Chapter 3 - MY OWN BOSS TURNED OUT TO BE THE MAFIA FAMILY’S SECRET HEIR—AND WHEN THE KILLER DEMANDED MATTEO IN EXCHANGE FOR HIS LIFE, I DISCOVERED THE BODYGUARD JOB HAD NEVER BEEN AN ACCIDENT
Martin Varro was Sofia DeLuca's son.
My employer.
A forty-eight-year-old security specialist who had spent twenty-three years protecting other people's families without knowing exactly why his own had disappeared.
Or perhaps knowing more than he'd admitted.
I called Varro's office.
No answer.
His apartment.
Nothing.
His deputy said Martin had left the previous evening after receiving an anonymous message.
I turned to Sofia.
“When did you contact him?”
“I didn't.”
“Did he know?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
She hesitated.
Bad sign.
“Sofia.”
“Three years ago I found him.”
Lorenzo swore.
“You said you didn't know where he was.”
“I lied.”
Matteo stared at his aunt.
“Why?”
“Because look at what happened the moment Gabriel found out!”
Her voice broke.
“I watched my father erase my child once.”
“I wasn't going to let this family take him again.”
Lorenzo looked wounded.
“You thought I would?”
“I didn't know.”
“You're my sister.”
“And Martin is my son.”
Silence.
That was the problem with families built around power.
Everyone demanded loyalty.
Nobody felt safe enough to trust it.
I asked:
“Did Martin know you were his mother?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Three years.”
“And the security contract?”
“He took it because of Matteo.”
Matteo frowned.
“Why?”
“Because he learned about the threats.”
I felt anger rise.
“So he sent me here knowing there might be an internal conspiracy?”
Sofia shook her head.
“He intended to send his best officer.”
“Who broke his leg.”
“Yes.”
“And the replacement got food poisoning.”
“Yes.”
I stared.
Matteo looked at me.
“You think that wasn't accidental.”
“I think I've stopped believing in convenient accidents.”
We checked.
The broken leg was real.
Motorcycle accident.
Probably unrelated.
The food poisoning wasn't.
Only one member of the replacement officer's family became sick.
His meal had been delivered anonymously.
Someone had wanted Varro's preferred personnel unavailable.
Why?
To force a weaker substitute?
If so, they had made a terrible mistake.
Me.
I called the restaurant where the meal originated.
Cash order.
Fake name.
Security footage showed the buyer.
A DeLuca employee.
Not Gabriel.
A woman.
I showed the image to Lorenzo.
His face went still.
“Who?”
“Teresa.”
Matteo looked shocked.
“Grandma's nurse?”
Lorenzo nodded.
Teresa Bellini had cared for Lorenzo's mother during the final seven years of her life.
After his mother died, Lorenzo kept Teresa on the family payroll.
She now supervised household medical staff.
Trusted.
Invisible.
Family without the name.
“Where is she?”
Nobody knew.
Again.
We searched Teresa's room at the estate.
Nothing.
Then I noticed a photograph.
Teresa as a young woman.
Beside her stood Gabriel.
They were holding hands.
Lorenzo stared.
“I never knew.”
Sofia did.
Her silence betrayed her.
Lorenzo turned.
“You knew?”
“Years ago.”
“How?”
“Mother knew.”
“And said nothing?”
“She made Teresa promise to end it.”
“Why?”
Sofia laughed bitterly.
“Because Father would never allow Gabriel to marry a nurse's daughter.”
Old sins.
Again.
Every secret in this family seemed to have been created by somebody deciding reputation mattered more than truth.
We found letters.
Gabriel and Teresa had continued their relationship for decades.
Secretly.
They had a daughter.
Isabella.
Thirty-one.
The shell company that upgraded Carlo's security system belonged to her.
There it was.
Gabriel had not acted alone.
He had built a hidden family inside the visible one.
A second bloodline.
A second claim.
A second empire.
Matteo sat heavily.
