Chapter 4 - THE FORGED SIGNATURE
My cousin stood between me and the only exit.
I kept my face blank.
“You too.”
Lorenzo glanced at the boxes around me.
“Looking for something?”
“Old tax records.”
“At three in the morning?”
“I couldn't sleep.”
His eyes moved to the file beneath my hand.
“What’s that?”
I smiled.
“Since when do you care about paperwork?”
“Since you started acting strange.”
There it was.
Not accusation.
Warning.
I leaned back against the table.
“You worried about me?”
“Always.”
“Touching.”
Lorenzo stepped closer.
“We’re family.”
That word almost made me hit him.
Instead, I picked up a random folder.
“Accountants say we're missing property records from 2013.”
“Want me to help?”
“No.”
He didn't move.
I held his gaze.
Eventually, he smiled.
“Coffee?”
“At four?”
“You never cared before.”
We left together.
By sunrise, I knew one thing.
If Lorenzo had betrayed my brother, I couldn't accuse him without proof.
Men like Lorenzo survived because they planned three moves ahead.
So I made my first move.
I called Beatrice.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
“It's Adrian.”
Silence.
Then, “How did you get this number?”
“You work in my house.”
“Oh.”
“Where is Luca?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“I found the transfer order.”
Another silence.
“It was forged.”
Her breathing changed.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then Luca was right.”
“About Lorenzo?”
“Partly.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“What aren't you telling me?”
“I can't say over the phone.”
“Then meet me.”
“No.”
“Beatrice.”
“You're used to ordering everyone around. I'm not one of your soldiers.”
I almost smiled.
“Fine. Where?”
She gave me an address.
A diner on Archer Avenue.
“No guards.”
“That's stupid.”
“Then don't come.”
She hung up.
An hour later, I sat across from her in a booth beneath a flickering light.
She looked exhausted.
“Luca left the church.”
“Where?”
“Safe.”
“Does he know you're here?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She stared at me.
“You still don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
Beatrice wrapped both hands around her coffee.
“Twelve years ago, after I moved Luca out of the hospital, I went back to collect my things.”
Her voice trembled.
“I saw Lorenzo.”
My stomach hardened.
“At the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“I've never forgotten his face.”
“What did he do?”
“He spoke with another man near the elevators.”
“Who?”
“I didn't know his name then.”
“And now?”
She reached inside her purse.
Pulled out an old photograph.
Placed it between us.
My father stood in the center.
Lorenzo beside him.
Me on the left.
Luca on the right.
And behind us stood my father’s oldest friend.
Vincent Moretti.
My godfather.
The man who had taught me to drive.
The man I called Uncle Vincent.
The man currently controlled half my organization’s financial network.
Beatrice pointed at him.
“This man.”
A chill ran through me.
“What did you hear?”
She looked me in the eyes.
“Lorenzo said Luca had survived.”
I couldn't breathe.
“And Vincent said?”
Beatrice swallowed.
“He said, ‘Then kill him again.’”
My phone vibrated.
A message from my security chief.
BOSS. PROBLEM AT THE ESTATE.
I opened the attached image.
My archive door.
Broken open.
My stomach dropped.
A second message appeared.
SOMEONE TOOK THE WAREHOUSE FILE.
Then a third.
WE FOUND A BODY.
I stared at the screen.
My night guard.
Dead beside the archive entrance.
Beatrice whispered, “What happened?”
I stood.
“Somebody knows I found the forgery.”
Outside, across the street, a black sedan started its engine.
Beatrice saw it too.
Her face went pale.
The passenger window lowered.
I saw the barrel of a rifle.
May you like
“DOWN!”
The glass exploded.
