Chapter 4 - THE MAN WHO KNEW THE ROUTE
Sofie screamed.
I dropped to my knees and pulled her against me.
The darkness was absolute.
Then emergency lights flickered red along the floor.
Lorenzo’s voice cut through the panic.
“Everyone stay where you are.”
His tone was different now.
Not loud.
Commanding.
Guards moved around us.
I heard weapons being drawn but could see only shadows.
Enzo killed the recorder.
A security officer spoke into his radio.
“Power failure across the building.”
“Backup?” Lorenzo asked.
“Should have switched automatically.”
“Meaning?”
“It was disabled.”
Of course it was.
Nothing about that night happened by accident.
Lorenzo crouched beside us.
“Sofie.”
She buried her face against my neck.
“I don’t like red.”
“I know.”
“It looks scary.”
He took out his phone and turned on the flashlight.
White light filled the small space.
“Better?”
She nodded.
“Good.”
Then he handed me the phone.
“Keep this.”
“What are you doing?”
“Getting you out.”
“Where?”
“Vehicle.”
“And you?”
His eyes shifted toward the dark corridor.
“Finding out why Sorrento wants this box.”
I grabbed his sleeve.
“No.”
His gaze dropped to my hand.
“You don’t get to walk into darkness because you think that’s what men like you are supposed to do.”
His expression sharpened.
“This is not the time.”
“This is exactly the time.”
“Clara.”
“Matteo already died trying to handle this alone.”
That stopped him.
I lowered my voice.
“Sofie has one uncle. Don’t make her lose him on the first day.”
He stared at me.
Then at Sofie.
Her small hand had reached toward him without either of us noticing.
“Uncle Lorenzo?”
His entire face changed.
“Yes?”
“Come with us.”
He looked toward the corridor once more.
Then he made a decision that clearly offended every instinct he possessed.
“All right.”
Enzo almost smiled.
“Miracles continue.”
Lorenzo glared at him.
“Enjoy retirement.”
“Noted.”
We moved as a group toward the emergency exit.
Two guards ahead.
Two behind.
Sofie between Lorenzo and me.
We made it halfway down the corridor when the steel fire door slammed shut behind us.
A second door dropped at the far end.
Trapped.
One guard cursed.
Lorenzo looked at the ceiling.
“Remote fire control?”
“Yes.”
“Can Sorrento access it?”
“With an administrative token.”
Enzo exhaled.
“He kept his.”
“Why?”
“He was never removed from legacy systems after your father died.”
Lorenzo’s look could have shattered glass.
“That changes tomorrow.”
“If there is a tomorrow,” I muttered.
He heard me.
“There will be.”
The ventilation system stopped.
Silence filled the corridor.
Then smoke began curling beneath the far door.
My stomach dropped.
“No.”
Sofie coughed.
Lorenzo was already moving.
“That’s not a fire.”
“How do you know?”
“No heat.”
Enzo sniffed.
“Smoke canister.”
The guards covered Sofie’s face with a cloth and moved us toward the opposite wall.
A metallic bang sounded from behind the door.
Then another.
Someone was trying to force entry.
Lorenzo looked at the storage locker.
“Case.”
Enzo grabbed it.
“Matteo’s recording?”
“I have the drive.”
“The original?”
“In my coat.”
Lorenzo nodded.
Then he looked at me.
“If that door opens, you stay behind me.”
“I hate that sentence.”
“You can hate it later.”
“Boss,” one guard warned.
The lock sparked.
Sofie began crying.
Not loudly.
That was worse.
She had learned young that fear should be quiet.
I hated that I had taught her.
I crouched.
“Look at me.”
Her eyes found mine.
“What do we do when thunder is loud?”
“Count.”
“Good. Count to ten.”
“One.”
Metal screamed.
“Two.”
The door bent inward.
“Three.”
Lorenzo stood between us and whoever was coming through.
“Four.”
The door opened six inches.
A hand reached through.
One of the guards slammed it back.
“Five.”
A shout came from the other side.
“Six.”
Then headlights flooded the lower loading bay beyond the small side window.
Sirens followed.
Real sirens.
The men outside the door stopped.
Lorenzo looked at Enzo.
“You called police?”
“No.”
I remembered Pike.
The maintenance man Lorenzo had ordered turned over to police.
A report.
A record.
A chain outside Duca control.
The officers must have traced the surveillance work order to the marina subsidiary after receiving the seized device data.
The thing everyone in Lorenzo’s world would have considered a weakness had just saved us.
He understood it too.
The door outside banged open.
“Chicago Police!”
The pressure against our fire door disappeared.
Lorenzo let out one breath.
Sofie reached ten.
“Ten.”
He crouched in front of her.
“You won.”
She sniffed.
“What?”
“The counting.”
“That’s not a game.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“It wasn’t.”
Police detained two men in the loading bay.
Neither was Paul Sorrento.
Both carried temporary contractor badges issued that afternoon.
