Chapter 5 - The Traitor at My TableI stared at Rafael Conti.
“Say that again.”
He looked toward Nico, then back at me.
“Your mother helped them get to Antonio.”
I crossed the room in three strides and slammed my palm against the table.
“Give me one reason not to put a bullet through your head.”
“Because I know where Dominic Moretti is.”
Nobody moved.
Even Ellie, who had been quietly arranging screws on the sofa, lifted her head.
Rafael took a breath.
“Twenty-six years ago, the family announced Dominic's death after a fire destroyed his country house. Your father attended the funeral. So did Vittorio. So did your mother. But the body was never properly identified.”
“I attended that funeral.”
“You were twelve. You saw a closed coffin. You saw your uncle cry. You saw people lower a box into the ground. None of that proves Dominic was inside it.”
I wanted to dismiss him.
I wanted to tell myself that a traitor would invent anything to save his life.
But my father had taught me never to ignore a fact simply because it made the world less comfortable.
“Continue.”
Rafael rubbed his jaw.
“Dominic arranged a private meeting with Antonio on the night he died. Your mother knew about it. She opened the western gate at the estate, allowing Dominic's men to enter without triggering the outer security system.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I was there.”
His answer landed heavily.
“You were working for my father.”
“Yes.”
“And you watched him die?”
Rafael lowered his eyes.
“I heard the gunshots. By the time I reached the room, Antonio was bleeding on the floor. Your mother stood beside him. Dominic had already disappeared.”
“Did she shoot him?”
“I never saw her pull the trigger.”
“Then why accuse her?”
“Because she was the only person in the room when I arrived.”
That was not an answer. It was an accusation disguised as one.
I pulled Rafael's phone from his pocket and handed it to Nico.
“Check every message, every call, every contact. If he's lying, I want to know who taught him.”
Nico took the phone.
Rafael suddenly looked frightened.
“You don't understand, Lorenzo. Dominic isn't the only person you need to fear. Vittorio has been preparing for your death for years.”
“Why would my uncle want me dead?”
“Because your father left you something more valuable than money.”
I looked at the pocket watch on the table.
“The evidence?”
Rafael shook his head.
“The authority to dismantle the organization.”
My father had written his succession documents before his death. I knew that. I had inherited his title, his properties, and his place at the head of the family.
But Rafael was suggesting that Antonio had also left instructions that could strip Vittorio of everything.
“Where are those instructions?”
“In the family crypt.”
I turned toward Nico.
“Bring a car.”
Samuel rose unsteadily.
“I am coming with you.”
“No.”
“Your father trusted me for a reason.”
“And someone used that trust to threaten your family.”
Samuel looked at Ellie.
“I have spent eighteen years living with the consequences of staying silent. I'm not leaving you to face them alone.”
Ellie tugged on my sleeve.
“Can I come too?”
“Absolutely not.”
She frowned.
“Then you'll probably miss the important part.”
For the first time that night, Nico almost smiled.
I didn't.
But I remembered the false backing, the hidden mechanism, and the fact that three expert watchmakers had failed to discover what a seven-year-old noticed in seconds.
“Fine,” I said. “But you stay beside Samuel and do exactly what I tell you.”
Ellie nodded solemnly.
Twenty minutes later, we entered the private grounds surrounding the Duca family crypt.
The marble statues looked ghostly beneath the security lights. My father's grave stood beside those of his parents. Dominic Moretti's name was engraved on a smaller black tombstone at the far end of the garden.
I crouched beside it.
The date of death was carved beneath his name.
Twenty-six years earlier.
Something bothered me.
The stone was too clean.
Every other tomb had darkened with age, its lettering softened by rain and moss. Dominic's inscription looked fresh enough to have been carved yesterday.
“Samuel.”
He examined the lettering, then ran his fingers over the edge.
“This stone was replaced.”
“When?”
He shook his head.
“Recently.”
Nico called two guards over, and within minutes we had removed enough soil to discover the edge of a concrete slab beneath the grave.
There was no coffin.
No remains.
Only a narrow metal box sealed inside the foundation.
Inside the box lay a photograph, a folded letter, and a small cassette recorder.
The photograph showed my father sitting in a hospital bed, pale and exhausted. Beside him stood my mother.
On the back were four words.
SHE DID NOT KILL ME.
My breath caught.
I opened the letter.
The handwriting was unmistakably Antonio's.
Lorenzo, if you have found this, then the man who betrayed me has returned, and the family has begun eating itself alive.
Do not mistake guilt for murder. Do not mistake loyalty for innocence.
Your mother made a terrible choice to save you. I forgave her before I died.
But there is one secret I could never tell her.
Dominic is alive.
I lowered the letter.
Samuel covered his mouth.
Nico stared at the empty grave.
Then the cassette recorder began to play.
A man's voice crackled through its tiny speaker.
My father's voice.
“Lorenzo, if you're listening to this, there's a chance I failed to protect you.”
I stopped breathing.
The recording continued.
“Your uncle will tell you that Dominic betrayed us. He will tell you that I died because I was too weak to defend the family.”
A pause.
Then my father said the words that changed everything.
“Vittorio did not order my death. He ordered yours.”
A gunshot rang out from the entrance to the crypt.
Nico shouted, and I dragged Ellie behind the stone monument.
Through the trees, a figure stood beneath the security lights.
He wore a long black coat and held a silver-topped cane.
The man turned toward us.
Even from a distance, I recognized the scar above his left eyebrow.
Dominic Moretti lifted his hand in a small, almost affectionate greeting.
Then he smiled.
“Hello, Lorenzo.”
He tapped his cane against the marble path.
“Your father always said you would grow into a difficult man.”
Another shot struck the monument above my head.
Dominic stepped backward into the shadows.
“But he was wrong about one thing.”
His smile widened.
May you like
“You grew into exactly the man I needed.”
Then every light in the cemetery went dark.
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