Chapter 8 - The Stand-in Father
“Matteo, please!” Isabella shrieked, scrambling forward on her knees, her hands reaching out in pure, primal desperation.
Leo was frozen in Carlo’s grip, his small chest heaving with silent, terrified sobs, his eyes locked onto Isabella. The heavy silver barrel of the revolver pressed brutally against the child’s soft skin.
Matteo didn’t hesitate. He didn’t weigh the cost of his empire against the life of a waitress’s nephew. He didn’t calculate the odds.
He simply opened his hand.
The heavy, suppressed handgun clattered uselessly onto the worn carpet. Matteo kicked it away, raising his empty hands in the air.
“I’m unarmed, Carlo,” Matteo said, his voice perfectly steady, projecting an unnatural calm to keep the older man from panicking and pulling the trigger. “Let the boy go. He’s a child. He has nothing to do with us.”
Carlo smiled, a cruel, triumphant twist of his lips. He looked at Matteo, seeing not a rival boss, but a man who had just surrendered his power for a stranger. “You are exactly like your father, Matteo. Sentimental. Weak. It’s why neither of you were ever fit to rule this family.”
Carlo shoved Leo violently forward.
The boy stumbled, falling hard onto the carpet, but Isabella caught him instantly, wrapping her body entirely around him, shielding him from the line of fire.
Carlo kept the revolver leveled squarely at Matteo’s chest. He looked down at Isabella.
“Where are they, boy?” Carlo snapped. “Where did you hide the papers?”
Leo sniffled, burying his face in Isabella’s shoulder. “In… in my dinosaur backpack. In my room.”
“Go get it,” Carlo ordered Isabella. “And if you try anything, I will put a bullet in Matteo’s heart, and then I will finish the two of you.”
Isabella nodded frantically. She kissed the top of Leo’s head, whispering for him to stay perfectly still. She rose on shaking legs, walked into Leo’s small bedroom, and returned a moment later carrying a bright green dinosaur backpack.
Her hands trembled violently as she unzipped the main compartment. She reached past crayons and a crumpled permission slip, pulling out a thick, folded manila envelope bearing the Rossi family crest.
Carlo’s eyes gleamed with hungry anticipation. “Hand it over.”
Isabella stepped forward, placing the envelope into Carlo’s outstretched hand.
Carlo didn’t lower his gun. He tore the envelope open with his teeth and thumbed through the heavy parchment documents inside. His eyes scanned the legal jargon, the transfer clauses, and finally, the signature at the bottom.
Lorenzo Rossi.
Carlo let out a dark, victorious laugh that echoed off the cheap walls of the apartment.
“At last,” Carlo breathed. “Thirty years of living in Lorenzo’s shadow. Thirty years of doing the dirty work while he played the honorable businessman. It’s finally over.”
Carlo looked at Matteo, his eyes cold and devoid of any familial bond. “I’m sorry, nephew. But a new era requires a clean slate.”
Carlo’s finger tightened on the trigger.
“You might want to read the notary seal on page three, Uncle.”
Matteo’s voice cut through the room, entirely devoid of fear. In fact, he sounded almost… amused.
Carlo frowned, glancing down at the third page of the document. He squinted in the dim light of the apartment.
“What is this?” Carlo muttered.
“Arthur Bennett was a masterful accountant,” Matteo explained calmly, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “But he was also incredibly thorough. You really think he would leave the legitimate transfer of a billion-dollar empire in a child’s toy backpack for eight years?”
Isabella looked up, confused.
Carlo’s face drained of color as he read the fine print at the bottom of the page. It wasn’t a legal transfer of power.
It was a confession. Written and signed by Arthur Bennett, detailing every single one of Carlo’s murders, embezzlements, and betrayals.
“These are fake!” Carlo roared, throwing the papers to the floor in a fit of rage. “Where are the real transfer documents?!”
“You already had them, Carlo,” Matteo smiled, a dark, lethal expression. “The real transfer documents were the ones you brought to the wedding tonight. The ones you tried to trick me into signing. The ones with Arthur Bennett’s signature at the bottom.”
Carlo froze.
“Arthur didn’t hide the real papers in the rosary box,” Matteo continued, his voice ringing with absolute triumph. “He hid a fake in the box to throw you off. Then he took the real transfer papers, forged a fake title over them to make them look like a routine real estate transfer, and slipped them into your own files. You’ve been holding the legal documents that give me full control of the empire for eight years, Carlo. And tonight, you placed them right in front of me.”
Carlo realized he had been played. Outsmarted by a dead accountant and the nephew he despised.
A heavy, authoritative pounding echoed from the shattered doorway.
“Police! Drop the weapon!”
Four heavily armed tactical officers poured into the apartment, weapons raised. Isabella had quietly hit the emergency distress button on her phone while holding Leo in the closet before Carlo found them.
Carlo was surrounded. His master plan was completely destroyed. His legacy was ruined.
But Carlo was not a man who surrendered.
With a roar of pure, desperate rage, Carlo swung his revolver away from Matteo and aimed it directly at the woman who had helped orchestrate his downfall. He aimed at Isabella.
He pulled the trigger.
The deafening crack of the gunshot shattered the air.
Isabella screamed, squeezing her eyes shut, waiting for the impact.
But it never came.
A heavy weight slammed into her, knocking her and Leo safely to the carpet.
Isabella opened her eyes.
Matteo lay across her, his broad shoulders shielding her entirely. He let out a sharp, ragged groan, his hand clutching his upper left shoulder.
May you like
Blood rapidly soaked through his expensive white dress shirt.
He had thrown himself in front of the bullet.
