Chapter 8 - THE PRICE OF AN HEIR
Alessandro doubled security.
I hated him for it until I understood he was not assigning guards to control me.
He was placing them between Matteo and every person I cared about.
Liam moved into a guest suite.
Sofia visited daily.
Gabriel investigated North Shore Medical Consulting.
I spent most of my time reading my father’s files.
Every page made the past uglier.
Matteo had stolen from pension funds.
He had inflated construction costs.
He had bribed inspectors.
He had used charitable foundations to move money overseas.
But theft was not the worst part.
Anyone who discovered the scheme seemed to disappear, resign, suffer an accident, or die unexpectedly.
One evening, Alessandro found me asleep at the kitchen table with documents spread around me.
He placed a blanket over my shoulders.
I woke instantly.
“Don’t.”
He stepped back.
“Sorry.”
I rubbed my eyes.
“I’m not used to people touching me while I’m sleeping.”
His expression changed.
“Because of the break-in?”
“Yes.”
He sat across from me.
For once, he had no jacket.
No tie.
No guards within sight.
Just a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
“You asked me at the hotel what I wanted when nobody was watching.”
I remembered.
“What did you say?”
“I said silence.”
“No.”
“You said a morning nobody could interrupt.”
His eyes softened.
“You remember.”
“I remember everything.”
That was the problem.
We had not behaved like strangers that night.
We had behaved like two people who had been waiting years to be honest with someone.
Then we ruined it by beginning with lies.
Alessandro looked toward the documents.
“I found something today.”
He slid a photograph across the table.
It showed Vittorio beside my father.
They were shaking hands.
Behind them stood a much younger Alessandro.
“You were there.”
“I don’t remember the photograph being taken.”
“Did you know my father?”
“No.”
He pointed to the location.
“My father’s old lake house.”
“Why would my dad be there?”
“I think that is where they met privately.”
The photograph had a handwritten date.
Three months before Vittorio died.
I turned it over.
On the back, my father had written one sentence.
IF VITTORIO FAILS, TRUST THE SON ONLY AFTER HE CHOOSES TRUTH OVER BLOOD.
I read it twice.
Alessandro’s expression was unreadable.
“My father expected you to be involved someday.”
“Apparently.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Everything about this bothers me.”
He leaned back.
“My uncle helped raise me after my father died.”
That surprised me.
“You were close?”
“Yes.”
“He taught me how to negotiate.”
“He attended every major business meeting.”
“He stood beside me at my father’s funeral.”
Pain crossed Alessandro’s face.
“If this is true, he did not merely kill my father.”
“He watched me grieve him.”
I knew that kind of betrayal.
It was worse than hatred.
Hatred came from enemies.
Betrayal came from people allowed close enough to know where to cut.
The apartment intercom suddenly buzzed.
A guard’s voice came through.
“Mr. Vitali, we have an unscheduled delivery.”
“What kind?”
“Flowers.”
Alessandro frowned.
“Sender?”
“None.”
My pulse changed.
“Don’t bring them up.”
The guard paused.
“There is also a package.”
“Open it downstairs.”
A minute later, his phone rang.
He answered.
His face went cold.
“What?”
He listened.
Then he looked at me.
“What is it?”
The answer came slowly.
“A baby blanket.”
My throat closed.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
He held my gaze.
“A note.”
I already knew it would be from Matteo.
“What does it say?”
May you like
Alessandro’s voice hardened.
“Every heir needs a funeral blanket.”
