Chapter 11 Chapter Eleven
"The debt is being settled," Matteo said, his voice dropping into that dangerous, low register. "Lila is the collateral. And as her husband, I am now the executor of her father’s estate. Any move against the Morenos is now a move against the Russos."
Don Vittorio spoke then, his voice a thin, raspy whisper. "And what of the hit last night, Matteo? Rumor has it your villa was breached. A Don who cannot protect his own bedroom is a Don who cannot protect the city."
I felt Matteo’s hand tighten on the table, but his face remained a mask of calm.
"The breach was handled," Matteo said. "The men responsible are currently feeding the crabs in the harbor. If anyone here has a problem with my security, they are welcome to test it themselves."
He looked directly at Vittorio. The air in the room grew thick with tension. I decided it was time to play my part, not as a victim, but as the "fire" Matteo claimed I was.
"Don Vittorio," I said, my voice clear and steady. The men all turned to look at me, surprised that the "debt" was speaking. "I was the one who saw the sniper. I was the one who moved my husband out of the line of fire. If your rumors say the Russos are weak, then your rumors are coming from men who are already dead."
Vittorio’s eyes narrowed. He looked at me for a long, uncomfortable moment. "The girl has spirit. Enzo always did say she was a spitfire."
"She’s a Russo," Matteo corrected, his voice like a gavel.
The meeting continued for another hour, a tedious back-and-forth about territory, shipping routes, and "taxes." I listened to every word, memorizing names and locations. I noticed the way the man with the mustache Don Lucca kept glancing at his watch. I noticed the way the guard behind Vittorio shifted his weight every time the word "Tokyo" wasn't mentioned.
They were hiding something. All of them.
When the meeting finally broke up, Matteo stood and signaled for me to follow. But as we were leaving, Vittorio stepped into our path.
"A word, Matteo?" the old man asked.
Matteo nodded to me. "Wait by the car. I’ll be there in a minute."
I didn't argue. I walked back through the corridors, the guards following a respectful distance behind me. But I didn't go straight to the car. I took a sharp turn into a small alcove near the courtyard, ducking behind a heavy velvet curtain that led to a servant's passage.
The guards, expecting me to keep walking, overshot the turn.
I pulled the satellite phone from my waistband and checked the screen.
New Message: "The garden is open. Watch the old man's shadow."
The garden. I looked out through a slit in the curtain. There was a small, private garden in the center of the palazzo, filled with orange trees and stone benches.
I saw Don Vittorio walking into the garden. He wasn't alone. A man was waiting for him, a man in a sharp, modern suit that looked out of place in this ancient palace. He was younger, with blond hair and a cold, professional air.
I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I saw the younger man hand Vittorio a small, black electronic device. It looked exactly like the satellite phone I had in my hand.
Vittorio nodded, tucked the device into his pocket, and walked away.
The blond man stayed in the garden, lighting a cigarette. He looked toward the curtain where I was hiding, and for a second, I thought he saw me. His eyes were a piercing, unnatural blue.
I ducked back, my heart racing.
"Lila?"
Matteo’s voice boomed through the hallway. He sounded angry.
I stepped out from behind the curtain, shoving the phone back into its hiding place just as the guards came running back toward me.
"I got lost," I said, my voice trembling slightly for effect. "These halls all look the same."
Matteo appeared around the corner, his face thunderous. He grabbed my arm, his grip a little too tight. "I told you to go to the car."
"I told you I was tired of being a prisoner," I snapped back.
He stared at me, his eyes searching my face for a lie. He saw the defiance, but he also saw the genuine adrenaline. He didn't see the phone.
"Don't do it again," he warned.
He led me out to the SUVs. The ride back to the villa was even more silent than the ride in. Matteo was brooding, his mind clearly on whatever Vittorio had said to him.
I sat in the corner of the seat, my mind on the blond man and the device.
"Matteo," I said, after we had cleared the city limits. "Who is the man with the blond hair? The one who doesn't look like he belongs in Sicily?"
