin’s daughter.”
“Why?”
“Because Antonio would never surface for Luca.”
Enzo smiled.
“But he would surface for you.”
The pieces crashed together.
They needed Dad.
Not only his evidence.
Him.
“What does my father know?”
Enzo’s expression sharpened.
“The location of the original Casa Nero ledger.”
“Isn’t that what the memory card contains?”
“Copies.”
“And the original?”
“Contains signatures.”
“Whose?”
“People who are very powerful today.”
Politicians.
Executives.
Judges.
Officials.
Physical proof.
Not data that could be dismissed as fabricated.
I stepped closer.
“You let my father see the threat against my mother.”
“Yes.”
“You knew he’d reveal himself.”
“Yes.”
“And Hawthorne?”
“Designed to make him appear.”
“You shot him.”
“Raffaele did.”
“Same difference.”
Enzo smiled faintly.
“No. It isn’t.”
Luca noticed something.
“What are you saying?”
Enzo stood.
“Raffaele thinks he runs Casa Nero.”
Marco laughed bitterly.
“He doesn’t?”
“No.”
“Then who does?”
Enzo adjusted his cuff.
Before answering, he looked at Luca like a disappointed grandfather.
“Your father made the mistake of believing monsters always announce themselves.”
He set down his glass.
“The best monsters teach you to call them family.”
Marco’s gun rose again.
Enzo smiled.
Then collapsed.
A tiny dart protruded from his neck.
We spun.
The office window was open.
Sniper.
Luca pulled me down.
Guards rushed outside.
Enzo convulsed.
“Poison,” someone shouted.
I crawled toward him.
“Who runs Casa Nero?”
His eyes found mine.
His breathing became wet.
“Ask…”
“What?”
“Ask your…”
He coughed.
Blood appeared at his lips.
“Mother.”
I froze.
“My mother?”
Enzo’s eyes widened.
Then he stopped breathing.
I stared at him.
No.
Impossible.
My mother baked cannoli.
She argued with television game shows.
She owned seven pairs of nearly identical orthopedic shoes.
There was no universe where—
Luca’s phone rang.
Hospital.
He answered.
Then slowly looked at me.
“What?”
His expression told me before he spoke.
“Your father disappeared from the hospital.”
I stood.
“What?”
“Security found one guard unconscious.”
“Where did Dad go?”
“No one knows.”
My phone buzzed.
A message from Mom.
COME HOME, BELLA.
WE NEED TO TALK.
I stared at it.
Four words.
Ordinary words.
Except my mother never called me Bella.
Only Dad did.
I showed Luca.
He went quiet.
“That isn’t your mother.”
“I know.”
Another message appeared.
BRING LUCA.
Then:
YOUR FATHER HAS BEEN LYING TO BOTH OF US.
And beneath it, an address.
Not my mother’s apartment.
An old garment factory on Chicago’s South Side.
The same factory where my father had supposedly died fourteen years ago.
The burned warehouse.
Luca looked at me.
“You’re not going.”
I picked up my scissors.
“Yes, I am.”
“Isabella.”
“My father came out of hiding because of me.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“My mother is either in danger or involved.”
I met his eyes.
“You can come with me.”
A pause.
“But you’re not stopping me.”
For several seconds he stared at me.
Then something changed in his expression.
Respect, maybe.
Or resignation.
“Fine.”
Marco grabbed his coat.
“I’m coming.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because apparently your family is even more complicated than ours.”
Under any other circumstances, I might have laughed.
Instead we walked toward the door.
And as I passed the ruined white wedding jacket on the floor, I noticed something I had somehow missed.
A tiny stitched symbol inside the collar.
Not Dad’s A.
A flower.
Six petals.
My mother embroidered that flower on every apron she owned.
I touched it.
Cold spread through me.
Mom had touched Luca’s suit.
May you like
The question was no longer whether she knew about Casa Nero.
The question was what side she had been on all along.
