Chapter 10 - The Security Chief's Blood
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Matteo Russo had served the Moretti family for twelve years.
He had pulled Lorenzo out of a burning warehouse, stood between him and armed men, and once taken a knife wound meant for him. Lorenzo trusted him with the security of his home, his company, and his life.
The photograph changed everything.
Matteo's father had been a port supervisor who died in a car accident when Matteo was nineteen. Lorenzo remembered the funeral. He remembered Matteo standing beside the grave with his jaw clenched and his hands buried in his pockets.
He had never asked why the family lost contact with him.
Now he knew.
“Did you know your father worked with Sloane?” Lorenzo asked when they returned to New York.
Matteo stared at the photograph.
“No.”
“Did you know he was involved in the investigation into the missing cargo?”
“No.”
“Then explain why he was standing beside my father the night Elara's mother died.”
Matteo's face had gone gray.
“I can't.”
“That's not an answer.”
“It's the only one I have.”
Lorenzo studied him.
For the first time, he wondered whether trust had become another word for habit.
“Your access to the security system is suspended until we know more.”
Matteo nodded slowly.
“Understood.”
He did not argue.
That frightened Lorenzo more than a denial would have.
Detective Collins arrived at the residence an hour later. She examined the ledger, the photograph, the foundation card, and the recovered messages.
“This is enough to reopen the investigation,” she said. “It is not enough to prove who ordered the sabotage.”
“What do you need?” Elara asked.
“Original shipping records. Financial transfers. Witness testimony. Anything that connects the people in these photographs to the actual crime.”
“The original ledger is in a locker beneath the old ferry terminal,” Isabella said.
Collins looked at her.
“How do you know?”
“Because I helped Elara's mother hide it.”
The detective stood.
“Then we go there together.”
Lorenzo immediately objected.
“No.”
Collins raised an eyebrow.
“Excuse me?”
“The terminal is exposed. If Sloane knows we're searching for the ledger, he'll have people watching it.”
“Which is why I will take officers.”
“And I'll take security.”
“You will not interfere with my investigation.”
Lorenzo's voice cooled.
“Then don't interfere with my people.”
Elara stepped between them.
“Both of you stop.”
They turned.
“Detective, we need the evidence. Lorenzo, you need to stop treating every disagreement like a challenge to your authority.”
Lorenzo's jaw tightened.
Collins looked faintly amused.
Elara continued.
“If we spend another hour arguing about who gets to give orders, whoever killed my mother will have another hour to destroy the truth.”
That settled the matter.
At dusk, the group reached the abandoned ferry terminal.
The building stood behind a chain-link fence, its windows dark and its sign half-erased by years of weather. Police officers spread out along the perimeter while Lorenzo's security team checked the service entrance.
Elara held the brass key in her palm.
She could hear her heartbeat.
“Are you ready?” Lorenzo asked.
“No.”
“Good. Neither am I.”
It was the most honest thing he had said all day.
They descended a narrow staircase into the lower storage area. The air smelled of rust and damp concrete. Rows of old lockers lined the wall.
Locker 1904 stood at the far end.
Elara inserted the key.
It turned.
Inside was a metal case wrapped in plastic.
She lifted it carefully.
For a moment, she felt her mother beside her—not as a ghost, but as a woman who had refused to let fear erase the truth.
The case contained shipping manifests, bank statements, a small voice recorder, and a sealed envelope addressed to Elara.
Before she could open it, a gunshot echoed from the upper floor.
“Down!” Lorenzo shouted.
He pulled her behind a concrete pillar as officers rushed toward the stairs.
Another shot rang out.
Then a voice called from above.
“Put the case on the floor, Moretti!”
Lorenzo drew his weapon.
“Who are you?”
“You know exactly who I am.”
A man appeared at the top of the staircase.
Victor Sloane.
He held a gun in one hand and a small remote in the other.
“Give me the case,” he said, “or this building becomes a tomb.”
Detective Collins aimed her weapon.
“Drop it, Sloane!”
He smiled.
“You think you can arrest me?”
Then he pressed the remote.
A red light began blinking beneath the staircase.
Elara looked down.
A bundle of wires had been taped to a support beam.
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The timer displayed forty-seven seconds.
And beside it lay a photograph of Toby sleeping in the Moretti residence.
