Chapter 3 - THE MAN AT THE DOOR
Lorenzo was thirty feet away from discovering a secret somebody had murdered to protect.
I looked at Luca.
He shook his head immediately.
No trust.
Not even close.
Beatrice whispered, “There’s another exit.”
“Where?”
“Back room. Tunnel to the rectory.”
Lorenzo’s footsteps reached the basement stairs.
I made a decision.
“Go.”
Luca stared at me.
“You’ll tell him.”
“If I wanted you dead, you'd already be dead.”
His jaw tightened.
“Not convincing.”
“Luca.”
Something in my voice stopped him.
For the first time that night, I let myself look at him as my brother.
Not a threat.
Not a witness.
My brother.
“Please.”
His expression shifted.
Barely.
Then Beatrice pulled him toward the back room.
They disappeared seconds before Lorenzo entered.
His flashlight swept across the basement.
Then landed on me.
He lowered his pistol.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Following Beatrice.”
“Where is she?”
“Gone.”
He scanned the room.
The spilled food.
Two cups.
Two blankets.
Two sets of footprints.
His eyes narrowed.
“You find who she's feeding?”
“A homeless man.”
“What man?”
“I didn't ask his name.”
Lorenzo looked at me.
He had known me too long.
That was dangerous.
“You followed her across Chicago and didn't ask?”
“He ran.”
Lorenzo walked toward the back room.
I stepped in front of him.
He stopped.
We looked at each other.
For twelve years, Lorenzo had been beside me through everything.
My father's funeral.
Luca's funeral.
My rise.
Three wars.
Two federal investigations.
An assassination attempt.
My mother's cancer.
There were nights I trusted Lorenzo more than I trusted my own thoughts.
Now Luca’s words repeated in my head.
I heard your name before the explosion.
Lorenzo smiled.
“Something wrong?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
I put my gun away.
“Beatrice is fired.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“That’s it?”
“She stole.”
“You followed her because you thought she was scared.”
“She was feeding some drunk.”
Lorenzo studied me.
Then smiled.
“Told you.”
“Yeah.”
I walked past him.
“Told me.”
Outside, snow covered the street.
We drove back separately.
I didn't sleep.
At three in the morning, I entered the private archive beneath my mansion.
Very few people knew it existed.
Fewer could access it.
I pulled the records from December twelve years ago.
Warehouse Seventeen.
Security logs.
Shipping orders.
Payment sheets.
And finally—
Luca’s transfer authorization.
My signature was at the bottom.
ADRIAN MICHAEL VALE.
Perfect.
Except it wasn’t mine.
Most people would never notice.
Lorenzo might not have noticed.
But I did.
My father had trained Luca and me to sign documents with one hidden variation whenever the paper involved family business.
A tiny break through the center of the V.
This signature didn't have it.
Forgery.
I stared at the page until anger became something colder.
Then I checked who authenticated it.
LORENZO VALE.
My cousin.
My right hand.
The man who had stood beside my mother while she buried her youngest son.
Behind me, the archive door beeped.
Someone had entered the code.
I shut the file.
The steel door opened.
Lorenzo walked inside.
May you like
He smiled.
“You’re up early.”
