Chapter 4 - THE ASHES OF LOYALTY
Matteo stood perfectly still, the silence of the studio pressing against his eardrums.
He stared at the exposed canvas. The ledger detailed decades of extortion, bribery, and off-the-books betrayals that could dismantle the Chicago syndicate in a single afternoon.
But the first line—the payout to his mother—was what paralyzed him.
Twenty years ago, Matteo’s father had been killed in a car bombing. The family had blamed a rival faction in New York. They had gone to war over it. Blood had run through the streets for a year.
According to this ledger, Lucia Bellini hadn’t just known about the hit. She had been paid for her silence.
Look at what your mother burned to hide.
Elena’s note felt like a knife twisting in his ribs. Eighteen months ago, the fire at the Bellini warehouse had supposedly been an accident. Matteo had brought this exact painting to Elena to save it, thinking it was a family heirloom.
Lucia had started that fire. She had tried to destroy the ledger hidden beneath the paint, not realizing Matteo would blindly rescue it and hand it to the one woman with the skills to uncover it.
The heavy metal door at the back of the studio clanged loudly.
Matteo spun around, his hand dropping to the holster at his hip.
Footsteps echoed in the dark hallway. Slow. Deliberate.
“Elena?” Matteo called out, his voice tense.
A figure stepped into the ambient light falling through the skylight. It wasn't Elena.
It was a man Matteo had known since childhood. A man who had eaten at his family’s table.
Vince, his mother’s personal driver and oldest bodyguard. He was holding a suppressed pistol, aimed directly at Matteo’s chest.
“Put the gun away, Vince,” Matteo said, his voice deadly calm, though his mind was racing.
“I can’t do that, boss,” Vince said, his face shadowed with regret. “Your mother called me ten minutes ago. She said you figured out the Moretti girl’s lie, and that you’d come here looking for Elena.”
“Where is she?” Matteo demanded, taking a slow step forward, placing his body between the gun and the canvas.
“Safe. For now,” Vince said. “Lucia knew the girl took the painting. Elena figured out the solvent chemical reaction last night before the dinner. She confronted your mother with it in the hallway.”
Matteo’s breath hitched.
The fight at the dinner. The humiliation with the ring.
It hadn’t just been about Francesca. Lucia had orchestrated the entire spectacle to publicly humiliate Elena, hoping to force her out of the estate before Matteo could learn the truth about the canvas. Lucia had used Francesca’s ambition as a smokescreen.
“Where is my fiancée, Vince?” Matteo’s voice dropped to a terrifying octave.
“She’s at the old railyard,” Vince admitted softly. “Lucia sent men to intercept her when she left the tunnel. She’s going to make it look like Elena sold you out to the Feds and ran.”
Vince raised the gun slightly. “I’m sorry, Matteo. I loved your father. But your mother promised me my family would be taken care of. I’m supposed to burn this studio to the ground, with you inside it. A tragic accident on your wedding day.”
Matteo didn't plead. He didn't bargain.
He simply looked Vince in the eye.
“You loved my father,” Matteo said. He pointed over his shoulder at the canvas. “Look at the ledger, Vince. Look at who paid for the bomb.”
Vince frowned, his eyes darting to the exposed canvas for a fraction of a second.
It was all the time Matteo needed.
Matteo drew his weapon and fired. The bullet shattered Vince’s shoulder. The older man dropped his gun with a cry of pain, collapsing to the floor.
Matteo walked over, kicking Vince’s weapon away. He grabbed the older man by the collar, hauling him up just enough to look him in the face.
“Who has her at the railyard?” Matteo snarled.
“The Moretti hitters,” Vince gasped, clutching his bleeding shoulder. “Antonio didn't know about the photo, but he knew about the hit. Lucia traded the girl to Antonio in exchange for the Morettis keeping quiet about the ledger.”
Matteo dropped him.
He grabbed the canvas off the easel, rolled it tightly into a leather protective tube he found on Elena’s desk, and slung it over his shoulder.
He bolted for the SUV.
He didn't call Marco. He didn't call the police. The rot was too deep in his own house; he didn't know who was on his mother’s payroll.
As Matteo tore out of the alleyway, his phone buzzed on the dashboard.
It was an unknown number.
Matteo answered it on speaker. “Speak.”
“Matteo.”
His heart stopped. It was Elena. Her voice was shaking, but beneath the fear, he heard the iron resolve that had made him fall in love with her.
“Elena. Where are you?”
“I’m locked in a train car. West side of the yard.” A loud, metallic bang echoed through the phone, making Matteo flinch. “Matteo, they’re pouring gasoline outside the doors.”
“I’m five minutes away,” Matteo promised, pushing the SUV to eighty miles an hour on the slick Chicago streets. “Keep your head down.”
“Listen to me,” Elena said rapidly. “Your mother told me everything. She didn't just kill your father. She’s planning to hand the entire syndicate to Antonio Moretti tonight at the reception. She’s stepping down, and she’s framing you for my murder to force you into exile.”
“I have the ledger,” Matteo said. “I’m coming for you.”
“Matteo, wait.” Elena’s voice softened, breaking through the static. “If you come here, it’s a trap. There are six men with rifles. You can’t fight them alone. Go to the Feds. Give them the canvas.”
“I don't care about the syndicate,” Matteo roared, swerving violently to avoid a truck as he merged onto the expressway. “I care about you.”
May you like
“I left something for you,” Elena whispered, her voice cracking. “In my coat pocket back at the estate. I wanted you to have it, just in case… in case I couldn't fix this.”
The line went dead.
