Chapter 16 - The Black King Loses His Crown|
The intercom crackled.
Enzo's voice filled the underground archive, warm and almost affectionate.
“You always did make things easier for me, Carmine.”
Carmine rushed to the stairs and pulled at the door.
It wouldn't move.
Salvatore drew his weapon, but I caught his wrist.
“Don't shoot blindly. We don't know what's beyond it.”
He looked at me, then lowered the weapon slightly.
“Rocco,” he called into his phone. “Can you hear me?”
Static answered.
The archive had thick stone walls, and our signal was weak. I tried my phone next. No service.
Carmine searched the cabinets for another exit.
“There should be a maintenance tunnel.”
“Where?” Salvatore demanded.
“Behind the storage shelves.”
We moved the boxes and found a narrow metal panel. It had been sealed with screws, but Carmine carried a small tool kit in the cabinet. He worked quickly, his hands shaking.
While he struggled with the panel, Enzo continued speaking through the intercom.
“You have no idea how long I've waited for this. Salvatore, you were always Father's favorite. The golden son. The future king. And I was the mistake he couldn't admit.”
Salvatore stepped closer to the speaker.
“If you wanted the business, you could have challenged me.”
“I did. I challenged you eight years ago. You survived.”
“You tried to murder me.”
“I tried to remove an obstacle.”
“And Isabella?”
“She was an inconvenience.”
Carmine froze.
“You told me you wanted her protected!”
“I told you what you needed to hear.”
“You said she would be safe!”
Enzo laughed.
“She's alive, isn't she? I kept my promise.”
Salvatore's expression became murderous.
“Where is she?”
“Somewhere you'll never find her again.”
The intercom clicked off.
Carmine finally opened the maintenance panel. Beyond it was a narrow passage leading toward the old boiler room. We crawled through one at a time, emerging into a storage area behind the building.
Rocco and the police arrived minutes later. They had been trying to enter through the main door after receiving an alarm, but someone had cut the building's external communications.
We gave them the recording and explained what had happened. Authorities secured the office and began searching for Enzo, but the man had already disappeared.
That evening, Salvatore called an emergency meeting of his senior managers.
He did something no one expected.
He suspended every employee connected to the security contractor, froze the company's discretionary payments, and handed the relevant records to investigators.
Several men protested.
“You're dismantling your own organization,” one said.
“I'm removing the rot,” Salvatore replied.
Another warned that his rivals would exploit the disruption.
“Then we'll discover who was loyal to the law and who was loyal only to my money.”
The meeting ended with half the room looking terrified and the other half looking relieved.
When everyone had left, Salvatore sat alone in his study.
I found him staring at the old photograph of his father.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“No.”
The honesty surprised me.
“I built my life around the idea that my family was the one thing I could trust. I was wrong.”
“You trusted people. They betrayed that trust. It doesn't mean trusting anyone was a mistake.”
He looked at me.
“And you? Do you still trust me?”
I thought about the guards at the mansion, the ruined clinic, and the way he had listened when I insisted that evidence mattered more than revenge.
“I trust you to try to do the right thing. I don't trust you to get it right every time.”
His mouth curved into a tired smile.
“That's more than I deserve.”
“No. It's what you have to earn.”
He reached for my hand, then stopped before touching it.
“May I?”
I placed my hand in his.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Rocco entered with a new report.
“We found Enzo's last known address. It's a private estate in Connecticut.”
Salvatore stood.
“Then we go there.”
Rocco hesitated.
“There's another problem. The estate has been sold under a different name.”
“To whom?”
May you like
Rocco looked at the report.
“To Isabella Moretti.”