Matteo’s head snapped toward me. "Where did you see him?"
"In the garden. He was talking to Vittorio."
Matteo swore under his breath. He grabbed his radio and barked an order in Italian to the lead SUV. The cars began to move faster, weaving through traffic with reckless speed.
"That’s Kaito," Matteo said, his voice tight. "He’s a fixer for the Yamaguchi-gumi. The Japanese syndicate."
Tokyo.
Everything clicked. The message, the flower, the blond man. The Russo cartel wasn't just dealing with local rivals. They were in bed with the Yakuza. Or at least, Vittorio was.
"Why is he here?" I asked.
"Because the world is getting smaller, Lila. And the Valentis are desperate enough to invite a shark into the pool just to kill a lion."
He looked at me, his expression a mix of suspicion and something else, maybe a grudging appreciation for my observation.
"You have a good eye," he said. "Maybe you’re more of a Russo than I thought."
"I’m a Moreno," I reminded him. "We see the things people try to hide."
As we pulled back into the villa’s driveway, the sun was beginning to set, casting long, bloody shadows across the stone. The house looked like a tomb in the dying light.
Matteo got out of the car and helped me out. He didn't let go of my hand. He led me inside, past Agata, straight to his private study.
He locked the door and turned to me.
"Show me the phone, Lila."
My heart stopped. I stood there, frozen, the weight of the device feeling like a mountain against my spine.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, my voice remarkably steady.
Matteo stepped closer, his presence overwhelming the small room. He reached out and traced the line of my waist, his fingers stopping exactly where the phone was hidden.
"I knew the moment I saw the safe was open," he whispered. "I let you keep it because I wanted to see what you would do. I wanted to see if you would run, or if you would use it."
He pulled the phone from my waistband. I didn't fight him. There was no point.
He looked at the screen, his thumb scrolling through the messages. He saw the one about the garden. He saw the one about Tokyo.
He looked at me, and for the first time, I saw real fear in his eyes.
"You don't understand what you've found," he said. "This isn't a debt, Lila. This is a death sentence."
"Then tell me the truth," I demanded. "Tell me about my mother. Tell me about the fire."
Matteo sat down at his desk, the satellite phone looking like a toy in his large hand.
"Your mother wasn't just a dancer, Lila. She was the one who brokered the original deal between my father and the Yamaguchi-gumi. She was the 'Flower of Tokyo.' And the fire that killed her? It wasn't an accident. It was a clean-up operation."
I sank into a chair, the room spinning. My mother... a mafia broker?
"And my father?" I asked.
"Enzo was her bodyguard," Matteo said. "He fell in love with her. He tried to get her out. He stole the three million to buy her freedom, but he was too late. The fire took her, and he’s been running ever since."
He looked at the phone again.
"The message 'Tokyo next'... it means they're finished with Palermo. They’re coming for the legacy. They’re coming for you."
Suddenly, a loud explosion rocked the villa. The windows in the study shattered, and the lights went out.
Shouts erupted from the hallway. Gunfire echoed through the house.
Matteo was on his feet in a second, his gun drawn. He grabbed my arm and pulled me behind the heavy oak desk.
"Stay down!" he roared.
"Who is it?" I screamed over the noise.
Matteo looked at the door, his face a mask of grim determination.
"The shark is in the pool," he said.
The door to the study blew off its hinges. A flashbang grenade skittered across the floor, blinding me with a white-hot light.
Through the ringing in my ears, I heard a voice, calm, professional, and chillingly familiar.
"The flame belongs to the garden now."
I felt a pair of hands grab me, dragging me away from the desk. I kicked and screamed, but a cloth was pressed over my mouth. The sweet, cloying scent of chloroform filled my lungs.
The last thing I saw before the darkness took me was Matteo, standing in the middle of the room, firing his gun into the smoke, his face the last thing I wanted to see and the only thing I had left to lose.
The debt was no longer about money.
It was about blood. And the fire was just getting started.