Chapter 11 - The Uncle Who Raised a Monster|
Matteo Falcone had learned to recognize danger by the way a room changed when a particular person entered it.
His uncle Vincent had always changed rooms.
At family dinners, men twice Matteo's age lowered their voices when Vincent spoke. At funerals, he stood beside the grieving relatives and knew exactly when to offer a hand on the shoulder. When Matteo's father died, Vincent had been the one who guided him through the first terrible weeks, teaching him which captains could be trusted, which businesses were worth saving, and which enemies needed to disappear.
He had also been the man who told Matteo that Adrian was dead.
Now Matteo sat in his private study, looking at the death certificate bearing Vincent's signature.
Norah stood opposite him.
“Do you think your uncle killed my father?”
“I think he knows what happened to him.”
“That isn't the same answer.”
“No. It's the only honest one I have.”
She looked toward the window. Dawn was breaking over Chicago, but the mansion felt colder than it had during the night.
“I need to know whether you can investigate your own family without protecting them.”
Matteo leaned forward.
“I spent eleven years believing my brother was dead. I buried my father believing he had done everything possible to save us. If either belief was built on a lie, I want the truth.”
“And if the truth destroys your empire?”
“Then the empire deserves to be destroyed.”
Norah studied him carefully.
She wanted to believe him. That frightened her more than Vincent Falcone ever could.
Before she could respond, Gabriel entered with a message.
“Vincent is at the downtown residence. He's asking for you.”
Matteo stood.
“Did you tell him about Adrian?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Norah reached for her coat.
Matteo shook his head.
“You're staying here.”
She stared at him.
“Try that again.”
He exhaled slowly.
“I'd prefer you stay somewhere secure while I speak with him.”
“That's better. But I'm coming.”
“Norah—”
“If Vincent signed my father's death certificate, this is no longer just your family matter.”
Matteo considered arguing. Then he remembered what she had told him about decisions disguised as protection.
“Stay beside Gabriel. If anything feels wrong, you leave.”
“Agreed.”
The downtown residence was a renovated townhouse surrounded by security cameras and iron fencing. Vincent Falcone waited in the library, dressed in a charcoal suit, with a glass of untouched whiskey beside him.
He looked at Matteo and smiled.
“My boy. You look exhausted.”
“You signed Nathaniel Vale's death certificate.”
Vincent's smile faded.
Norah watched him carefully.
“Where did you get that?” he asked.
“From a file that should never have existed.”
Vincent glanced at Norah.
“And who is this?”
“The daughter of the man you buried without identifying his body.”
The older man's face hardened.
“Careful, Matteo. Grief can make intelligent men believe foolish things.”
“Then help me understand. Why did you sign the certificate?”
“Because Nathaniel Vale was dead.”
“Did you see his body?”
Vincent took a slow sip of whiskey.
“No.”
The answer landed with the force of a gunshot.
Matteo's hand tightened.
“You buried a man you never identified?”
“I authorized a burial based on evidence presented to me.”
“By whom?”
Vincent set down the glass.
“Your father.”
For a moment, Matteo said nothing.
Vincent continued.
“Your father believed Nathaniel had betrayed the family. He believed the man was responsible for the financial leaks that nearly destroyed our operations. When the accident happened, your father wanted the matter closed.”
“And you helped him.”
“I protected this family.”
Norah stepped forward.
“By making a dead man out of someone who might have been alive?”
Vincent turned toward her.
“You have no idea what your father did.”
“Then tell me.”
“He stole money from the family, helped Adrian turn against his own blood, and tried to take control of assets he had no right to touch.”
“Those assets were placed in a trust under his name.”
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
“Who told you that?”
“Your signature is on the agreement.”
For the first time, Vincent looked genuinely unsettled.
Matteo noticed.
“You know about the trust.”
Vincent rose.
“I know enough to understand that you are both being manipulated.”
“By whom?”
“Adrian.”
Matteo's expression hardened.
“Adrian is alive.”
Vincent's face went perfectly still.
The silence lasted only a second, but it answered more than any confession could have.
Then Vincent reached for his phone.
Matteo drew his weapon.
“Don't.”
Vincent froze.
“You would point a gun at your own uncle?”
“I would point it at anyone reaching for a phone after pretending my brother was dead.”
Vincent slowly lifted his hands.
“You think you're the first man to discover a family secret? Your father spent his entire life trying to protect you from what Nathaniel Vale represented.”
“What did he represent?”
Vincent's voice dropped.
“A future in which neither you nor Adrian would control the Falcone name.”
Norah's stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“Because Nathaniel's daughter was supposed to inherit everything that mattered.”
He looked directly at Norah.
“And someone decided that girl would never live long enough to claim it.”
A crash sounded from the hallway.
Gabriel shouted a warning.
The library door burst open, and two armed men rushed inside.
Matteo fired once, forcing the first man behind the doorway. Gabriel tackled the second. Norah dropped behind the desk as glass shattered across the room.
When the shooting stopped, Vincent was gone.
A side door swung in the wind.
Matteo rushed after him, but the courtyard was empty.
On the library desk, beside the abandoned whiskey, lay a small envelope.
Norah opened it with trembling fingers.
Inside was a photograph of a newborn baby.
On the back, someone had written:
One child was meant to inherit the empire. The other was meant to die.
Matteo stared at the picture.
Norah looked at him.
“Who was the other child?”
Before he could answer, Gabriel returned, carrying a bloodstained phone taken from one of the attackers.
A message glowed on the screen.
The girl is alive. Bring her to the old hospital before midnight, or the father dies.
Beneath the message was a photograph of a man sitting in a locked room.
Dark hair.
May you like
A scar across his eyebrow.
And eyes that looked exactly like Norah's.
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