“So Uncle Gabriel wants me dead because of money?”
Lorenzo answered:
“Not only money.”
I looked at him.
He understood before the rest of us.
“Recognition.”
Gabriel had spent his life as Lorenzo's younger brother.
Less respected.
Less powerful.
His relationship rejected.
His daughter hidden.
Then their father left control to Lorenzo's line.
Gabriel had waited decades.
Now he intended to erase that line and rebuild the family around his own.
Sofia whispered:
“And Martin?”
“Another competing heir,” I said.
My phone rang.
Gabriel.
I answered.
“Mia Callaway.”
A man's voice laughed.
“The little guard.”
“Old insult.”
“You've caused me trouble.”
“Send a complaint to Varro.”
“Martin isn't taking calls.”
I looked at the photograph of my boss tied to the chair.
“What do you want?”
“You know.”
“Matteo.”
“Midnight.”
“Old DeLuca shipyard.”
“No police.”
“No trackers.”
“No Lorenzo.”
“Just you and Matteo.”
“Why me?”
“Because he trusts you.”
I looked at Matteo.
Too much truth in that sentence.
Gabriel continued.
“And because I'd like to meet the woman who ruined six months of planning by noticing a draft.”
He hung up.
Matteo said:
“I’m going.”
“No.”
“You don't get to decide.”
“Correct.”
I looked at him.
“But you hired me to advise you about staying alive.”
“And?”
“My professional advice is that walking into your homicidal uncle's shipyard is poor risk management.”
“Martin came here because of me.”
“Martin came because he's part of this family.”
“He's still there because of me.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“He's there because Gabriel kidnapped him.”
“Stop taking responsibility for choices criminals make.”
Matteo stared.
Something about the words affected him.
“Is that advice for me?”
“Yes.”
“Or yourself?”
I frowned.
He knew more about me than I realized.
Years earlier, my younger brother Ethan had been killed during a robbery.
I had been supposed to pick him up from work.
I was late.
He walked home.
Wrong street.
Wrong minute.
Wrong man with a gun.
I became a protection officer because of that night.
Some part of me still believed that if I became skilled enough, alert enough, fast enough, nobody near me would ever die again.
Impossible standard.
Matteo knew.
He had read my file too.
I looked away.
“Both.”
He touched my hand.
Not romantic.
Not yet.
Just human.
“We'll get Martin.”
“Yes.”
“But intelligently.”
“Yes.”
Lorenzo entered.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
His expression hardened.
“That's my brother.”
“Which is exactly why you're not coming.”
“You work for me.”
“Technically I work for Matteo.”
Matteo smiled.
“She's right.”
Lorenzo looked betrayed.
I continued.
“Gabriel wants you emotional.”
“He wants you there.”
“That's why he said don't come.”
Lorenzo understood.
Reverse psychology.
“Then what?”
“We make him believe Matteo and I are alone.”
We coordinated with federal agents.
Carlo, recovering in hospital, provided old shipyard blueprints.
There were underground loading tunnels.
Of course there were.
Apparently the DeLucas had never met a building they couldn't put a secret tunnel under.
At 11:47 p.m., Matteo and I entered.
He wore body armor.
So did I.
“Stay behind me.”
“You're half my size.”
I stopped.
He smiled.
“Sorry.”
“Say it again and I shoot you myself.”
“You're charming under pressure.”
“Focus.”
We found Martin tied inside warehouse four.
Gabriel stood behind him.
Teresa beside him.
And a woman I recognized from the shell-company photograph.
Isabella.
Gabriel's daughter.
Matteo looked at her.
“Cousin?”
Isabella smiled sadly.
“Apparently.”
Gabriel held a gun.
“Welcome.”
Martin looked at me.
“Mia.”
“Boss.”
“You weren't supposed to get this assignment.”
“I gathered.”
“Sorry.”
“Performance review later.”
Even tied to a chair, he laughed.
Gabriel frowned.
“This is touching.”
Matteo stepped forward.
