Chapter 4 - The Photograph of a Dead ManWe escaped through a maintenance tunnel beneath the clock chamber.
Nico found the passage behind a collapsed shelf while the gunmen searched the stairs. The tunnel emerged near the river, where the rain had turned the ground into black mud.
One of my men had been shot in the shoulder. Another was missing.
I didn't stop to find out whether the missing man was dead or had simply run.
At that moment, survival came first.
I carried Ellie through the muddy passage until we reached the waiting car. She didn't cry. She didn't ask whether anyone had been hurt.
She only clutched her grandfather's sleeve.
That frightened me more than tears would have.
When we reached the warehouse, Nico locked the doors and began treating the wounded captain.
I spread the documents from the clock tower across the table.
The photograph of Dominic Moretti sat in the center.
The man looked almost exactly as I remembered him. The scar above his eyebrow. The expensive suit. The faint smile that never quite reached his eyes.
When I was a child, Dominic used to give me silver coins whenever he visited our house. My mother called him a loyal friend. My father called him the finest negotiator in Philadelphia.
Now his face stared at me from a photograph that suggested he had orchestrated the bloodiest betrayal in our family's history.
“Find the grave,” I told Nico.
He nodded.
“Already on it.”
“No. Find the records, the witnesses, the coffin, everything. I want proof that Dominic ever died.”
Nico hesitated.
“There's something else.”
I looked up.
“The captain who attacked us used a family communications code. Only four people know the current sequence. You, me, Vittorio, and the head of security.”
“What's his name?”
“Rafael Conti.”
I remembered Rafael. He had served my father before serving me. He had helped me learn to shoot when I was sixteen and had taken a bullet through his coat during an ambush meant for me three years ago.
He had been loyal.
Or he had been patient.
“Bring him in.”
Nico left.
I turned toward Samuel.
“Tell me about my mother.”
He rubbed his face.
“Your mother, Isabella, was terrified after your father died. She believed the family would turn against itself. For months, she tried to persuade Vittorio to let her take you away.”
“Why didn't she?”
“Because she received the same threats I did.”
I stared at the documents.
“Did she know my father was murdered?”
Samuel didn't answer immediately.
That was answer enough.
I felt something inside me harden.
My mother had spent eighteen years telling me that the past was gone and that I should focus on building the family my father had left behind.
Every time I asked about his death, she changed the subject.
Every time I mentioned Dominic, she became strangely quiet.
I had thought she was grieving.
Perhaps she had been afraid.
Perhaps she had known exactly who killed him.
My phone rang.
It was my mother.
I answered without greeting.
“Lorenzo, where are you?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“Vittorio says you've been investigating your father's death.”
“He says a lot of things.”
“You need to stop.”
The urgency in her voice was unmistakable.
I looked at the photograph.
“Did Dominic Moretti die twenty-six years ago?”
Silence.
Then a sharp intake of breath.
“Who told you that name?”
“Answer me.”
My mother began to cry.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
It was a small, broken sound, as though she had spent years trying to keep it trapped inside her chest.
“Your father loved you,” she whispered.
I gripped the phone.
“That's not an answer.”
“No. It's the only thing you need to remember.”
“Did Dominic kill him?”
The line went quiet.
Then she said, “If you've found the watch, don't trust the film.”
Before I could ask what she meant, the call ended.
I immediately called her back.
The number was unreachable.
Nico returned ten minutes later with Rafael Conti.
Rafael walked into the room with his hands raised, visibly confused.
“You wanted me?”
I studied his face.
“Where were you tonight?”
“At home. Why?”
I slid the photograph across the table.
His expression didn't change.
But his right hand moved toward his jacket.
Nico drew his weapon.
“Don't,” I warned.
Rafael slowly raised his hands.
“Boss, whatever this is, I can explain.”
“Then explain Dominic Moretti.”
His face lost its color.
For a moment, the warehouse became so silent I could hear the rain dripping from the gutters outside.
Rafael glanced at Samuel.
Then at Ellie.
Finally, he looked at me with something that resembled pity.
“You've opened a door your father spent his life trying to keep shut.”
“What was behind it?”
Rafael swallowed.
“Your uncle isn't the man who killed Antonio.”
I stood.
“Then who was?”
May you like
He looked directly at me.
“Your mother.”
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