Chapter 2 - THE FEMALE BODYGUARD SAVED THE MAFIA HEIR FROM HIS OWN SECURITY SYSTEM—THEN A SECRET WILL REVEALED WHICH FAMILY MEMBER WOULD BECOME A BILLIONAIRE IF HE DIED
By sunrise, half the DeLuca estate looked like a war zone.
Three attackers were dead.
Two were arrested.
Carlo survived surgery.
Gabriel DeLuca was nowhere to be found.
And Lorenzo had stopped asking whether I belonged.
At 6:18 a.m., he entered the temporary security room where I was reviewing footage.
“You're hired.”
I looked up.
“My trial ends at seven.”
“You're hired.”
“Salary?”
His eyebrows rose.
“You negotiate now?”
“You're vulnerable.”
Matteo, sitting nearby with coffee, nearly choked.
Lorenzo stared.
Then named a number.
I named a higher one.
He accepted.
Matteo smiled.
“Dad likes you.”
“Your father looks like he wants to bury me under the patio.”
“That's practically affection.”
Lorenzo ignored us.
“What have you found?”
I pointed at the monitor.
“The attackers entered through three routes.”
“East service gate.”
“Wine cellar.”
“Chapel tunnel.”
“All blind spots.”
“Yes.”
“Carlo designed the cameras.”
“He did.”
“Then why don't you think he's involved?”
I rewound footage.
“Because somebody altered his system.”
A camera feed repeated the same twelve-second sequence.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Looped footage.
“Carlo is old-school,” I said.
“His security architecture is good, but his digital habits aren't.”
Matteo smiled.
“He writes passwords on paper.”
“Exactly.”
Lorenzo frowned.
“So?”
“Whoever did this understands his system better than he does.”
I displayed access records.
“Six months ago, an outside contractor upgraded the digital control layer.”
Lorenzo read the name.
“Vescari Integrated.”
“Carlo's nephew?”
“His company.”
I shook my head.
“Shell company.”
Matteo leaned closer.
“Owned by?”
“Working on it.”
Lorenzo said:
“Gabriel?”
“Too obvious.”
He stared.
“You think my brother isn't behind it?”
“I think Carlo's last words were designed to point us toward motive.”
“That's different from evidence.”
Matteo looked at me.
“Yesterday you accused Carlo.”
“I investigated Carlo.”
“Difference?”
“Accusations want to be right.”
“Investigations want the truth.”
Lorenzo went quiet.
That morning his attorneys arrived.
The trust documents confirmed Carlo's warning.
Matteo held twenty-two percent of DeLuca Consolidated in a trust established by his grandfather.
At thirty, the shares became fully his.
If Matteo died before then without a spouse or child, those shares transferred to Gabriel.
Their value exceeded $900 million.
Motive.
Massive motive.
But something bothered me.
“Why now?”
Lorenzo looked at me.
“Matteo turns thirty in four years.”
“Exactly.”
“If Gabriel wanted the shares, why wait until twenty-six?”
Silence.
Matteo leaned back.
“Something changed.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
We found out at noon.
Matteo had quietly requested a change to the trust three months earlier.
He wanted his shares placed into an employee foundation if he died.
The request had not been finalized.
Only four people knew.
Matteo.
His attorney.
Lorenzo.
And Lorenzo's sister, Sofia.
Not Gabriel.
At least officially.
I stared at the list.
“Who told Gabriel?”
Lorenzo's expression hardened.
“You assume he knows.”
“The threats began one month after Matteo requested the change.”
Coincidence was possible.
I didn't like it.
Matteo said:
“Aunt Sofia wouldn't.”
Lorenzo looked at his son.
“You don't know that.”
“You do?”
“No.”
That afternoon Sofia arrived.
She was fifty-one.
Elegant.
Widowed.
Sharp enough to make everyone else in the room seem slightly underprepared.
She hugged Matteo.
Then Lorenzo.
Then looked at me.
“You're the guard.”
“Mia Callaway.”
“You're smaller than I expected.”
I sighed.
“Does this family purchase personality traits wholesale?”
Matteo laughed.
Sofia smiled.
“I like her.”
Lorenzo said:
“Apparently everyone does.”
“Except you?”
He didn't answer.
Sofia sat.
When Lorenzo told her about the trust leak, she went pale.
“I told nobody.”
“Not Gabriel?”
“Especially not Gabriel.”
“Why especially?”
She looked at Matteo.
Then at Lorenzo.
“Because Gabriel asked me about the trust.”
Silence.
“When?”
“Five weeks ago.”
There it was.
“What did you tell him?”
“That it was none of his business.”
“Did he know Matteo wanted changes?”
“He implied it.”
Matteo swore.
Sofia continued.
“He said Father never should have given Matteo so much.”
Lorenzo's face hardened.
“He's said that for twenty years.”
“Yes.”
“But this time he said something else.”
“What?”
Sofia looked at Matteo.
“He said blood should return to blood before outsiders inherit what belongs to us.”
I felt something shift.
“Outsiders?”
Matteo frowned.
“I don't have a spouse.”