“Let him go.”
Gabriel smiled.
“You sound like Lorenzo.”
“I'll recover.”
“You don't understand what your father stole.”
“Then explain.”
Gabriel's expression changed.
“Our father built everything with both sons.”
“But Lorenzo got control.”
“You got money.”
“I got scraps.”
“Hundreds of millions are scraps?”
“When your brother gets billions, yes.”
There it was.
The grievance.
Not poverty.
Comparison.
Gabriel continued.
“And when I loved Teresa, Father threatened to destroy her family.”
“So you hid.”
“We survived.”
Teresa's eyes filled.
“Our daughter grew up without my name.”
Matteo looked at Isabella.
“Did you want me dead?”
Her expression faltered.
Gabriel answered:
“She understands necessity.”
I watched Isabella.
“No.”
Everyone looked at me.
“She doesn't.”
Gabriel's eyes narrowed.
I continued.
“She hasn't looked at Matteo once.”
“She's looking at the exits.”
“She's terrified.”
Isabella stared at me.
Gabriel raised his weapon.
“Be quiet.”
I smiled.
“Your daughter didn't poison the guard.”
Teresa's face changed.
I was guessing.
But good security work often involved educated guesses.
I continued.
“You did.”
I looked at Teresa.
“You've spent decades protecting Gabriel.”
“You sabotaged Varro's replacement.”
“Isabella built the camera system because you told her it was legitimate consulting.”
Isabella began crying.
Gabriel shouted:
“Enough!”
There.
I was right.
Matteo moved slightly.
Gabriel pointed the gun at him.
Martin shouted.
I saw Isabella's hand move.
She hit an emergency switch.
Lights died.
I moved.
Two shots.
A scream.
Matteo tackled Martin's chair.
I hit Teresa's weapon away.
Federal agents breached through the loading tunnel.
Gabriel ran.
Lorenzo appeared from the opposite side.
I swore.
He had ignored the plan.
Of course.
Gabriel stopped when he saw his brother.
For thirty years of resentment, neither man spoke.
Then Gabriel aimed at Lorenzo.
Matteo shouted:
“Dad!”
I fired.
My bullet struck Gabriel's shoulder.
His gun spun away.
Agents tackled him.
Teresa surrendered.
Isabella raised both hands.
Martin survived.
Matteo survived.
Lorenzo survived.
Nobody I was protecting died.
For the first time since Ethan's death, I felt something loosen inside my chest.
Outside, ambulances waited.
Matteo sat on the rear bumper of one.
I approached.
“You hurt?”
“Pride.”
“Fatal?”
“Possibly.”
I checked his vest.
One bullet had struck the plate.
My stomach dropped.
“You were hit.”
“I noticed.”
My hands began shaking.
Matteo saw.
“Mia.”
“I’m fine.”
“No.”
He stood.
“You're not.”
I looked at the damaged armor.
One inch higher.
One angle different.
He could have died.
My breathing changed.
Matteo took my hands.
“Look at me.”
I did.
“I'm alive.”
“I know.”
“You did your job.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you crying?”
I hadn't realized I was.
“Because sometimes doing everything right still isn't enough.”
Matteo's expression softened.
“No.”
He squeezed my hands.
“But tonight it was.”
Behind us Lorenzo watched.
For once, he said nothing.
Then Matteo leaned closer.
Very slowly.
Giving me every chance to move.
I whispered:
“Don't.”
He stopped instantly.
Not offended.
Not angry.
“Okay.”
I swallowed.
“I'm your bodyguard.”
“I know.”
“This is complicated.”
“I know.”
“I almost watched you die.”
“I know.”
I looked at him.
“You say that a lot.”
“You're frightening.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
He smiled.
“We wait.”
“For what?”
“Until you're not responsible for keeping me alive.”
“And then?”
His smile changed.
May you like
“Then I'll ask again.”
For the first time in years, the thought of a future frightened me in a way I didn't hate.
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