The paperwork came from Duca Residential Systems.
Again.
By sunrise, Lorenzo’s mansion had become part fortress, part crime scene, and part family reunion nobody wanted.
Lawyers arrived.
Detectives came and went.
A federal financial-crimes attorney named Maya Ortiz arrived with two agents after Lorenzo’s counsel disclosed the contents of Box 317.
Vittorio Duca arrived at 8:05 a.m.
That was when the house changed.
He entered the west salon wearing a navy overcoat and an expression of offended concern.
“Lorenzo, I heard police were at the marina.”
His eyes found me.
Then Sofie.
He stopped.
Only for half a second.
But I saw it.
Recognition.
Not curiosity.
Recognition.
Lorenzo saw me see it.
“Uncle,” he said.
Vittorio recovered quickly.
“What is a child doing in the middle of this?”
Sofie was coloring at a side table under Teresa’s supervision.
Vittorio looked at her rabbit.
His face changed again.
Tiny.
Almost invisible.
But I had spent four years studying people for danger.
He knew Benny.
Lorenzo walked toward him.
“Do you know Clara Hayes?”
Vittorio smiled politely.
“I know she works here.”
“Her daughter?”
“No.”
The lie came too smoothly.
Lorenzo’s voice remained calm.
“Look at her.”
Vittorio did.
Sofie looked up at him.
She had Matteo’s mouth.
Matteo’s dark eyebrows.
Matteo’s irritating habit of tilting her head when she did not trust someone.
Vittorio went pale.
“She is Matteo’s daughter,” Lorenzo said.
The room became silent.
Vittorio laughed.
Too quickly.
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“He died four years ago.”
“She is three.”
“Yes, but—”
He stopped.
Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed.
“But what?”
Vittorio looked toward me.
“This woman is obviously trying to exploit the family.”
I stood.
“I never asked this family for a dollar.”
“You entered Lorenzo’s house under false pretenses.”
“To find out who left a threat on my door.”
His face did not change.
That was almost more revealing.
“What threat?”
Lorenzo watched him.
“I didn’t tell you there was a threat.”
Vittorio’s gaze shifted.
“You just did.”
“No,” Lorenzo said. “Clara did.”
The room tightened.
Vittorio’s smile disappeared.
Lorenzo moved closer.
“Why did you say ‘what threat’ as if you expected one?”
“Because she said someone threatened her.”
“She said someone left a threat on her door.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Probably.”
Lorenzo picked up a folder.
“Then you won’t mind giving investigators access to your authorization history at Duca Residential Systems.”
Vittorio stared at him.
“You called investigators?”
“Yes.”
“Outside investigators?”
“Yes.”
“Involving them in family records?”
“Yes.”
The disbelief in Vittorio’s face was genuine.
“You know what your father would say.”
Lorenzo’s voice chilled.
“My father is dead. Matteo is dead. Someone watched a three-year-old sleep because everyone before me was more concerned with family reputation than truth.”
Vittorio glanced at the federal agents.
“This is a mistake.”
“Maybe.”
“You cannot pull the government into private Duca business.”
“I already did.”
A shift went through the older man.
Fear.
Not outrage.
Fear.
Then a detective entered.
“Mr. Duca?”
Lorenzo turned.
“We found Sorrento.”
“Where?”
“His apartment.”
“Alive?”
The detective hesitated.
“No.”
Enzo closed his eyes.
My stomach dropped.
“How?” Lorenzo asked.
“Single gunshot. Preliminary scene suggests suicide.”
Lorenzo’s expression did not change.
The detective continued.
“There was a note.”
“What did it say?”
The detective looked around the room.
Then at Sofie.
“We should discuss it privately.”
“No,” Lorenzo said. “Read it.”
The detective opened his notebook.
“‘I gave Vittorio the route. I did not know he would kill Matteo. I am sorry.’”
Vittorio exploded.
“That is a lie.”
Everyone turned.
He pointed at the detective.
“I had nothing to do with Matteo’s crash.”
Lorenzo’s voice became very quiet.
“No one said crash.”
Vittorio froze.
The detective had said kill.
Not crash.
Lorenzo stepped closer.
“You just did.”
For the first time since I had seen him, Vittorio Duca looked frightened of his nephew.
Then Sofie spoke from the coloring table.
“Mommy?”
I turned.
“What, baby?”
She held up her picture.
Three stick figures.
One small.
Two tall.
The small figure stood between the others holding both hands.
“I drew my family.”
My throat tightened.
“Who is that?”
“That’s you.”
She pointed.
“And me.”
Then the third.
“And Uncle Lorenzo.”
Nobody moved.
Sofie smiled proudly.
Vittorio stared at the picture as if it were more dangerous than all the evidence in Box 317.
Maybe it was.
Because for four years, someone had counted on Matteo Duca’s child being alone.
May you like
She wasn’t anymore.
And Lorenzo knew it.