“Or children,” Sofia said.
“Then who is the outsider?”
Nobody knew.
I spent the afternoon following money.
Not my specialty.
But security is often less about bullets than patterns.
Gabriel had debt.
Huge debt.
Hidden behind corporations.
Gambling.
Failed investments.
Private loans.
He needed Matteo's shares.
That made sense.
Too much sense.
Then Carlo woke.
We visited the hospital.
He looked furious about being alive.
“Next time,” he rasped, “wear a vest.”
Lorenzo almost smiled.
“You're criticizing my wardrobe?”
“I've done it thirty years.”
I stood near the door.
Carlo looked at me.
“You.”
“Me.”
“You thought I betrayed them.”
“Yes.”
“Idiot.”
“Your security had holes large enough to drive a truck through.”
He glared.
I continued.
“You're lucky I'm polite.”
Matteo laughed.
Carlo actually smiled.
Then he became serious.
“The radio voice.”
“Cloned.”
“Yes.”
“Who had access?”
Carlo looked at Lorenzo.
“Your brother asked for copies of the estate plans eight months ago.”
“Why?”
“Said he was renovating his property.”
Lorenzo's face hardened.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“You trusted him.”
“That isn't an answer.”
Carlo's eyes sharpened.
“It is when you work for Lorenzo DeLuca.”
Lorenzo went silent.
Interesting.
Carlo continued.
“You don't like people questioning family.”
That sentence stayed with me.
After we left, I asked Lorenzo:
“Is that true?”
“What?”
“You don't tolerate questions about family.”
“My family has survived because loyalty matters.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“Excuse me?”
“You nearly lost your son because loyalty mattered more than scrutiny.”
His expression darkened.
“Careful.”
“No.”
Matteo stopped walking.
I continued.
“You dismissed me because I was a woman.”
“You defended Carlo because he'd served you twenty-seven years.”
“You don't want to believe Gabriel could hurt Matteo because he's your brother.”
“You keep using loyalty as a substitute for evidence.”
Lorenzo stepped closer.
“You've known us two days.”
“And someone almost murdered your son on day one.”
Silence.
Matteo looked between us.
Then said quietly:
“She's right.”
Lorenzo turned.
Matteo continued.
“You trust history.”
“Not people.”
“You assume someone who's been loyal will stay loyal.”
“And someone who's disappointed you will always be a threat.”
Lorenzo looked at his son.
Something old passed between them.
“What does that mean?”
Matteo looked away.
“Nothing.”
“Matteo.”
“Leave it.”
“No.”
I stepped between them verbally.
“Family therapy later.”
Both men looked at me.
“We have a fugitive billionaire.”
That evening, we moved Matteo to a secure apartment in Manhattan.
Only five people knew the location.
Lorenzo.
Me.
Matteo.
Two federal contacts.
No DeLuca guards.
At midnight, someone knocked.
Three short.
Two long.
Matteo reached for his weapon.
I checked the camera.
Sofia.
Alone.
I opened the door only after verifying the hallway.
She entered carrying a leather folder.
“I found something.”
Inside were old trust documents.
Twenty-seven years old.
Matteo's grandfather had amended his will shortly before dying.
One paragraph had been removed from the current family copy.
Sofia had found the original.
Lorenzo read it.
His face changed.
“What?”
Matteo asked.
Lorenzo didn't answer.
I took the document.
The paragraph concerned inheritance if Lorenzo's line ended.
But beside it was another provision.
A sealed paternity acknowledgment.
I looked up.
“Who is Julian DeLuca?”
Nobody answered.
Sofia sat down.
“My son.”
Matteo stared.
“You don't have a son.”
Sofia began crying.
“Yes.”
“I do.”
Twenty-seven years earlier, Sofia had become pregnant.
Unmarried.
The father was a prosecutor.
A DeLuca enemy.
Her father forced her to give the baby up.
Officially, the child died shortly after birth.
He didn't.
He was adopted.
His name changed.
Nobody knew where he was.
Except Gabriel.
Sofia whispered:
“He found him.”
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“Who is he?”
She looked at me.
“I don't know his current name.”
I stared at the inheritance clause.
If Matteo died before thirty and Sofia's biological son was legally recognized—
Gabriel wouldn't inherit.
The shares would split.
So why kill Matteo?
Unless Gabriel intended to eliminate both heirs.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A photograph loaded.
A man tied to a chair.
Blood on his face.
Behind him stood Gabriel.
The message read:
BRING MATTEO TO THE OLD SHIPYARD OR HIS COUSIN DIES.
Matteo stared at the photograph.
Then at Sofia.
She covered her mouth.
I zoomed in.
The hostage looked familiar.
Very familiar.
I had seen him two days earlier.
At Varro Security Agency.
Standing behind the reception desk.
The man who had called me after the original guard broke his leg.
Martin Varro.
My boss.
Sofia whispered:
“That's him.”
And suddenly I understood why Varro Security had received the DeLuca contract in the first place.
May you like
Martin hadn't accidentally sent me into this family.
He had sent me because he already knew exactly who they were.
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